#dean is like look you can't... force things like this sam and it's not...

[shallowseeker]

SAM: *trying to make AU Charlie a replacement for old Charlie while she gets increasingly and increasingly annoyed*

SAM: But you used to be Dean's best friend. Don't you need a best friend?

Meanwhile:

Seeing Charlie hurt made Ketch boo-hoo big fat tears

Between Charlie and Jack, Ketch is 10000% thawed

In my head, KETCH is already AU's Charlie's new best friend.

13x22 script via @spnscripthunt-inactive

[zepskies]

IF I STAY - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Yes, here’s another firefighter AU! Based on a request from one of my lovely Patreon members: @redhoodieone. She requested pretty much all the major beats of this story, so hopefully I did her request justice! This is also partially inspired by Fools Rush In, a beautiful movie with Salma Hayek and Matthew Perry (Rest in Peace, King).

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis

Word Count: 8.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, thick thirty, hints of body insecurity, but also body appreciation, angst, and hurt/comfort.

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 1: Fools Rush In

Slowly, your eyes slide open into the waking world. Your head is resting on something warm, firm…and a little sweaty. You pick your head up, despite the disorienting, muddy feeling of a slight hangover.

A groan bubbles in your throat. Your gaze travels downward, and you realize that what you’re looking at is more of a who.

Your eyes widen. Oh…my…God…

Not only are you very naked, but your firm pillow is too. It happens to be your best friend’s brother.

Yes, holy fucking shit! You slept with your best friend’s brother.

Biting the inside of your lip, you can’t help but take him in, here in the raw light of day as he lays peacefully on his back. His head lolls to the side on your usual pillow. Your eyes roam over the bow of his lips, the dark eyebrows, lightish brown hair that's softer than it should be between your fingers.

He’s painfully handsome. There’s a slight hesitation in your touch, but you softly trace the cut of his jaw and the stubble spread across it. That roughness feels familiar, and not just under the pads of your fingers, though the thought makes you blush. You begin to remember the night before, almost like a movie reel through your mind… 

Ooooh, right. That’s what happened.

It starts at Sam Winchester’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party at a nice hotel downtown. He and Eileen aren't the "strippers and coke" kind of party couple. They're more the "wine and brie en croute with pickled olives" on the expensive crackers you can't afford—kind of couple.

They look perfectly in love, if a bit long-suffering while Dean gives a hilarious, somewhat inappropriate, but still ultimately heartwarming toast to their happiness. After lowering the glass of champagne from his lips, his gaze catches on yours in the crowd. You suck in a subtle breath. 

Technically you’ve met him already, being one of Eileen’s bridesmaids, but there’s something about his green eyes that pin you to the floor. When he hands over the mic to Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, his head turning away from you to offer her a smile breaks the spell. It allows you to breathe.

Dean later finds you by the bar. You’re drinking a rum and coke with your slice of cake, trying not to get a single crumb on your dress. You've put a lot of work into affording it, let alone fitting in it. He leans his elbows casually on the counter and looks over at you.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he nods at you with a smile, subtly taking you in first. Then, his eyes go to your plate. “Ooh, red velvet. Gotta get me some of that.”

You smile back at him. “It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, looks good in your hand,” he says, adding a teasing wink for good measure.

You don't know why that does it for you, but a half-flattered, half-nervous laugh tumbles out of your mouth. Sam has warned you before about Dean. Apparently his older brother is a bit of a flirt; a ladies’ man.

A man whore, are the words Eileen used.

You’re honestly surprised he’s talking to you when Eileen’s other bridesmaids, Lisa and Jo, are sipping martinis together down at the other end of the bar. Guess they didn’t want cake.

They look beautiful in their lithe, strapless little cocktail dresses. You’ve had to give up chocolate, bread, and cheese for three months straight to fit into this dress, something slinky and red that drapes over your thicker, curvy figure. But you’re proud of the fact that you’re letting yourself eat cake tonight, even though you’ve often felt like Mrs. Doubtfire while standing for pictures next to Lisa and Jo.

They’re Eileen’s friends, not so much your crowd. No matter how much you’ve tried to get to know them while helping the wedding planning in whatever way you can, you still get a high school clique vibe from the women, if with more “polite smiles.” Then they’ll typically go back to talking about crystal centerpieces—or whatever in-depth conversation they were having before you were there. 

But right now, Dean’s focus is on you. When he asks you more about yourself, you tell him about recently earning an elementary education degree.

“Ah, but you already knew that, because Sam told you we graduated college together,” you realize, with warmth tingeing your cheeks. That subject came up pretty quickly when he introduced you to his brother.

Dean’s smile confirms your suspicions, so you just keep filling the silence on reflex.

“Well, I actually just started teaching my first ever semester of second graders. They’re a bit of a handful, but overall, they’re really sweet.” Your smile falters. “Except for this one kid who likes to put little tacks on my chair. He’s kind of a menace, but I think if I bribe him with enough lollipops, he’ll give it a rest. I mean, it’s a behavioral issue and I should probably call his parents. But it's kind of hard to tell them their son is trying to make my ass into a pincushion."

Dean's laugh comes out in a sharp burst, like he wasn't expecting what just came out of your mouth. You didn't either, honestly. You giggle more out of embarrassment, ducking your head.

"He’s in second grade, you know?" you say, in between laughter. "I don't think that little footnote needs to end up on his permanent record. But then there's Micah. He's so friggin' smart. He can read at the fifth grade level already. Can you believe that? And I know I'm not supposed to have favorites, but his grades on his spelling tests get him a spot in the comfy bean bag chair pretty much every Friday. Honestly, I think that's what I like about working with kids. I get to see that spark on their face when something just finally clicks for them. Their little faces get all bright and happy and…ugh. God, I'm sorry. I'm rambling, right?”

You stop yourself with a hand sliding over your mouth, not quite covering your smile of embarrassment.

Dean’s grin just widens, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

"It's okay. I kinda like it," he teases.

You duck your head, biting your lip against a groan. He chuckles and reaches out for your hand, earning your nervous glance. He quirks his head.

“Hey, you're passionate about what you do, helping kids. That's nothin' to be ashamed of,” he says, brushing his thumb over your hand. “But sweetheart, I gotta ask. Am I making you nervous or something?”

God, yes, you think, especially at that sweetheart thing. It’s making your heartbeat tick up a syncopated rhythm, but you shake your head, biting the straw of your rum and coke.

“No, not at all,” you say, in a hopefully “breezy” kind of way. You touch your fingers to his wrist. “Tell me about you though. Sam mentioned that you’re a firefighter?”

“Ah, yeah. Firefighter in training,” he says, with a more genuine smile.

He just started at the Fire Academy, and he tells you about all the drills he’s had to learn and all the training he’s had to do to be able to keep up with his classes. You subtly eye him while you sip at your drink, and you notice the crisp cut of his buttoned-down shirt and leather jacket, the definition of muscle across his thighs under the slacks, even while he casually sits.

Your gaze subtly travels down his long bowed legs, smart dress shoes. His cologne is woody and masculine, but not overpowering; maybe bergemot and sandalwood. It pleasantly wafts under your nose every time he gestures with his hands while he talks.

“Aw man, I can’t hold out anymore. I think I need to get me some of that cake before it’s gone,” he says, getting up from his chair.

You’re a bit disappointed that he’s leaving, until he stops short.

“You want another piece?” he offers, gesturing at your empty plate that’s been resting on the counter.

You blink in surprise, but you shake your head. “Oh, no. I probably shouldn’t.”

“Why not? It’s a party,” Dean reasons. His grin is too damn infectious. It has you smiling, and begrudgingly agreeing.

Not only does he bring you more cake, but you watch him eat three whole slices before he asks you to dance.

The rest of it flashes through your mind like strobe lights—the way he’d started small and respectful with his larger hand closed over yours and the other along the curve of your waist. He guided you closer and closer, until you were turned around into his arms, and you could feel his warm breath on your neck.

You felt his lips teasing your skin. Then those hands tantalizingly drifted down your every soft curve, as if showing you a preview of everything he could do to you, and every way he’d make you come apart. You believed him.

And when he whispered in your ear, asking if he could take you home, you let him.

You let him drive you in that big black piece of history he drives. Used to be my dad’s car, he said. A Chevy something. You couldn’t really remember much when his hand was drifting up and down your thigh like that.

His presence burned hot at your back when you two eventually got to the front door of your apartment, your hands just barely shaking as you got the key in. Twist and click—

He waited until you flipped the lights on. Then he turned you around slowly in his arms and pulled you in close, all the while asking you with his eyes and raised brows. This okay? You want this?

“Do I still make you nervous?” he asked, his lips twitching at a smile when yours do.

You nodded, uttering a small giggle. “In a good way.”

That was when he finally kissed you, hot and slow, like he meant to devour you whole. He moaned at the taste of you, at the feel of your ass squeezed in his hands. You clung onto him strong, breathing into his kiss and trying to meet every single demand of his lips.

It soon became a fiery tear to your bedroom, one lamp flicked on, hot breaths and nice clothes crumpled to the floor. You didn’t feel self-conscious even once when he guided you under him on the bed, because he wasted no time in taking you apart, inch by inch.

His lips kissed and licked and sucked a burning trail down your neck, over your collarbone and between your breasts. You felt his hardened length trapped between your bodies while his hands explored you, teasing your breasts and sensitive nipples, and he mapped his way down with his lips.

You explored every part of him you could—every dip of muscle, firm shoulders and the slopes of his back, and then back up to tangle in his hair. Your heated gasps and whimpers filled the room when his sinful mouth found what it was looking for between your legs.

It wasn’t often that you had a strong pair of shoulders to rest your thighs on, but Dean’s grip was hard enough to leave deep fingerprints of pressure on each thigh while he slipped his tongue through your folds and feasted on you.

“D-Dean, oh God,” you gasped. Every sound you made was a sensuous symphony in his ears, washing over his skin and making the well of his desire churn hot in his lower belly. He had to roll his hips into the mattress for some relief for his aching cock, even while he moved his mouth up to your clit, circling the swollen bud with his tongue. He had enough room to slip two fingers deep inside your sopping wet channel, exploring you deeply, stroking and twisting to find what you needed.

Your thighs trembled and squeezed tight on either side of his head. When he sucked your clit tight between his lips, you uttered as gasping moan as that coil snapped its release. Your inner walls fluttered around his fingers. Yours clenched tightly in his hair, threatening to rip out a few strands.

Dean stroked you all through your first orgasm, giving slower licks to your clit. He seemed to sense when you couldn’t handle anymore though. You tugged more sharply on his hair, and he finally pulled away, moving back up your body to gauge your reaction.

You’d collapsed boneless against the bed, but you still managed to smile up at him as you caught your breath.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked. But his self-satisfied grin almost made you laugh. You took his glistening face between your hands and pulled him down for a grateful kiss.

After a moment to savor your lips, he broke away for a second to catch his breath himself. You stroked his back all the while.

“You know, for a minute down there, I thought you might not let me come back up,” he teased.

You choked on a laugh, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Honestly wouldn’t have minded if you did suffocate me,” he chuckled, accompanied by a slap to your left ass cheek. You squealed, and blushed hotly at the way he was grinning down at you.

“Ready for more, baby? Or you want to call it a night?” he asked. His tone was playful, but it was actually a serious question. You blinked in surprise. You’d never had a guy be this, well…generous, and not expect anything in return, especially not for just a hookup.

But you shook your head and sat up, slipping a hand behind Dean’s neck. After a beat of hesitation, you guided him down to you for a slow, sensuous kiss.

“No, I don’t want to call it a night,” you whispered. Your hand drifted down his bare chest, and lower still. You showed him just how well you could return the favor.

And now, come the morning, you’re blushing down to your neck as each scene flashes through your mind. You feel the ghost of his hands all over your body, and how you’d never quite felt quite as bold and sexy and beautiful with a near stranger as you had with Dean effing Winchester. Your best friend’s brother.

You begin to worry your bottom lip with your teeth. How the hell are you going to tell Sam? Especially after he warned you about exactly this. Plus, there’s a reason you don’t typically do the one-night stand thing, and this has the potential to become something very complicated.

You know what, it’s fine! you think. We’re two consenting adults. We’re both single. And maybe…maybe it could be more than a hookup. Maybe we can see each other again, see where it goes.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Dean says, his voice croaking with sleep.

You look down at him in surprise. His eyes have cracked open and he has your hand captive, stopping you from continuing to idly trace patterns on his bare chest. You smile in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you say. Again, you bite your lower lip. “Um, good morning.”

“Morning, sweetheart,” he grins lazily. “You sure wore me out last night.”

Your smile becomes more genuine, even if you turn your face away somewhat shyly.

“Aw, don’t do that,” Dean says. He slides his hand up your arm and behind your neck, tangling into your already tangled hair when he guides you down to his lips for a kiss. “You were awesome.”

You giggle against his lips. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says, kissing you again.

You shake your head a little. “You were…”

Amazing. Unbelievable. Probably the best night I’ve ever had.

“Perfect,” you decide. Because it’s the truth. The word comes out of your mouth before you can filter yourself though, making you pause. Dean does too, but after a beat, he slowly smiles.

“Oh yeah?” he asks.

You lick your lips, and you nod. “Definitely.”

“Well, then,” he says. His hand moves down to squeeze your hip. “You down for a repeat performance?”

You smile. “Only if I get a turn.”

Bracing your hands on his chest, you slide your thigh across his lap so you can straddle his hips. Dean grins and goes along with your idea. He gets a nice healthy handful of your thighs and helps settle you on top of him. But first, he reaches over into your nightstand drawer and finds another condom, ripping it open with his teeth.

Just like you did for him last night, you take the packet, as well as his generous length in your hands. You gently stroke him to full mast, smiling pleased at his groan of pleasure. Then you carefully fit the condom over him.

“You’re so gentle with me,” he teases. 

“Just returning the favor,” you quip, just before you position him at your wet entrance. Slowly, you sink down over his cock.

You both moan at the feeling of him stretching you again, warm and thick and fitting perfectly nestled deep inside. There had been moments last night where he wasn’t all that gentle, actually, but his passion had only spurred yours on more. You know you’ll probably find fingerprint marks on your thighs and ass, but it’s fucking worth it, you think, as you begin to bob a rocking rhythm that serves you both.

Dean arches his back underneath you, his knees coming up to press against your ass.

“Goddamn, baby. Givin’ me quite a show,” he says, in a panting voice that’s deep as sin.

You utter a breathy laugh.

Dean means it though. He’s enjoying the way you brush your hair out of your face, your beautiful tits in his face while you truly let loose for him. He guides you by the stronghold he has on your hips, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh as he ruts up into you, meeting your thrusts.

Your breath quickens, your nails digging into his chest on reflex, and your heart races as that delicious pleasure builds. But when Dean snakes a hand between you and further parts your folds to massage tight circles over your clit, your vision flashes white. You utter a scream of pleasure on his name, your inner walls choking him tight as you throb around his cock. His release hits him like a goddamn freight train.

“Aw, fuck,” he grunts.

He slams your hips down hard, making your thighs slap against his. A ragged groan escapes him in a rush. His hands move to your thighs just under your ass, where his fingers press into flesh hard enough to leave forensic ID, giving him leverage to bury himself deep into your pussy as he spills a hot release into the condom.

Goddamn…

He can almost imagine that he’s coming free inside you, that you’re milking his cock for every drop, until there’s nothing left for him to give.

The thought surprises him. It almost takes him out of the moment, honestly. That’s not a thought he’s ever had before—not with a woman he barely knows (which is most of his hookups, if he’s honest).

In that delicious, fractious moment just after it hits, it’s like those few seconds are suspended in zero gravity. Your arms are shaking, and your forced to collapse against his chest. Dean welcomes you there for a little while, letting you come down while he smooths a hand over your hair.

Though he can't help the urge to let his big hand drift down over your dewy skin, down the gentle slope of your back and over the curve of your generous ass. He gives one cheek a teasing slap. The sound echoes in the room.

"Goddamn perfect ass," he says roughly, smirking at your squeal. You end up grinning hard against his neck.

"'S that my new nickname?" you quip.

He chuckles deeply, moving you along with his chest. "Hell, sweetheart, if you want it to be."

Eventually, you lean back to give him a smile and one last kiss before you pull away from him. You slip off his lap to find your robe, at least. You definitely need a shower.

“So I’m thinking, after we get cleaned up, I could make us some breakfast,” you offer. “Or if you want, maybe we could go somewhere. I know a little diner down the block.”

“I like the sound of food,” Dean agrees with a smile. Ge reaches over for his phone on the nightstand, to check the time. His eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

He has to get his ass over to the Fire Academy. He has class in barely twenty minutes.

He tears out of bed and nearly trips on the coiled sheets.

“Sorry. Gonna need to take a raincheck,” he says. He hurries to find his clothes strewn all over your bedside floor.

“What’s the matter?” you ask with wide eyes. You cross your arms under your breasts, but it’s more like you’re hugging yourself over your robe. You watch him tear through your bedroom in a tempest of movement.

Dean spares you a glance, but not much else as he yanks up his slacks and belt and dress shirt.

“Gotta get to class,” he confesses. Thank God he has his uniform in the trunk of his car for exactly these kinds of emergencies. He grabs his phone, wallet, and keys, and quickly kisses you on the cheek. He gazes down at you apologetically. “Sorry I gotta cut and run, sweetheart, but it’s been fun.”

Your smile barely reaches your eyes. He’s pressed for time, but he still notices.

He slows himself down and cups your cheek. “Hey.”

He gets your pretty eyes looking up at him, and he gives you a real kiss, nice and slow. He cradles your cheek and brushes his thumb across your skin.

“Thanks,” he says. His now familiar grin manages to make you smile. “And I mean that.”

You shake your head at him. “Okay go, Mr. Future Fireman. Be safe out there, okay?”

He gives you a playful salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

You can’t help but laugh. This guy’s too much. But you don't think you've had this much fun having sex in...

All right, let's not put a timeframe on it.

You watch him leave your apartment, even though you have a sinking feeling in your chest. You knew this was just a hookup for him, for both of you. Part of you just couldn’t help hoping that it could’ve led to something more. 

Dean means to call you.

He really does.

After that truly awesome, you shook me all night long, kind of a night, he thinks about you more than he’d like to admit over the next few weeks. However, he finds himself locked into his training. He’s so close to finishing strong and earning his badge, he just can’t afford any more distractions.

Still, he should’ve known that Sam would find out—either through Eileen, or through you directly. He also should’ve expected the way his brother let him have it.

“And you didn’t even fucking call her. See? This is why I don’t set you up with any of my friends anymore,” Sam bitches at him from his side of the small two-seater dinner table. They still share an apartment, though in just a month and a half, Sam’s going to be moving out. He and Eileen already found a house that they’re moving into after the wedding.

“Look, I was going to call her, man. They’ve just been bustin’ my ass at the Academy!” Dean argues.

“Bullshit.” Sam levels him with the same finger that holds his beer.

Dean’s brows raise, high and annoyed. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I’m calling bullshit. Because if you really liked her, respected her, and respected me, you would’ve made the time,” Sam says.

That falls heavy between the brothers for a moment while they eat their pizza.

“Look, I know her. She doesn’t do hookups that often, which means…she probably liked you,” Sam adds. “And honestly, when are you going to give it a real try with someone? You can only visit that free clinic so many times.”

Dean shoots him a glare. He’s had a clean bill of health from said clinic for six months straight.

“Jesus Christ. Enough, all right?” he grouses. “What’re you, Mom?”

“I’m just saying,” Sam says, lowering his crust to the plate. He levels his brother with a more earnest look, lightening up from his anger. “Look, if it’s about what happened to Dad—”

“What, you mean the way he drank himself to death after Mom died?” Dean says. His voice cuts through whatever softball glove Sam is trying to handle him with. “You think that’s the kind of thing I should be looking for in my life?”

“Oh, and what, do you think I’m making a mistake marrying Eileen?” Sam counters.

Dean sighs, shaking his head. “Damn it, don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m saying, it’s just…I don’t know. Maybe that kind of life—the house, the wife, the 2.5 kids and the dog. Maybe that’s just not my life, okay?”

Sam gives him a long look. He lets go of a deep breath, and he shrugs.

“Okay,” he says. “If you think hooking up night after night for the rest of your life is going to make you happy, then fine.”

Dean nods, glad that they can put an end to this little After School Special.

“Okay.”

Still, he can’t finish his third slice of pizza. He keeps picturing your face when he left you that morning. No matter how you tried to hide it, he still saw the tinge of disappointment in your eyes. It brews something uncomfortable in his stomach, and a sting in his chest.

You’re eating lunch alone in your classroom, finally on your break, when an unfamiliar number flashes across your phone screen. You look down at it in confusion, but with all the caterers and florists and things you’ve helped Eileen with on the wedding, you figure it could be important. You pick up the call and greet whoever’s on the line.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

You drop your ham and cheese on your keyboard, gaping in surprise.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he chuckles slightly. “Sorry, I know it’s been a minute.”

You frown, because you’re confused more than anything.

“Yeah, like almost a month,” you reply. You put the call on speaker so you can grab up your sandwich and quickly brush off the crumbs from your keyboard. You struggle to say something cool, clever, sexy even. “I’m okay. Just, um…what’s up?”

Smooth, real smooth. You cover your eyes with your hand.

“Nothin’, I was just thinking of that night,” he says. “I had a good time.”

Your frown deepens, despite the beginning of a blush warming your cheeks. If he’s calling you just for another hookup…

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.”

And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

“I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

That part throws you though, you’re not going to lie. What, is this a Netflix and chill situation—with a side of fries?

You consider it. You weigh pros and cons at a frightening speed in your mind, almost like Sherlock Holmes contemplating the layout of a dead body and deducing within moments that his wife committed the murder, despite the man no longer wearing a ring.

You want to let yourself be bold and spontaneous and carefree...but it's just not who you are at your core. You're a planner, a cautious person who looks three ways before crossing the street. Letting Dean take you home that night was certainly one of the most spontaneous, wild things you've done since your friends took you out to a strip club after you aced your final round of exams back in college.

(Sam hadn't been there that night, but he did get an embarrassing drunken text from you at 3:00 a.m., along with a few shame-ridden pictures fueled by questionable substances. Yes, he still had the evidence.)

You just don't know if it's smart to let yourself hookup with Dean again. Mostly because you know your heart has the tendency to get attached, no matter how much you warn it not to.

“You know, Dean, I’m pretty busy with my job right now. I just started here a couple of months ago, and I think I just need to focus on that right now,” you say. Part of it isn’t a lie, even though your soft heart is stinging.

“Ah, okay. Yeah. I get that,” he says. You hear his disappointment too. “But I just need to say, I really am sorry for not calling you sooner.”

Your lips tug at a smile. “It’s okay, Dean. Look, you’re Sam’s brother. I just feel like, maybe it’s better if you and I stay friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Dean says wryly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t have three rounds of steamy hot sex with any of my friends.”

Your blush comes swiftly again, burning in your cheeks.

“Be that as it may,” you say, “I just don’t want to do anything that will distract from Sam and Eileen’s wedding.”

“Oh, I’m a distraction, huh?” Dean says flirtatiously. 

You begin to smile in earnest. “I think you know damn well what you are, Dean Winchester.”

His deep chuckle practically resonates through the phone and into your chest, going straight down to your pussy. You clench on nothing just at the sound of his voice, making you cross your legs under your skirt. Dear God…

How are you supposed to be even remotely normal around this man now? 

But for Sam’s sake (and your own), you’ll have to try. 

Two months later, Dean has taken Sam’s dating advice to heart. A week or so after you turned him down, he ran into Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, while he was at the grocery store buying beer and Twizzlers. She was a smart, sharp, sexy brunette. A yoga instructor, he soon found out. So he took a chance on asking her out. They’ve been going slow and steady ever since. 

Dean hasn’t heard from you since the rehearsal dinner, but he sees you again at his brother’s wedding. All the bridesmaids are wearing long, royal blue dresses that drape off the shoulders and hug the bust and waist, flaring gently at the skirt. Lisa and Jo wear it beautifully, their hair perfectly smooth and coiled. 

But when you step out into the hall outside the church ballroom to join them, Dean actually pauses in what he’s saying to his brother. He nearly double takes when you enter his line of vision—mostly because he hasn’t seen you in a dress since that night. You were sexy as hell then, a lady in red. 

Today, you’re absolutely stunning. 

After greeting Sam with a warm hug, you turn to him with a nervous kind of smile. “H-Hey, Dean.”

With that, he snaps out of it. Dean smiles, eyes crinkling, and goes over to give you a hug as well.

“Good to see you,” he says, trying not to inhale too much of your nice perfume. It’s even in your hair.

“You too,” you reply. Your smile is a little brighter, more genuine. Though there’s something behind your eyes that he can’t quite place.

What he doesn’t notice is the way Lisa is watching you and her boyfriend, a hint of suspicion on her face.

You do though. You pull away from Dean and assemble into a line with Lisa at the helm. As the Best Man, Dean stands with her, followed by Jo and Brady, another one of Sam’s buddies. You and Benny bring up the rear. Benny’s dad used to work with John, Sam and Dean’s father, on the police force.

According to Sam, John Winchester worked a beat for twenty-six years before his liver finally gave out on him. Dean almost went to the Police Academy to follow in his dad’s footsteps, but Benny, already working his way up to Lieutenant, suggested Dean become a smoke eater instead. The suggestion stuck.

Benny Lafitte is slightly shorter than Dean, but just as broad-shouldered, his auburn beard neatly trimmed. Even though you might’ve thought he was rough around the edges at first, his kind blue eyes spoke the contrary. He offers you his arm like a gentleman.

“Well aren't I lucky, getting the prettiest girl on my arm,” he says, with a charming smile.

You smile, and even begin to blush at the way he subtly takes note of you from head to toe.

“Well, thank you. You’re very handsome yourself. Although, hold on.” You slip your arm out of his for a moment so that you can fix his tie. It’s slightly crooked. You make sure that it lays flat under his collar, smoothing down all the edges and picking off any small dust particles that landed on his collar. Benny watches you with an indulgent smile.

“Am I good?” he asks.

“Very,” you reply.

“I appreciate it, thank you,” he says. You don’t know if he means to sound flirtatious, but his voice is a deep drawl that washes over you pleasantly. You find yourself blushing down to your neck as you slip your arm back around his.

You also don’t notice how Dean glances at you and Benny over his shoulder.

As much as you love Sam and Eileen, it’s difficult for you to keep your mind from spinning into fractals as the ceremony goes on. You can’t help but glance at Dean. He stands there behind Sam dutifully, but you see brotherly pride in Dean’s eyes, in his smile. It makes you smile too. You too love Sam like a brother, and it brings a well of happy tears to your eyes to watch him have his moment with his new wife.

It just also reminds you of what you need to do.

After the ceremony ends and the bridal party files out behind the bride and groom, you excuse yourself from Benny apologetically. You wait until Lisa and Jo go off to take pictures with Sam and Eileen, and you grab Dean’s wrist, pulling him aside.

“I need to talk to you,” you whisper.

Dean gives you a confused look. “They’re gonna need us for the pictures.”

“I know, but this is important,” you say. Your voice trembles with nerves, and so do your hands. Dean notices, frowning in concern. He grasps your arm to try and steady you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Just come with me,” you implore him. You take his hand and lead him into the women’s dressing room attached to the church sanctuary you all just came out of.

Dean raises his brows at the mess you and the rest of the bridesmaids have made of the room—pantyhose and makeup and clothing litter the floor and most available surfaces, while leftover breakfast sandwiches, grapes, salami, and cheddar cheese cubes are splayed out across one of the vanity counters. Dean is tempted to steal a morsel, but he focuses on you first.

You close and lock the door, which makes his brows raise high again. You know he has a girlfriend now, right?

“Uhh, look, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but—”

You heave a sigh. Again, you take his hand and guide him to sit with you at the vanity. The old stools squeak, the overhead lights a bit too bright. This is not where you want to do this, but you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Dean, I’m pregnant,” you confess.

He freezes. His breath stills in his lungs. His eyes slowly widen as the words click in his brain.

“What?” His head tilts, as if he didn’t hear you right.

You squeeze his hand; to ground him or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I’m about two months pregnant. I found out last week.”

Dean swipes his free hand over his mouth while he tries to compute. He squeezes your hand, tighter and tighter. He points to himself.

“It’s…it’s me? It’s mine?”

You give him a weary smile. “You’re the only one I’ve been with in the last few months. It could only be you.”

Oh fuck. The man’s face begins to pale as he descends into shock.

“But we…I used a condom,” he reasons. “All the—all the times!”

You bite your lip. If you weren’t freaking the fuck out yourself, you’d probably be laughing right now. Granted, you’ve had a bit more time to process this than Dean.

“I know, I was there,” you reply, releasing yet another sigh. “One of them probably broke. That’s all I can think of… Honestly, Dean, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just didn’t want to disrupt the ceremony or cause a scene before the wedding. But now you know.”

Dean falls silent then. He hasn’t let go of your hand, which you think is a decent sign. He’s likely forgotten that you’re still holding it as he stares off into the middle distance for several seconds.

Eventually, he shakes his head and returns his gaze to yours. He looks uncertain, his handsome face the true epitome of holy fucking shit.

You know the feeling.

But he asks the most important question.

“What do you want to do?”

Briefly you close your eyes as you take a breath. You squeeze his hand before you let go of him.

“I’ve thought about this a lot, and…I’m keeping the baby,” you tell him, though you raise placating hands. “I don’t want money, or anything like that. I just wanted you to know that it’s yours. How much you want to be in his or—or her life, that’s up to you.”

Dean takes a beat before he answers, but you don’t have to wait so long holding your breath.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll help you. Don’t worry,” he says.

And just like that, all the time you spent giving yourself pep talks for this, telling yourself that you’ll need to be strong no matter what he says, all of it crumbles into relief. Your lower lip trembles, and your body shudders as you break into tears. You try covering your face to hide your shame, but Dean grasps your shoulders.

“Hey, hey. It’s all right,” he says. He tentatively pulls you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You nod into his dress shirt, probably staining him with your running makeup.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you so much.”

He holds you a bit tighter in response.

You and Dean agree to keep this to yourselves for now, at least until Sam and Eileen get back from their honeymoon. It’s difficult to explain why your eyes are all red and your makeup is smudged, but you promise Sam that you’ll tell him later. You know it’s pointless to lie to him though. As a future lawyer, his bullshit meter is far too high.

However, you also know that he’s half guessed it by the time you all make it to the reception. When you and Dean came out of that dressing room to join the bridal party for pictures, you're sure that you looked emotionally wrecked. Dean had looked pale as a sheet, his body coiled and tense, as willing himself to seem normal. Sam had clocked both of you with a raise of his brow, but he didn't say anything then, especially after you gave him a pleading look.

While Eileen greets her family without him for a moment, Sam pulls you aside. He notes your glass of diet coke, in a moderate sea of guests drinking champagne and cocktails.

“Are you okay?” he asks knowingly.

Tears well up in your eyes again. You don’t know if it’s your damn hormones going haywire, or just the way Sam asks you, with the love of a friend in his eyes. He squeezes your shoulder gently, prompting you with your name.

“Yeah, I think I will be,” you say.

"Is it the same reason you're not drinking?" he asks. "You and Dean earlier..."

You hesitantly confirm with a nod. Sam blows out a harsh sigh, raising folded hands to his mouth as he processes. You begin to look around on reflex, trying to see if anyone's watching you and Sam have this conversation in the middle of the reception. To your relief, everyone around you seems occupied with drinks, hours d'oeuvres and conversation.

“What did he say when you told him?” Sam asks. His gaze is firmer. You get the idea that if he doesn’t like what you tell him, then he’s about to go grab his brother by the ear himself.

You grab his wrist and give a placating squeeze. “He said he's going to help me, be there for me.”

“Damn right. So will I,” Sam nods, and glances back at Eileen, his new bride, with a smile. “We both will.”

“I know,” you nod as well. “I’ll be okay, Sam. You don’t have to worry so much. Just enjoy your wedding day. It’s the only one you’re gonna get. Well, you know…hopefully.”

You tease him with a wink.

Sam laughs, cupping your cheek. He kisses your other cheek.

“I love you, you know that right?” he says.

You give him a trembling smile through your tears.

Meanwhile, Dean has a beautiful woman in his arms. He turns Lisa on the dancefloor, trying not to trip on his own dress shoes, all the while knowing that his brain isn’t here in his body. It’s across the ballroom, watching you talk to Sam. Dean can tell that he knows, just in his Big Bird body language. He’d also recognize that accompanying Bitch Face anywhere.

“Dean, what’s wrong,” Lisa asks him, and not for the first time. She’s getting annoyed, he can tell. She finally looks over to where he keeps glancing, and she notices you with a frown. It’s also not the first time she’s caught him staring at you tonight.

“What was that earlier in the dressing room? She didn’t really get food poisoning, did she?” she asks pointedly. “What, did you two used to date or something?”

He gives a wan smile. “Yeah, kinda. We…had a thing once.”

“What kind of thing?”

Dean closes his eyes and tries to keep himself calm. He’s pretty sure if he tells her the truth right now, she’s going to find the nearest cocktail and dump it over his head.

But shit, here it goes.

“Well…”

After a long day at school, you drive over to Dean’s apartment. You’d agreed to meet there and wait for him to get off his shift at Firehouse 83, where he just started as a full-fledged firefighter on probation. When he gets home, he’s supposed to go with you to an important appointment with your OB-GYN. 

You were hoping he’d already be done with work by the time you got to his place, but Lisa's there to open the door for you. Apparently, he’d already given her a key.

Moving kind of fast, but okay, you think. A second later, you could’ve rolled your eyes at yourself. Pot, kettle, me. Got it.

Lisa greets you with a “polite” smile at best, but she does offer you water at least. You really can’t blame her for not liking you though. She found out her boyfriend got another woman pregnant right before he started dating her. Really, she has more balls than you for staying with him. You wouldn't put it past Dean to somehow have smooth-talked her into giving him a chance.

Or she really loves him. The thought sobers you as you lower yourself down to the couch beside her. Both of you sit there in silence for a moment, trying to figure out something to talk about.

“So, you’re what, six months pregnant?” she asks.

You correct her in thinly veiled annoyance. “Three months, actually.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know why I thought it was six.”

You have a feeling her awkward chuckle is fake, however. She knew good and damn well that you’re not six months pregnant. In her eyes, you must be the size of a parade float. 

“If you want, I can recommend a holistic diet to help you get your body back after the baby’s born,” Lisa offers. “No pills, no chemicals. Just good clean weight loss.”

You feign interest. Honestly, you’d like her to cram that offer right up her hooch.

“I can even give you a discount if you want to try out yoga,” she says. “It’s low impact, but you burn plenty of calories. I have a beginner’s class, not too strenuous. Even my least flexible clients manage to do the poses.”

Is that why Dean likes you? Because you’re bendy? Bet if I sat on you, you’d pop like a fucking balloon.

You hide all of these thoughts behind a “polite” smile of your own.

“That’s really nice of you, thanks,” you reply. It’s non-committal enough, but hopefully it’ll get her off your back.

No such luck.

“You know, maintaining a healthy diet is really important for the baby’s health too,” Lisa adds. “It’s not just about avoided raw fish and dairy products. Oh, and processed food is obviously a no-go. Like, I’m sure you haven’t been hitting Taco Bell and all that stuff, right?”

As a matter of fact, you’ve been eating clean since long before you got pregnant. Not that it’s any business of hers whether you enjoy the occasional quesadilla or not.

Your temper snaps at its leash. You open your mouth to reply, when the front door unlocks and opens to Dean, stepping in through the threshold.

Thank God, you and Lisa both think. She gets up quicker from the couch than you, greeting her boyfriend with a kiss. You avert your gaze while you begin to get up yourself.

Dean reaches out to help you, grasping your arm in support. You shoot him a smile.

“I can still get up by myself,” you snip.

“Yeah, all right. Just in case,” he says with a smile. “Ready to go?”

“Oh, yeah. Let’s rock and roll,” you say, trying to hide your worsening mood. You’re exhausted, and irritated, and probably more than a little hangry. Except now, the idea of food just has you feeling guilty for even being hungry.

“Bye, hun. Hope you have a good appointment,” Lisa says, giving your shoulder a pat. You give her the most genuine smile you can muster as you thank her. It's possibly that she's one of those women who don't realize when they're being cunty, but you find it highly unlikely. She's too smart for that.

You follow Dean out the door and over to his car, big and black and sleek as you remember. You settle into the passenger seat with your arms crossed in silence. Dean switches the cassette to one of his favorite Led Zeppelin albums, though he notices your grumpy face.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

You give him some side-eye, but you’re reluctant to say anything. You just shake your head. As irritated as you are, you don’t want to be the friend who badmouths his girlfriend.

God, are we even friends? You wonder. Or am I just his knocked-up baby momma?

And again, you realize that this whole situation is probably hard for Lisa. You just don’t know if she’s jealous, or if she just…doesn’t like you.

“I’m okay,” you tell Dean.

He raises a skeptical brow. Looks like Sam isn’t the only one with a finely tuned bullshit meter.

“All right, how about this,” Dean says. “Let’s grab some burgers after this, huh? From your favorite spot. Shake Shack, right? Side of fries, frozen yogurt. I think I’ll get chocolate this time… Hmm, I doubt Lisa will want anything. She’s gone on an all-vegan kick or something.”

For one shining moment, you were happy and touched at his consideration. But now your body stills in your seat when you remember Lisa’s words. Tears well up in your eyes with a hot sting, and a sob escapes your throat.

Dean is cut off from thinking about getting extra bacon on his burger. He looks over at you in alarm. “H-Hey, what’s the matter?”

You scoff at him through your tears. “Are you kidding me? I can’t eat burgers anymore, Dean. I was already fucking fat. Now it’s just gonna get ridiculous.”

“What?” Dean’s brows knit together in confusion, along with his deepening frown. It gets worse as he tries to watch the road ahead, while at the same time, watching you continue to crumble.

“And after the birth, I’m just going to be an even fatter slob who can’t take care of her baby,” you sniffle and weep, trying in vain to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself.

Dean grits his teeth, his jaw twitching. Fuck it.

He turns the steering wheel sharp enough to startle a gasp out of you.

“Dean!”

He pulls the car over onto the side of the road, ignoring the honking SUV behind him. He shifts into Park and shuts off the radio—a big red flag, in your opinion. He’s upset too, and fucking serious, more so than you’ve ever seen him. You stare back at him with wide eyes.

“I’ve never once heard you say that you’re fat,” he says.

You blink at that, but eventually, you’re able to get your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth. You wipe the remnants of tears from your cheeks. Your face is already hot from your upset, now tinged with embarrassment.

“You haven’t known me very long,” you say quietly.

It doesn’t help. Dean’s jaw ticks again.

“Well, I’ve never thought it. Not even once,” he says. His jade green eyes are firmly set on yours, and he gestures between you and him with a pointed finger. “The reason you and I are here right now, is because the minute I saw you, I wanted you.”

One corner of his lips kicks upwards. “And that night, you didn’t disappoint.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. You don’t know how to respond, but you do know that a full blush is warming your face and neck. His words have power, and unbidden, they bloom a similar warmth between your legs. You swallow a bit nervously as you bite your bottom lip.

Dean glances down at your mouth when you do. He can remember what your pretty mouth did for him that night. Oh, he remembers all too well. He even had the shade of your lipstick streaked across his skin until he showered up at the firehouse.

He locks that all away when shifts the car back into Drive. If you’re going to make it to this appointment on time, he needs to get going.

And you both have to leave whatever that was right here by the side of the road.

AN: Woo! 😮‍💨 Yep, this is only Part 1, friends. Lisa is a bit different in this. My take was that without Ben in her life, she might be less mature and a bit more catty. As we get into Part 2 I'll leave it up to you to decide why she decides to stay with Dean, and perhaps more importantly, where the reader and Dean can go from here as co-parents. 🤔

If you enjoyed Part 1, please let me know!~

Next Time in Part 2:

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look, I…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours, and achingly familiar.

⋆˙⟡ Keep Reading: Part 2

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[little-diable]

Hollow Bones - Dean Winchester

I am finally back from my trip and desperately needed to write something for Dean! And I just had to use this Mark gif, I ain't sorry. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader has always been guarded around Dean, keeping just enough distance to protect her heart. But sometimes even (y/n) can't mend the cracks in the walls, only Dean can.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, shower sex, slight angst, jealousy, dom!Dean, slight possessiveness, friends to lovers

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (2.5k words)

Exhaustion stuck to her bones and muscles, not daring to let go of her as if it was a child scared of being alone. She couldn’t shake it off, couldn’t part from it as they drove past yet another welcome sign. 

By now the houses all looked the same, the stores all sold the same things, and the air was always thick and heavy wherever they went. The leather seat she had claimed as hers years ago had been shaped to her frame, expecting her to find rest on the backseat every single week. 

Even though this hunt was different because Sam had decided to stay back, it still followed the same pattern. It always did. And (y/n) couldn’t shake her annoyance and tiredness any longer, forcing her to shift in her seat at every turn Dean took. She tried to keep her eyes from wandering towards him, knowing that it wasn’t fair to direct her uncomfortableness towards him. 

She didn’t speak up as the Impala left the main road, didn’t protest as Dean turned down the music, only allowed herself to speak as he drove towards a motel, “Didn’t you want to visit the hospital first?”

“You need sleep and food. We can’t risk you getting careless while we are out there.” Dean kept his voice quiet as if he was scared he’d rip her out of her state. She didn’t reply, only let go of a grateful hum while her heart began to clench in her chest. It had been weird between the two of them for the past days, ever since their last hunt where Dean had spent his night out with a woman from town for the first time in weeks and (y/n) hadn’t been able to swallow her hurt any longer.

What she was feeling had nothing to do with Dean, and yet it had everything to do with him, on a deeper level at least. She had been hurting for years, swallowing down whatever she was feeling for Dean to try and protect her heavily guarded heart. For years she had built a wall around the strong muscle, not daring to break down the bricks she clung to. But every building had its weak spots, and Dean’s wandering eyes had always been hers, forcing the walls to slowly crack.  

“Wait here, I’ll get us a room.” (Y/n) watched Dean enter the reception, she could study him through the wide windows, allowing her to study the oblivious hunter. She knew he didn’t see through her facade, all too used to the unemotional features staring at him whenever they were working together. She knew he didn’t pick up on the subtle shifts in her behaviour just yet and how she searched for the comfort of the hours where she was all alone. But time wasn’t her friend, she knew Dean would eventually notice how she distanced herself, forcing (y/n) to come clean with what she was fighting against. 

Dean returned to Baby a few minutes later, opening her door while mumbling the room number before reaching for their bags. Wordlessly she followed him with tired limbs, entering the room after Dean only to stand frozen in the hallway of the room. It was an open room, with one big bed placed in the middle, and a shower and sink which was hidden behind a milky glass.

Heat wandered up her spine as her thoughts pictured Dean taking a shower, offering just enough of his body to make her heart race in her chest. (Y/n) only shook her head while taking another step towards the bed, eyes watching Dean plop down on it with a sigh. His eyes fluttered close, arms crossed behind his head, offering a glimpse of his muscles fighting against the tightness of his flannel. 

“I’ll take a quick shower.” (Y/n) mumbled the words – words Dean only nodded at without opening his eyes. She reached for new clothes before disappearing behind the milky glass, and then she froze again. Her gaze was stuck to the glass, seeing Dean’s frame through it, and even though she couldn’t make out any details, she knew he’d see enough of her if he opened his eyes. 

Slowly she turned towards the shower to start it, watching the water fall to the ground while her trembling fingers pulled her shirt over her head. Her senses were fully focused on Dean, she could hear him shift around on the bed, but she didn’t turn towards him. A part of her hoped he was watching her, feeding into the need she felt deep inside of her, but another part knew well enough she needed to get rid of thoughts and hopes like these. 

With her clothes pooling on the cold floor, (y/n) stepped into the shower with a sigh. The water cascaded down her back, clinging to her trembling frame. Something inside of her switched, forcing tears to well up in her eyes and her hand to cover her mouth before a sob could echo through the shower. Her body was trembling, shaking with every cry trying to rip through her body. 

She felt pathetic for giving into the emotions flushing through her body, for being unable to stop herself from shaking as if she was being buried in icy waves. The shower tiles were cold against her shoulders, she pressed herself against them to keep her balance, all while desperately trying to stop the tears from rolling. 

“(Y/n)? Is everything alright?” Dean’s voice cut through the thick air, forcing goosebumps to rise on her skin. She couldn’t reply, didn’t find the strength to work through the tightness in her throat. “Sweetheart?”

Dean’s frame appeared in front to the shower, eyes finding her glassy ones. They stared at one another for a few moments, moments where her hand lost its strength to muffle her sobs, allowing the sounds to echo through the shower. Without speaking another word, Dean shuffled out of his clothes, exposing himself to her widening eyes as he stepped into the shower. 

Instantly, his arms found their way around her body, hand finding the back of her head to press her face against the crook of his neck. She shook against him, clung to Dean as if he was a lifeline saving her from drowning in the sadness which buzzed through her body like lightning hitting her over and over again. 

“I got you, sweetheart, shh.” Dean’s hand stroked up and down her spine, pressing her even closer to him as if any space was left between them. She didn’t dare let go, soaked up every passing second while calming down and finally getting a grip on her shaking system. 

“I’m sorry.” (Y/n) mumbled the words against his skin, words which made Dean tighten his hold on her. 

“You don’t have to be sorry, not for feeling something. What happened, sweetheart?” He gently tugged her face away from his neck, eyes staring down at her. His hand had settled on her waist, thumb rubbing circles into her skin to try and keep grounding her. 

“I,” a shaky exhale left her. (Y/n) got lost in his concerned eyes, filled with a green so deep she wondered if he had ever looked at her like that before. “I think everything is just too much for me at the moment. But you don’t have to worry about me, I got it.”

“I always worry about you.” A scoff left her, a sound so sharp (y/n) almost winced at it. Dean’s thumb stopped moving, eyebrows furrowed while he tried to dissect her reaction. “Have I done something? Is this about me?”

“Drop it, Dean, please.” She tried to free herself from his grasp, but there was no way out of this conversation. Dean didn’t let her escape, didn’t give her a chance to move away as something flushed through his eyes she could only describe as anger. 

“No, I ain’t playing this game with you. What is going on? If I did something I deserve the chance to make it right.” Her tongue kissed her teeth, mind racing while she weighed her options. She deeply inhaled, hands finding his forearms as if she was trying to push him away, but she didn’t move, not yet at least. 

“How long will you keep me around? When will you get bored of me and decide to string one of those girls along you seem to pick up like trophies?” The words were sharp, cold, no longer dripping with the sadness she had exposed moments ago. Dean was undoubtedly hurt by the words, jaw muscles tensing as he finally let go of her, hands dropped to his side. 

“Is this what you think of me? You think I’d drop you for some girl I couldn’t care less about? How many times have I saved your life? How many times have I stitched you up? Would I do any of that if I wouldn’t care?” The words made her tense, eyes no longer able to keep contact. Her body began to move, turning away from him as if she was trying to leave the shower, but Dean was quicker. His hand found the back of her neck to pull (y/n) back against his chest. “I won’t let you run from this, be honest for once.”

“You’re a miserable liar, Dean. You don’t care about me, you care about disappointing whoever has enough pity to listen in, that’s all. Don’t stand there and act as if I am more to you than I truly am.” He turned her towards him with more strength than needed, forcing her back against the wall while his lips found hers for a bruising kiss. 

It took (y/n) a second to move, to reply to the kiss with her hands finding his wet hair, fingers tugging on his roots. The kiss was messy, teeth and tongues, bodies pressed together to communicate the words neither of them had ever dared to speak before. 

“You’re everything to me, don’t push me away because you’re scared. Not me, sweetheart.” Dean whispered the words against her lips, words she couldn’t reply to. She kissed him again, hands moving down his muscular chest to settle beneath his navel, all too aware of the path both were about to stumble onto. “I won’t touch you before you tell me the truth, (y/n).”

“I can’t be another name on your list, Dean. You’re it for me, and I won’t risk getting hurt.” She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the momentarily silence wash over them. Dean’s hand found her throat, thumb settling on her chin to tilt her head back up towards him, only to kiss her again.

“I won’t hurt you, sweetheart. Let yourself fall, just this once and put your trust in me.” She could only nod, trying to drown out the protesting thoughts which faded into nothingness as his calloused fingertips stroked over her wet skin. A gasp left her the second he circled her hardening nipples, eyes watching his fingers explore her skin. 

Her hands began to move too, finding his twitching cock to slowly wrap her fingers around him. Both moaned in unison as she began to pump him while he found her heat, fingers circling her pulsing bundle. Being touched by Dean felt like being ripped from this life to be offered a new chance, something so beautiful and calming she couldn’t even put it into words.

“I once promised myself I’d do this properly, at least on a bed.” He pressed the words past his teeth, making her chuckle while tightening her grip on him. Both were high on the sounds the other made, giving room to the sensations they had been dreaming of for years. “But I can’t wait any longer.” 

Dean picked her up without another warning, only to press her against the tiles once again. Her heart was racing, pulse climbing higher and higher as he brushed the tip of his cock through her wet folds, “You’re on the pill right?”

(Y/n) nodded her head, words stolen right from her mouth as he pushed into her. Her forehead fell against his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut, lungs burning from the way she held her breath. Dean pushed deeper and deeper, groaning whenever her walls clenched around him, undoubtedly trying to relish in the moment before he’d properly take care of her.

“That’s it, sweetheart, look at you taking me so well.” Dean panted the words as he began to fuck her against the wall. She clung to him, fingernails buried in his skin to keep herself pressed to Dean as he gave them both what they were aching for. She was dripping for him, allowing Dean to fuck her faster with every passing thrust, searching for a high both wouldn’t ever forget. 

“I’ve been stupid, so fucking stupid for keeping myself from touching you. But you’re mine now, won’t let another guy even look at you again.” His words made her moan, walls clenching around him once again. “I’ll kill whoever dares to come close to you.”

“Dean,” she choked on his name, feeling him so deep inside of her, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was imagining all of this. “Just like that, right there.”

She would feel him for days, struggling to let go of her thoughts circling around this very moment. He fucked her with just enough pressure to push her closer towards the edge with every ferocious thrust. Dean was everywhere, surrounding her like a fog forcing her deeper and deeper into its grasp until there was nothing left but him. 

“Cum for me, sweetheart, show me how pretty you look when you cum on my cock.” Her breath hitched in her chest as he fucked the spot which made her see stars. She came moments later, teeth grazing his skin as she pressed her mouth to his shoulder. 

Dean kept fucking her, hips snapping against hers over and over again until he came himself. He let go with a groan, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut. She struggled to keep her eyes open, but she needed to look at him with her head drawn back and her walls still fluttering around him. 

“Shit, you’re perfect, (y/n).” Dean pulled out of her to carefully set her back down. She clung to him as her limbs shook from the intensity of her orgasm, unable to support herself alone. He didn’t dare let go of her as he cleaned her, hands touching her soft skin while pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You know I don’t break my promises, not when it comes to you, right?”

“I know. I trust you, Dean.” Her lips found his again, sharing a slower kiss to seal their promise made in the foggy shower with still racing hearts and prickling skin.

[ferventdevourer]

"hey, dean?"

"yeah sammy?"

"would you still love me if i was a worm?"

the car is quiet as dean's eyebrows furrow, incredulity written all over his face. he wants to turn and look at sam, really look at him, because what the fuck kinda question was that?

but he keeps his eyes trained on the road, because there's no way in hell he'd be able to look at sam and not laugh his ass off after somethin' like that. shit, he'd probably crash the car if that happened.

so yeah. no lookin' at sammy. not right now, at least.

"c'mon de, just answer the question! would you still love me if i was a worm, yes or no?"

"sammy, what type of ass backwards question even is that? what, are you afraid of becomin' a bug or somethin'?"

sammy sighs and turns away, the rustle of his clothes followed by the loud crunch of dead leaves.

...what?

dean finally pries his eyes away from the road, only to be met with the sight of dead trees all around him. he tries to hit the breaks, but then realizes that he's not even in the impala anymore. his legs fuckin' ache, like he's been walkin' for hours, but he's more concerned about finding his brother.

"sam? sammy?! where the hell didja go?!"

he's frantic, eyes wide and darting from tree to tree, waiting to see even a hint of soft brown hair, a peek of long legs waiting just around the corner.

"would you still love me if i was a worm?"

it comes from directly behind dean, and he whirls around, only to have his face slam into a gravestone. his nose hurts now too, blood trickling out of both nostrils after having slammed into the damn thing with a sickening crunch.

a quick glance down forces him to a stop, tears welling up in his eyes that have nothing to do with the pain tearing through his face.

'Samuel William 'Sam' Winchester'

'May 2, 1983 — 20XX'

tears start pouring down his face, an anguished sob leaving dean as he drops to his knees. he refuses to believe that sammy, his sammy, his precious baby brother that he's spent countless taking care of, is dead.

and yet, he claws at the headstone, then the dirt, fighting to see the younger winchester a final time.

"sammy," he sobs out, chest heaving as he forces his way through dry, tightly packed earth with nothing but his bare hands. "sammy, baby, please, you can't leave me, you can't—"

his vision's all blurry with tears, but he doesn't miss the first sliver of greyed-out skin, nor the second and third. he claws at the earth like a madman until all of sam is uncovered. whoever buried him is a fuckin' asshole; they didn't give his baby a casket, just tossed him into the pit they'd dug, naked as the day he was born.

dean barely has time to jerk his head away before he's vomiting, the endless rush of bile bringing with it a sense of dread. once the flow's stopped, he pries open his eyes.

he and sam are face to face, half-rotted flesh ghosting over healthy, lively skin. both of sam's eyes are missing, replaced with pools of worms and beetles that have burrowed so deep into sam that there's no way of getting them out without hurting sammy too.

a skeletal hand grips the back of dean's head, stopping him from jerking away like he wants to. if anything, it's pulling him closer, forcing exposed teeth to press against chapped lips, the bugs writhing in sam's eye sockets caressing dean's eyes and cheeks.

"would you still love me if i was a worm?"

the words echo in his brain while dean begs and pleads for his little brother to come back to him, but all he gets for his efforts is a sharp tug on his hair that sends him tumbling inside of sam, the weight of his body crushing rotten flesh and hollowed out bones with a sickening squelch that leaves him retching all over again, all over his beautiful sammy.

the stench of death and decay nearly fizzes out his brains, and as he's swallowed whole by rancid flesh and hungry bugs, all he can think is that he's glad he got to follow sam, in the end.

───── ⋆⋅♱⋅⋆ ─────

dean bolts upright with a gasp, eyes stinging with sweat and tears. he feels like he dreamt somethin' important, but each frantic beat of his heart's enough to drown out any thoughts of his nightmare. there's a groan from across the room, a soft click, and then light floods the cramped space, drawing his gaze towards it.

"dean? what the hell man, it's like... early as hell. you okay over there?"

for a good while, there's no response; just the sound of the two of them breathing. it's almost enough to lull sam back into the land of dreams, but something tells him to stay awake just a little longer.

for dean.

eventually he answers, a hoarse "yeah, 'm good," and then flops back down. sam, still watching his older brother like a hawk, can see the glassy quality of dean's eyes, and it makes his heart ache something fierce.

before he can change his mind, he crawls out of his bed and into dean's, plopping his face right on top of sweat-damp skin and breathing in his brother's scent. strong arms wrap around him as soon as he's settled, keeping him so close that it's a little hard to breathe.

he doesn't mind, though. he can tell that dean needs this, needs him, so he'll give him what he needs. if john wakes up and finds them tangled together, he'll definitely give 'em hell, but they'll deal with it when it happens.

"better?"

"yeah. thanks, sammy."

"anytime, de."

wrapped up in dean's arms, he's already starting to drift back to sleep. just before darkness takes over, he feels a wet, shaky kiss to his forehead.

"i love you."

i love you too, de.

[noxemma]

Parts 1&2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 |

@colorlessjay thank you so much for the awesome story idea and the inspiration for the title, I really dig the idea of a romance in reverse (I'm not a phenomenal artist but this came to me in a vision, so I had to give it a go 😂). Hopefully you enjoy this next installment (Cas POV this time) as much as the last ones

---

Steering through the Rearview: A Romance in Reverse

First comes love a kid(napping), then comes a marriage ... Yeah, they're definitely doing things in the wrong order, but maybe, if they're lucky, they can figure out how to reverse their way into something real.

---

Castiel takes the hint when Dean turns up the music. Not that he minds; he's not sure what had possessed him to say those words to Dean.

That's not entirely true, Castiel mentally chastises himself. Dean's words may have been gruff and stained with anger, but his eyes. His eyes had been sad and full of ... Caged hope? No, that doesn't sound quite right. It's not caged exactly, more like ... Castiel looks at Dean, searching for the right words to describe the beautiful and complicated man beside him.

Dean must feel him staring because he darts a quick, nervous smile his way. Hobbled, maybe. Unable to run free, but still wild and wanting inside.

"What? Do I have somethin' on my face?" Dean asks, turning the music down and letting out a chuckle that sounds forced.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare, I just got ... lost in thought," Castiel rushes to explain, trying to will the heat back down that he feels rushing to his cheeks. "Sam's written several stories about traveling. Lovely pieces full of nostalgia and wonder. I assume those were trips taken in this car, with you and your father?" "Uh," Dean starts, one hand coming off the wheel to rub at the back of his neck. A nervous habit, Castiel is quickly learning. "Yeah. I guess they must be. This was the most stable home we had for a good chunk of our childhood." Dean shoots a glance at Castiel, magnificent green eyes wide, like he's confessed something he shouldn't have, or didn't mean to. "That would make sense, then," Castiel responds with a warm smile that he hopes is reassuring.

He understands not wanting to talk about rocky childhoods. Or fathers, for that matter. So, while Dean's admission only stokes his already blazing curiosity about the man, he forces himself to let it go and let whatever band Dean has playing take over the conversation. To his surprise, Dean doesn't take the out, choosing instead to continue talking.

"Uh, Sam told me he, um, well, whenever I agreed to this, he told me that he wrote a lot about our childhood for your class. He also said you were ridiculously smart, so you'd probably be able to put some stuff together." Dean's not looking at him, but Castiel can see his hands tighten on the wheel and his shoulders tense. "He did," Castiel admits. "Although it is a creative writing class so I can't be sure how much is real and how much is fictional. But, well, we tend to write what we know. I try not to read too much into them, unless of course I'm worried a student might harm themselves or someone else. However, one story of his in particular does stand out."

"Yeah?" Dean's answer is breathless and high, compressed fear dampening the sound.

"It was about a boy and his brother and their father. They lived on the road, chasing down supernatural entities, trying to get revenge for their dead mother," Castiel tells him slowly, verbally approaching with his hands raised to show he means no harm. "It was really wonderful, best in the entire class, though I'm sure it was written with a heavy dose of creative license. Or did you really hunt monsters across the United States?"

Dean lets out a whoosh of air, relaxing back into the seat and letting color come back into his knuckles. "No. And, yes, kind of. Man, Sam has one hell of an imagination," Dean lets out a relieved laugh before continuing. "Mom died just a few months after Sam was born. House fire, or well, arson. The guy they think did it was a criminal who skipped out on his bail, but the police could never track him down. I think that's part of the reason why Sam is going into criminal law. Anyway, Dad took it hard and became a bounty hunter. It gave him a sense of purpose and resources to work on Mom's case in his spare time, for a little while anyway. But, as the years went by, and the leads went cold, he started taking comfort in a bottle. He was drunk when he totaled Baby. Nearly killed Sam and I." "You were in the car with him? How old were you?" Castiel manages to bite his tongue after the second question escapes his lips. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry." "Nah, it's okay. It's practically ancient history now. I was seventeen, Sam was thirteen. Dad kept insisting he was fine to drive, and I tried to argue. And I know I should have tried harder, or hidden his keys or something but, but there was just no getting through to him when he got that way ..." Dean's eyes go far away and Castiel is pretty sure he's seeing something other than the road. His jaw clenches and he gulps before he blinks, eyes refocusing. "Anyway, can't change the past. Sam was in the backseat, so he was the least hurt, which was a fucking miracle." "And you?" Castiel breathes, riveted and horrified as more pieces of Sam's writing slot into place; the pretty paint facade of fiction washing away from the story, revealing the uglier truth behind it. Dean rubs his neck again, hesitating before admitting, "I was in the hospital for over a week. Bobby and his wife Karen fostered us until I turned eighteen. Gave me a job at his junkyard and taught me how to be a mechanic. Helped me get my GED and paid for me to go to trade school and get my ASE certification. Not to mention he helped me petition the state for custody of Sam once I had full-time employment and an apartment in my name." Before he realizes what he's doing, Castiel's hand is on Dean's knee, squeezing reassuringly as he says, "I'm so sorry, Dean. No child should have to go through that. I'm glad you had someone like Bobby to help you." "Thanks, Cas. Me too. But, like I said, it's all ancient history now." They both know he's lying but Cas doesn't call him on it because he's too busy trying to remain calm when Dean lowers his hand to cover his own.

"Cas?" Castiel asks, cursing how breathy his voice sounds and pulling his hand slowly back into his own space before he does something irrational like skipping the wedding and just driving around for the next few days. "You've called me that a few times now."

"Yeah. Cas. You know, the shortened version of your name or, as it's more commonly known: a nickname," Dean rolls his eyes, laughing like Cas has made some great joke. He stops when Cas just stares at him in confusion. "Hang on, has no one really ever called you that before?" "Um. No?" Dean's mouth drops open, and he stares at Cas in the passenger seat for long enough that Cas is worried they might start to drift off the road if he doesn't snap him out of it. "My parents were, um, very formal and ... strict," Cas explains quickly, pitching his voice high in a poor imitation of Naomi, "'Castiel, if I wanted you to be called something else, I would have put it on your birth certificate.'" Dean let's out a snort and the cold dread, which had begun squeezing its icy fist around Cas' chest at the memory of the woman who gave birth to him, recedes at the sound. "Seriously? Man, I can't imagine if I had to run around calling Sam 'Samuel' for the rest of his life. What kind of name is Castiel anyway? European?"

"Biblical. My parents were also extremely religious. They named all of us after angels. Michael, Gabriel, Lucifer." "Damn, and here I was feeling bad about myself for being named after my grandmother, Deanna. Although at least you aren't Lucifer. Does he really go by that?"

"He went by Nick until he died few years ago. Or at least that's what Gabriel told me," Cas admits.

Dean shoots him another look but doesn't press. Instead, he mimics Cas' action from earlier, right hand coming off the wheel to squeeze his leg. He knows the action is supposed to be comforting, but knowing doesn't stop the heat sizzling up his veins.

Cas closes his eyes to fight against the feeling. It doesn't help; green eyes and freckles emblazon against the back of his eyelids.

How long has it been since someone, besides Charlie or my students or Jack, touched me, intentionally? Months? Years?

Cas stifles a groan. Because it doesn't matter. It's clearly been long enough that his body is responding disproportionately, and he has to stop it. Now. So, he starts talking about the one thing he knows for sure will kill any errant desire he's feeling.

"My parents disowned me when I came out to them. Gabriel is the only one who still speaks to me. He would have probably been disowned too if he hadn't kept the family name and become so successful so quickly. This wedding is actually the first time I'll be seeing any of them beside him in well over a decade now." "Shit, sorry, Cas," Dean blurts before chewing his lip and darting more glances his way, clearly debating something. "You can ask whatever it is you're wondering," Cas encourages, welcoming the distraction. "Uh, why are you going to this wedding then? I mean, I get that they're family, but well, to quote Bobby, 'family don't end in blood. And it don't start there either.'"

The voice Dean puts on when quoting his surrogate father wrings a laugh out of Cas and the dangerous heat of attraction is replaced with an equally dangerous, though less embarrassing, warmth centered father up his body.

"I'm getting the idea that Bobby was a very wise man. But, to answer your question: I'm going because Jack is actually my biological nephew. I was friends with Kelly, his mother, and I raised him like my own when she died from complications shortly after giving birth. She never put Lucifer on his birth certificate and her parents never contested her choice to name me his as his godfather and legal guardian. But, somehow, Naomi and Chuck have found out about him, and they are threatening to petition for custody of him if I don't show up."

"Why? On what grounds?" Dean explodes, barely contained fury adding a growl to the words that sends a tingle up his spine and forces him to shift in his seat. "I'm a single father and a man who wouldn't be able to afford the house I'm living in if it wasn't paid for by my more successful brother, and gay on top of that," Cas ticks off, "Plus a few others, I'm sure."

Dean stays silent, but rage radiates off him in heavy waves. Cas is just about to try and call off the whole ridiculous idea, sure Dean will agree now that he knows what he'll be up against, when Dean's face brightens and he pins Cas with a wild stare, stealing the breath he was about to use to speak.

"Hey, Cas. How do you feel about being fiancés?"

Cas, ever a pillar of grace and decorum, chokes on his own spit.

"Shit, sorry. You're Sam's favorite professor and I'm pretty sure he can kill me without leaving a trace, so please don't die!"

"Why-" Cas starts, coughing and gasping a few more times before managing to get the rest of the question out, "Why would you want to be my fiancé?" "Well, you're gorgeous and kind for one, so who wouldn't want to be your fiancé," Dean says with a wink at him and Cas is grateful that his face is already red from nearly choking to death on his own saliva. "But I was thinking, we were already going to pretend to be boyfriends, right? So why not go for gold? We can knock off at least two of those reasons you mentioned. I practically raised Sam so I'm no stranger to the whole parent thing. We become fiancés and suddenly you're a two parent, dual income household. I mean, I'm not rolling in wealth by any means, but I do okay enough, though most of the money I make doing restorations goes to helping Sam out with tuition, but they don't need to know that."

"But we don't know anything about each other, how would we be able to convince my parents that we're planning on getting married?" Cas challenges, not quite daring to hope that they might have a chance at pulling this off. "Well, we've got approximately five hours to figure it out. Plenty of time, plus we already know a lot about each other." Cas tilts his head and opens his mouth, but Dean answers his question before it can escape.

"You know that I have a younger brother who I raised, that I work as a mechanic and a car restoration expert, not to mention you apparently already described me to 'Uncle Gabe,'" Dean takes a breath and hurries on before Cas can interrupt, not that he would, "I know that your parents are mega douchebags who don't appreciate what an amazing son they have. I know that you're an English professor at Stanford and that you're an amazing dad, aside from a slight oversight in the stranger danger department. But most importantly, I know that Jack belongs with you and I'm willing to do whatever I can to help make that happen."

Cas' heart thuds in his chest at Dean's vehement declaration. "I- Thank you, Dean," Cas manages before his throat closes up entirely and he's blinking rapidly to keep the moisture forming in his eyes from falling onto his cheeks. "Great!" Dean chirps, flicking on his turn signal and changing lanes to speed around a slow-moving truck. "So, babe. How did we meet? Because, somehow, I feel like telling your folks that I accidentally kidnapped your son will be counterproductive."

[winchestermysterymachine]

What are the Winchesters favorite Juno positions?

Reverse Cowgirl

Dean Winchester

Dean and reverse cowgirl. Honestly, he just loves every position. From the back, he gets the view of your ass, he can pull your hair, mark up your neck. What is there not to love about it? He definitely prefers cowgirl, the regular one to reverse. He likes being able to see your facial expressions and how he's making you feel. Almost always, you end up tired and he just pushes you onto your stomach to pound into you from behind.

Dean's back is pressed against the motel bed's headboard, you're sitting on his lap, hips just barely raising up and down. Your head is fuzzy, breath coming out in pants, and unfiltered moans escape from between your lips. You're speaking, unsure of what you're babbling about, your brain can't keep up. The way Dean is just drilling into you, filling you up so nicely. Every once in a while, you slow down to a steady grind, and he slaps your ass, barking at you that he didn't tell you to stop. One of his hands were planted in your hair, wrapping it around his fist to keep your head tilted back. Normally by now, he'd get sick of this and push you onto your stomach already, fucking into you like you know he wants to, but if you hadn't been so bratty, talking back to him, then he'd give you what you want. But now, here you are, unable to keep up, and doing all the work yourself.

Sam Winchester

 He likes that he can hold your hips, forcing you to bounce faster, take more of him than in any of the other positions. He definitely prefers this rather than regular cowgirl. He enjoys having more control of where you go when you're on top though, most times when you're under him, he's noticed you move too much, try and squirm away. When you're on top, there's no going anywhere. He's also noticed that you being on top, makes you louder than any other position.

The floor. You're not quite sure how you ended up on the floor, one moment you were both rolling around in bed, and the next you squished between the bed and the wall. One of your hands holds onto the sheet of the bed tightly, some had fallen and were a mess in between you, your other hand was against the wall, nails scraping into it. You're not even doing all the work, or any at all. Sam is so big and so strong, he just grips your hips tightly and forces you up and down. Your moans of his name, and other slurred words echo around the room, bouncing around and taunting you.

Castiel

This is something that hardly ever gets done, you both enjoy just regular cowgirl as well. However it doesn't mean that no one enjoys it. He will always prefer to be on top, even when you're trying something new for the first time, but with cowgirl and reverse, you have to be on top. If he's laying down, he really enjoys the view of you above him though. Mostly when you're on top, you hold his hand, it's just something that's become a tradition in every sexual position really. This is definitely one of those positions where he's like 'use me to get yourself off' kinda thing.

Castiel reclines back on the bed in your room in the bunker. He always is nervous the first time you both try something new. Although it never disappoints, like reverse cowgirl. You love it for some reason, maybe it's because he actually lets you be on top for once. He watches with a lazy grin as you take your time, building up to a steady bounce, or a grind, whatever you need. He doesn't even need to finish to feel good. You lean back, hair dangling over his chest, hands against his lips. His hands find their way to yours, and he connects them, just letting you have your fun, and feel good is all that matters to him.

Standing up

Dean Winchester

He definitely prefers to be in a bed. But if he has to do a quickie, like in the shower in the morning, or maybe at a bar and you're just looking too good to ignore, then yeah, he's gonna have to stand. Typically, this kind of position (if you're in the shower) always starts off with the 'don't you dare get in here dean or I'll kick your ass' and then ends up with his hand clamped over your mouth to keep you quiet. If you're in a bar, he won't do that cause he wants to tease you for being so loud in such a public setting. He's dirty like that.

The shower water beats down on you both, it's probably burning hot, but you can't feel it much, his body looms over yours, shielding you from the pelting water. Your hands are pressed against the ceramic tile wall of the motel bathroom. He has a lazy pace for it being a quickie, but you're both exhausted, and starving, and bruised, but so fucking needy for six in the morning. His hand is wrapped around your lips to keep your sounds quiet. He keeps whispering in your ear that Sam and Cas can probably hear you, and it's making you nervous. The bar on the other hand, he's got you leaned against the stall bathroom in the women's restroom (he feels like they're a lot cleaner, and he'd rather have a woman walk in on you than a man). he's got his arms wrapped around you to keep you upright. whispering the dirtiest words ever, fueling your moans.

Sam Winchester

Now this probably doesn't happen unless he thinks you're talking back and testing his patience. If you are, then he'll just flip you over, forcing you between him and the wall. He'll pull your shorts and panties down, just barely enough to slip inside you. Sam spanks you for a bit until your bratty attitude dies down, then he'll press a hand against your mouth to keep you quiet. He doesn't do this unless he knows he's got a lot of time on his hands. It probably happens more often when he's stressed.

You squirm against the wall. You were soaked, practically dripping down your thighs and he hadn't laid a single finger on you yet. Just slap after slap against your ass. You had tried lying, tried to pretend like this isn't exactly what you wanted from him but he knows better than to believe you in moments like this. He knows your apologies are fake, and meant to rile him up even more. One hand presses against the middle of your back, while the other smacks you. It isn't until he's seen your attitude shift, and believes it, does he cover your body whole. He'll bring your hips back a bit to make you bend down a little more, and then slip inside you.

Castiel

Probably only happened maybe once or twice. He feels a lot more comfortable in the bed, but if it's one of those times where you're wanting to try something new, he'll just go along with it. He really is the type of guy to just want to keep you happy. A happy wife is a happy life, a motto he takes to heart. You've tried basically every form of standing up, but if you do it standing, he wants to hold you up. He notices how tired you get from the both of your standing, and as much as he likes it when your legs shake from the pleasure, he doesn't want you to struggle.

It feels good, so fucking good. Your legs won't stop shaking, and you've got your own slick running down your thighs, it's making your head dizzy. You haven't formed a coherent thought or word in probably ten minutes. You whine when Castiel pulls out slowly, hands leaving your hips. He flips you around shortly, shushing your whines and whimpers, before hoisting you up. He doesn't look strong, but he's got that angel strength, it comes in handy more often then not. You just wrap your legs around his waist after you settle into a new position, even though he is tired, he'd do anything to make you cum for him.

Doggy

Dean Winchester

The main position that's best for brats, in his professional opinion. You don't get to touch him, look at him, or do anything without his permission. He really loves it when you've been going at it for a while, and your arms are getting tired, but you're trying to hold yourself up. He also likes when he can pull your hair in this position. Every time your arms wobble or drop the slightest, the tugging on your hair grows tighter and you pain in pain and pleasure. He's a suck bastard who loves to watch you struggle. Only when he knows it's time to get down to business does he push your head and back down to arch into the bed, he picks up his pace then.

Your arms shake, head being forced back, letting out every moan from you. It's loud, it's proud, it's embarrassing. Not to Dean though, every time you try and relax into the mattress, he's tugging on your hair to pull you back up. You're crying from pure frustration. He tugs on your hair more, pulling you up against his chest. He sucks and licks on your neck, leaving behind hickies. He snaps his hips forward, letting you go so you fall against the mattress, slumped. His pace fastens and you bury your head in the sheets. Even when you try and reach back to push him off, for just a break to catch your breath, he grabs both of your wrists and pins them against your back.

Sam Winchester

This one is actually one of his slower positions. He loves pressing kisses all down your spine, whispering against your neck and cheek to make you giggle. He wraps his big palms around your hands, flexing them as he continues to thrust inside you. It's actually really sweet when it does it, nice and slow, just feeling every inch of each other. He's more of a pull you back into his hips rather than thrust into you kind of guy. He loves to watch your ass bounce.

Sam presses hot kisses against your spine, licking all up your neck too. You're both so sweaty and exhausted, but neither of you care, you just need to feel each other. His pace is slow, really making you feel every single inch of him. His hands find yours, lacing your fingers together on either side of your head. Every thrust and grind forces moans and whimpers to pass between your lips. He's louder than usual too, the intimacy of the position, the reactions he's drawing out of you fueling him.

Castiel

Opposite to Sam, he's more of a meet you half way with the thrusts. I think some positions confuse him, he'd much rather see your face and how well he's pleasuring you, but you seem to really enjoy this one. He enjoys it because you enjoy it. he finds it extremely endearing when you take matters into your own hands, pushing your hips back to meet his rather than have him do it. Letting him know how good he's making you feel that you just need to do something about, drives him wild.

Laying with your chest against the bed, your ass high in the air, moving yourself back and forth. Castiel's hands were respectfully on your hips, keeping you steady. You weren't moving fast, just really feeling all of him. Only when he noticed you struggling to keep moving, had he stepped in. He kept his hands on your hips, but held it a little tighter. He pushed in and out faster, more of him sliding into you. The sudden pick up of pace made you gasp, clutching onto the sheets to keep you grounded.

Sideways

Dean Winchester

Always the sloppiest sex position. This one lacks a lot of balance in my unprofessional virgin opinion. This one happens really early in the morning. Like if there's a sudden noise from outside like a car horn, or whatever. Just when you both wake up early in the morning. He's got morning wood basically every day. He's grinding himself against your ass, and before you know it you're naked from the waist down, he's got your leg pulled up in the crook of his elbow, his head burrowed into your neck. Fingers probably playing with your boobs, groping them, or on your clit to make you cum faster. This is always super loving and soft.

You weren't even really fully awake, eyes still shut, lashes fluttering against your cheeks when you felt his cock press against your ass. He's trying to be subtle and he's failing. His hands, so grabby in the morning. They run up and down your body, awakening the needy beast inside you. It's barely three minutes later when your sleep shorts were pulled down, your panties moved to the side, and his cock thrusting in and out of you. Your moans are breathy and uneven, his head buries in your neck, letting out soft but uncontrolled moans. It's always the perfect way to wake up.

Sam Winchester

I think it's a personal favorite of his. Sometimes it ends with you being flipped onto your back or stomach, but it usually doesn't end sideways if that makes sense. He wraps an arm around your neck, pulling your back to kiss you, and that's so sloppy and hungry. This one is probably about pure need, just being close to each other. Probably started out innocent, like cuddling or reading to him, and then it turns dirty.

Your book is splayed across the bed, practically bouncing on it's own from the force of Sam's thrusts. His hand is wrapped around the underside of your knee, pulling your leg up so he can reach deeper inside of you. His other hand, presses against your throat, pulling your head back so he can kiss you. He swallows every moan slipping from you lips. You had reached back not long ago, encasing your fingers in his mess of hair, pulling and tugging.

Castiel

I think he enjoys this one a lot too. This is definitely a wild card one and is the most often in rotation. I think this one just makes him giddy like a kid in a candy store. He thinks it's really funny all the different ways humans have created to have sex.

The smile on his face hasn't disappeared the entire time. He's astounded by the sounds he can drag out of you. Your clutching onto him so tightly. How something so interesting can feel so good is such a curiosity. He keeps up the pace, holding you leg up gently, pushing himself deeper, trying to see what else he can make you feel, do, sound like.

Missionary

Dean Winchester

This is a position that's also super soft, but rather than sleepy it's romantic. It's the 'I just came back from being dead and I love you so much' it's the 'happy anniversary baby' or the 'happy birthday baby' kind of position. He doesn't do this one unless he's really trying to prove a point.

He loves you, he loves you so much he just need you to know. To feel how much his love is. You can feel every inch of his love slide in and out you, pressing against all the places you hadn't even known to exist. His hands grip onto the bedding on either side of your head. He's practically begging for it, begging for that final finish so you can go back to sleep. He loves falling asleep with you after sex. Your stick skin, your breathless pants. Whispering soft praises in your ear. Dean Winchester might not have much, but he has you, and that's far better than any amount of cash or pie could satiate.

Sam Winchester

Sam Winchester and missionary is more of a punishment. Okay, not exactly a punishment I guess, but it's more so about getting the job done than actually relishing in it. It's a quickie when Dean leaves the motel for pie or gas station beer or hitting up the bar. It's right after hunts when you both need a release to get the rest of your pent up energy out and Dean's taking too long in the shower. It's barely taking off any clothes, it's pure need and hunger and lust and hardly ever loving.

Sam's hands rest on either side of your head. His head ur buried deep in your neck trying to silence his own sounds of pleasure as he rams into you. It's not as deep as either of you would like it to be, but it's getting the job done. He pushes in and out and a rough pace, he had hardly given you any time to adjust, already running out of time the longer the water in the shower runs. You're both sticky and disgusting, not just from sex, but from the hunt too. Dried blood, caked mud, rain, it all stains your skin and clothes and neither of you care because you just need to feel each other. You just need to realize you're both okay and alive while you still can feel each other.

Castiel

His most favorite. As much as he enjoys everything else, he really likes seeing the look of pleasure on your face. He also really likes knowing that he's the one making you feel good. He'd do anything to make you happy. He knows it's kind of simple, or vanilla as he has learned people call it. But to him, it's not plain or boring and vanilla can always get sprinkles, fruits, drizzles of other flavors.

Somehow his tie had ended up around your neck, not tightened but just barely there. It was kind of hot, seeing something of his wrap around your neck like a dainty necklace. It marked you as his, and Castiel has never had anything solely belong to him. His pants had been pushed down, trench coat long flung onto the floor, and his button up only had the sleeves rolled up, a couple of the top buttons undone and yet it clung to his upper body, thick muscles pronounced every time he pushed his hips into you, every time he inched you down to make you meet his thrusts. He's gotten so good at doing this, so good you're at the point where you don't even need to explain what to do, how to make you take it. You probably couldn't even if you wanted to, your brain too fuzzy to think of anything that wasn't just Castiel. He liked having this power over you, the power to make you feel good. It's not often he actually makes the right decisions. But right here with you, it's like his body already knows what to do. You've taught him everything he needs to know, now he just has to comply.

Legs Up

Dean Winchester

Missionary probably can end up in this way. The bed is too squeaky, or maybe his grip on the bed isn't good enough. Your skin too slick with sweat that he can't hold onto your hips properly so he adjusts. So he just sits back on his knees. Can you just imagine it? Dean holding your legs up on either side of his shoulders, hands pressed against your thighs. Head tilted back due to exhaustion and pleasure.

You've come face to face with Gods. And none of them have ever been as sexy as Dean Winchester. All muscles, tall, broad, head tilted back in pleasure. A pleasure that only you can provide him for some reason. His adams apple bobbing with every moan and swallow and he quite literally cannot get enough of you. His hands are wrapped around your thighs properly angling himself to hit deeper inside you. Even without his chest pressing against yours like it had a few seconds ago, you could still feel him everywhere.

Sam Winchester

I just know Sam Winchester fucks with this one heavy. I can imagine him holding your legs on either shoulder, pressing kisses against your ankle. It's soft and sweet because he really gets to look at every single inch of you. Gets to feel the way your thighs shake on his shoulders. Sometimes he'll even have both your legs on one shoulder, it helps him slam in even deeper.

Your thighs are shaking. But Sam doesn't seem like he's going to be done at any point. He just keeps thrusting, keeping up the pace better than anyone you've ever met. He's determined to watch you cum again, he needs it. It fuels the fire in him, and he'd rather watch you finish anyway. His big hands run up and down your thighs softly, keeping you grounded. He's rough in so many ways but he can tell tonight all you want to feel and remember is him and he'd rather die than leave you unfulfilled. He keeps up, pulling your legs so they both are on one shoulder while his uses his free hand to rest on your hip, keeping you in place so you stop squirming, stop trying to run from him.

Castiel

Castiel and missionary go together like two peas in a pod. But this is a bit leveled up. It's something a teeny bit different and only mildly less vanilla than regular missionary. I can see him appreciating this one very much also. Very similar to Sam's, he likes how he gets to kneel up a bit, see every single inch of your body writhing underneath him because he's just making you feel too good.

It's almost like the golden morning glow from the mesh curtains that come from behind Castiel are specifically meant for him, to prove that he is an angel. Even when he looks like he's about to drop from exhaustion, he doesn't. His hands are tight, constantly filtering over parts of your body. Sometimes to distract you when he hits a spot that has you seeing stars, just to bring you back down to earth. Or, in most cases to ground himself. You've taught him every single way to touch, and lick, and fuck your body in all the best ways he can't get to ahead of himself.

Cowgirl

Dean Winchester

Dean Winchester loves cowgirl. He likes everything about it from your tits bouncing in his face from every thrust, it gives him another angle to watch you above him, as he worships you like a goddess while he thrusts up. He gets to wrap his fingers in your hair and tug your head back, making sure you let out all of those pretty moans while he sucks kisses onto your neck. I mean the name too, cowgirl, he fucking loves it. We all know he loves the wild west. He probably does the cowboy hat rule too (you wear the cowboys hat, you ride the cowboy).

Every thrust up forced moans out of your pretty lips and Dean's eyes were glazed over in pure pleasure from being the one to make you feel so good. He knew this position was sure to make sure you could take ever single inch, hips against hips. Every grind down, your clit rubbed against his lower stomach. Even when you attempted to throw your head back to lose yourself in pleasure, Dean's grip on your hair pulled you right back out. His lips pressed against your throat, groaning out in a deep voice that all he wanted was for you to cum. 

Sam Winchester

I can imagine him doing cowgirl, but reverse. A little mirror situated right in front of you so that he can watch you still, but grip your ass to, spank it when you're not listening or whining too much. He makes you keep your eyes on the mirror and if they close, you look away, you're getting spanked again and again until you look up. He likes how nervous you get being watched like that, visibly seeing that you're being watched like his own personal porno.

You grind down on his lap, but Sam's hands hold on tight to your hips refraining you from grinding too much onto him. It was a punishment of sorts for not listening to him earlier. You would have listened, if you didn't know where disobeying would get you. The mirror right in front of you did nothing to help you either, all it did was make you realize how much control Sam had over you. You were just about to lose your mind, cry, beg, whine for more when he slams your hips down, unable to restrain himself any further.

Castiel

Castiel and cowgirl is honestly very interesting. I think this is one that he definitely particularly enjoys very, very much. It's not too wild, it's just simply you on top and him on the bottom but I think he enjoys being beneath you. He prefers this one when he's feeling lazy, or when he's hurt. Like human Castiel kind of moments. He pays attention to your boobs, kissing, praising. He runs his fingers all along your body. It's not meant to be teasing, he just can't keep his hands to himself. 

You're both exhausted, full of cuts and bruises and Cas can normally heal you both easily, but he's too drained. You raise your hips and grind, steady rhythm. Not to fast, just a subtle reminder you're both still here, alive, and mobile enough to feel each other. His finger tips are gentle, but quick. They run up and your your thighs, on your back, in your hair, swipe across your lips, thumb on your tongue. And then they fall to your nipples and the saliva feels so good. He won't shut up either. He tells you you're beautiful, he's never seen a creature quite as grand as you. Fucking Castiel will always make you feel like a goddess.

Blowjob

Dean Winchester

He is such a slut I hate him. He's so cocky when you suck his cock, lol. He never really asks for it out right, but if you drop to your knees he definitely won't tell you no. He's a head pusher though. He praises like a dirty son of a bitch, he talks so much, and it's easier for him to talk since you're a little busy. I think he prefers to stand up and have you on your knees. He'd also prefer if you're fully naked, or at least in lingerie. Nothing fucks him up more than if he realizes you're toughing yourself and sucking his cock. 

Tits on full display, and you're so messy with it already. He's been so stressed recently, and all you wanted was for him to feel better. He always feels like it's one more problem, but the minute you shoved him against the wall and dropped to your knees, staring up at him with those sinisterly innocent eyes, he was a goner. He just let his head relax against the motel wall. You suck him off quickly, bobbing, tongue swirling, one hand twisting up with everything maneuver. He's so loud, and a little annoying, but not in a bad way. In a "we're so getting kicked out" kind of way. he tells you your mouth is heavenly, he's feeling so much better, he's so grateful that you always know what he needs. 

Sam Winchester

Sam only makes you suck him off if you're being bratty, this shit is a punishment. I doubt he's a head pusher, unless you're still finding ways to piss him off. He'll do a gentle push, thrust deep in your throat to get you silent again. He would laugh if you cry, or choke (mostly older Sam though, baby Sam is too soft to laugh at you). I think Sam prefers to sit and have you kneel. I think he'd also put a pillow down for your knees. 

Sam's fingers run through your hair, and by now, usually your eyes are glazed over in submission, but today you haven't exactly been the easiest to work with. His cock is out, jeans tugged off, your naked, your pink satin pillow (meant for your hair) is under your knees to cushion from the harsh wooden floor. He's making you beg for it, but you don't beg, not today. He smiles and guides your head to his cock, making you do all the work, and you get to work, especially because he swore he'd edge you over and over again until you were compliant. So now, you suck him off. It's lazy, but the large hand against the back of your head reminds you to pay attention or else. But do you ever listen to yourself? no. You pull off, and whisper a complaint and then before you even finish your sentence, his cock is shoved snuggly down your throat again, and he makes to move to lift you off. You choke out, resting a hand on Sam's thigh but he just chuckles and wipes off the tears. 

Castiel

Cas likes to lay down when you suck him off. He also won't ever really ask you for it, I can't see any of them asking for it, but he would beg if you suggest it. Really just anything to make you touch him. At first, he probably freaks out a bit at your mouth being down there, and his mouth being down on you, but once you show him how good it feels, he's definitely suggesting it more often then not. 

Cas's clothes are gone in a flash, yours are gone too, and you kneel beside him, stroking softly. He's already begged enough, it makes you laugh how one minute Castiel can be so dominate and in charge and then in the next second he's whining and grinding against your thigh. He's begging louder, wording everything differently. Complimenting your every move, making sure to sound as pathetic as possible so your pretty lips could wrap around his cock. Cas remembers the day when you asked if he wanted it, and for two weeks he said no. Was he an idiot. Yes, yes he was. If he knew your lips, throat, tongue, and hands could make him feel like exploding he'd have had you like this weeks ago. You finally wrap your lips around his tip, he's a leaking mess. He's loud too. He won't pull your hair, sometimes he'll hold your hand though.

Knees To Chest

Dean Winchester

This is just any regular day position for Dean. I wouldn't say it's his most used, but he loves holding his lady down. If you're struggling too much to stay still, he's folding you in half. I feel like he likes his women either pretty bendy/flexible or compliant/easy to manhandle. 

You grip on the sheets makes Dean's smirk grow wider, more sinister. He knows you're feeling good. Eye's rolled back, mouth opening and closing with short breaths and gasps and moans filtering between them. The heels of your feet pressed against his back. He changes the pace a bit, its quicker and so much deeper. You gasp, eyes flying open and your hand comes to rest against his lower stomach. He grunts and slides his palms down under your thighs, pushing your legs up, against your chest, forcing space between your palms and his stomach. He won't let you squirm, won't let you push him  away. He can't deny the way you just let him manhandle you around gets his brain going a little fuzzy. You trust him so much, this big, strong, scary hunter. He's killed, tortured, died, and even through all that you still trust him with your entire body. 

Sam Winchester

Pretty similar to how Dean does it. If you start to push him away due to the overwhelming pleasure, then he's definitely going to push your knees up to your chest to get a better handle on you, and it definitely makes himself push in further. 

Something about the way he's thrusting into you, his head deeply nuzzled into your neck. He's so close, so soft and warm but you want more from him. The sweetness seeping from his pores were great for a while, but now they're just not enough to satiate you. You wiggle, squirm, push and shove and Sam draws back, glaring at you slightly, unsure of why you're acting like this. It takes a second longer than you'd like for him to catch the glint in your eye, the mischievous one and he nods, talking something about 'oh, so that's how you wanna play? wasn't sure you were in the mood for that right now'. He hikes your knees up to your chest, hitting new spots, changing the pace. Your head tilts back, it's all moans and whimpers and groans. You reach for him again, not to push him off or piss him off, but to hold him, to feel his skin against yours. 

Castiel

I think this is one Cas hardly ever does, unless you're begging for it. Similar to Sam and Dean, he's got angel strength, so don't ever think about trying to get away from his grip because he will manipulate your body in ways you didn't even know were possible. 

He can sense the discomfort before you do. He reels back a bit. Your shoulders tense, your breath is coming out in quick spurts. He knows you feel good, great, you'd have said something sooner (and he'd have noticed definitely). So he pulls back, hikes your legs up against your chest. You gasp at the sudden shift in position, in pace. He talks to you, asks if this is better. You weren't sure how he knew that the last position wasn't doing it for you, but you're so grateful for his acute sense of  understanding of your body.

Eating Pussy

Dean Winchester

He's definitely more of a 'sit on my face' kind of guy rather than lie down. He definitely needs to make you cum on his tongue first, then his tongue and fingers, and then he'll finally fuck you. I think he personally enjoys overstimulation like this. He can be about giving far much more than receiving. He always has this need to prove his worthiness to the people he loves and with you it's no different. He also can't control his own hands. He's super gropey (does that sound disgusting? i don't know) when you sit on his face. He kneads your ass, slaps it, digs his nails on your hips, grabs your boobs. He also moans a lot, and has probably cum completely untouched. Sometimes you're nice and you'll reach back, unzip his pants and stroke him. Only when you're feeling nice though, and that's not often. Sometimes you tell him you're scared of crushing him, but he just says there are one of two ways he wants to go out, 1) in a fight to the death, and 2) between your thighs.

You're grinding down on his lap on minute, making out on the edge of the bed before Dean's falls down on his back. You blink your eyes open, about to follow him but then he tugs your hips upward, and you know what he wants, what he's craving. You make sure he's comfortable while you strip your bottoms off, and then you slowly crawl of his body. His mouth is literally salivating at the thought of your taste on his tongue again after so long (he had a taste this morning mind you). You finally relax on his face, gripping the head board, nails scraping into the wood. Dean eats you out like a man starved. You can hardly contain yourself, you grind, you whine. Dean lets you do whatever you want. It's almost overwhelming how he has you like this, falling apart above him. 

Sam Winchester

Sammy is more of a laying down kinda guy. He likes to grind his hips down into the sheets, he can't help himself honestly. I think eating you out can be one of the only times where he's a bit more submissive. He stares at you with those pretty green puppy dog eyes. He loves you tug and play with his hair. He's not a head pusher when it comes to you sucking his dick, but he wants you to be a head pusher. He wants you to use him to get as much pleasure as you want because that is his only purpose when he's down there. I also think he'd enjoy this in the mornings, especially fresh after sex the night before. You're still a little sweaty, overstimulated, full of him. 

You can tell what kind of day it's gonna be before you even fall asleep. You wanna get dressed, at least panties and a shirt but Sam's pulling them from you grasp and tugging you back to bed. He wants skin to skin contact tonight, and tomorrow, you'll make up with his fingers playing between your thighs and then he'll make you beg for him to touch you, to taste you. You can feel the heat rush through you and you're half tempted to ask to go again, but he's tired, you're tired, and so far, there's always tomorrow. Your eyes fall shut and when you wake up in the morning, his hand is between you thighs just like you knew it would be. You can feel his lips against your neck coaxing you out of sleep, making you beg for him. He flips you onto your back and makes room for himself at the bottom. And Sam is tall, large broad shoulders which are the perfect place for your legs to go. You pull yourself up a bit, resting right up against the pillows like a princess. You can see all of him up there. His messy hair, tired eyes drinking you in like you're sacred. He gets lost down there, whining and begging for another one, and another, and one more please, until you're absolutely exhausted again and then he pulls you the shower... We're not there yet though. 

Castiel

I don't know why, but this is super freak Cas. I think he surprised the shit out of you because he'll literally drop to his knees, hold you up against the wall, both your legs over his shoulders, and he'll make you finish against the wall just like that. I bet he'd look so pretty like that too. I can see him doing this for some kind of apology too. Like he's gone off on his own again, something about saving Heaven. And when you finally save him, he's got that lost puppy look and something else that says 'I'll make it up to you I promise' and he does keep his promises. 

If you knew his promise meant him on his knees worshipping you like you're the only good thing he's ever known, you'd probably have jumped his bones a hell of a lot sooner. Both of your legs are on his shoulders, you're a few feet higher in the air than usual, and Cas is between your legs, licking away at you like he's desperate. He is desperate too. He's made mistakes, and that's the beauty in it all. He makes mistakes, you makes mistakes, and he's willing to prove himself to you again and again because his heart is always in the right place. He wants to prove that he holds a loyalty to you above anything else.

Shower

Dean Winchester

Super steamy, romantic, emotional. I've seen a lot of people suggest that Dean could be a crier, and I think if he's gonna cry, it's gonna be in the shower. Neither of you know if you're crying, he's crying, or if it's the water droplets. It's so hot, heavy, warm, wet. He doesn't care if the shower turns cold, or if Sam hasn't gone yet, he's taking all the time in the world because this is one of the only few moments where everything seems to just be normal. It's not motel sex, it's not car sex, it's just sex (shower sex, but normal people don't have a journal where they write all the states they've had sex in. and if they do, it's not as long as yours and Deans). 

You're shielded by the heat of the water considering it's pounding against Dean's back. He's hoisted you up against the wall. You can feel a few splatters here and there, but you're sure Dean's back will be red when you're done. He's wet and warm. His hair is softer, darker, slicker than usual. Water droplets coat his eyelashes, and he's got the strongest grip on you. You worry if it's possible for the wall to break due to the force of Dean's thrust. Your hands run up and down his chest, his arms. You can feel him, the heat, everywhere and it's so much to handle. You're both tired and exhausted, but never too tired for each other. 

Sam Winchester

Shower sex with Sam isn't common. Everyone has their place where they do their best thinking. For some it's during laundry, for other's it's when they drive, and for some it's when they clean. For Sam, he thinks his most when he's in the shower. He can shield himself from the days aches and just relax. It's a fortress of solitude and it's not that he doesn't want you in there, everybody needs their alone time to figure out what the hell happened in the day, especially with the lives you live. But there are definitely times where you've hopped in with him, 'conserving water' you both say, but you just really need to feel each other's skin. It usually never starts off sexual, but you can't keep your hands off Sam Winchester long enough to not want more. 

It usually starts off innocent. Maybe you just finished having sex somewhere else, and now you're showering off the sweat and the days pain. He's not really paying attention much, just wiping you down, combing through your hair unless you've got it up and out of the way. But when you turn around, covered in suds, slight goosebumps covering your skin, looking a little flushed, he can't help himself. It stays soft and warm though. It's never rough, but it isn't exactly gentle either. It's loving. It's perfect. He either bends you over or holds you up. 

Castiel

I think Castiel really get down with shower sex. Something about the way he can take care of you, warm you up, clean you, and be with you in such a safe environment, and still be so vulnerable is so special to him. He definitely prefers to take a bath though (I can imagine him wanting scents like rose, vanilla, lavender. He'll even get flower petals and put them in the bath. Set up some wine, a book. That's way too soft for this so we'll stick with the shower sex for now). But he wants to shower you in love first, clean away the days mistakes.

The entire room is lit up with candles, and even though your feet are aching, and your body is begging to sleep, the shower looks so warm and inviting. The candles are all floral scented, so the bathroom smells like a florists shop. It's sweet, warm, welcoming, and a little milky. Maybe vanilla of some sort. It mixes in well with your shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. Castiel does everything for you. He even takes it up a notch, slight massage under the water. He can feel every knot in your back, shoulders, hips. It's complete relaxation in there, like your own spa. It doesn't take long for the touch to linger. He wants to make you feel good, but if you're too tired, he won't push. When you spin around, attacking his lips with your own, he takes that as a greenlight. He still does everything for you. Holding you up against the wall. It's slower than anything you usually do, he doesn't want you sore or anything because of him, that was not tonight's goal. He loves how you smell fresh, damp. Your breath smelled like your honey tea you drink before bed to help calm down your jitters. It's his favorite way to say goodnight. After you're done, he'll carry you into the bedroom, dry you, dress you, and whisper you softly as you fall asleep. 

Toys

Dean Winchester

I've been waiting for this day my entire life, and i'm sorry for how crazy I'm gonna get because I know bunker era Dean would have an absolute arsenal of toys. Maybe one or two when you're just on the road (like handcuffs, a vibrator). Now there's a little box with a key lock that goes on his car keys and it opens the box full of wonders. It has little outfits you play with, handcuffs, dildos, vibrators, maybe even rope too. Satin ties, satin masks. It's kinky, flirty, fun. He's all about getting as much pleasure, and he doesn't care how it happens as long as you feel good. There are some times where Dean gets a little jealous that a piece of rubber and a battery can make you feel good, but you promise it's not just the toy, it's the toy and Dean and suddenly he's all smiles again. Sometimes he uses the toys as punishments, you only get the toys used on you, you don't get to actually feel him. 

You're bent over his lap, one of his legs are trapping your underneath it. One of his hands is holding a vibrator to your clit and the other has a pretty pink dildo, not any bigger or wider than him though. He pushes it in and out roughly. You clutch a pillow to your chest, trying not to cry. You want him so bad, but you annoyed the shit out of him earlier when you don't listen. Sometimes a girl just needs some alone time. You wore some leggings, a cropped workout top, and left the bunker for a walk. When Dean came out of the bathroom he almost had an aneurysm after realizing you disappeared, out of thin air to him. He ran around, made Sam and Cas look for you. Only for you to come back an hour and a half later with a coffee in one hand from that shop you like not to far from the bunker, the keys to baby, and a sweet smile. He's already made you finish twice and he's not going to back down any time soon just because you're crying and begging for him to actually touch and feel you, not just the toys.

Sam Winchester

He isn't opposed to toys at all, but I think younger Sam was pretty shy about them. Younger Sam probably had some fun in other ways, like doing thing's in public (cause jess is hot okay, can't keep his hands off her), but I doubt two broke college students could really afford just throwing money around for random sex toys. Older Sam, probably bunker Sam is a lot more feral. He wants to see you on the brink of losing your fucking mind and if that means adding in a sex toy, he's all for it. He won't have an arsenal. Maybe a vibrator or two, handcuffs for sure, or maybe just something to tie you down (or tie him down, depending on the mood). He's lost everything, he's lost his own mind and the weight of the world rests on his shoulders so sometimes he just wants to make someone else feel good, forget about his own problems for a while. I think he's a vibrating panty kind of guy, but only when he knows there's no danger around.

It's a calm day in the bunker. Everyone is quiet, Dean's got the radio on in his room. He isn't in there though, he's out in the bunker garage, playing with his new toys (the cars) and Sam's got a few other, less appropriate toys on his mind. They're white, soft, lace borders, tiny white ribbon on the front wrapped around in a bow. He's had you wearing them all morning, playing with the settings, pretending to clean. You're in the middle of washing the dishes, and how there's so many with only three people who mostly eat takeout  is insane. You're half way done when there's a slight shift between your legs, and then it vibrates. It's not harsh, just above teasing. He can't be far or else it wouldn't connect, but he's not in the kitchen. You call out for him in frustration. Dean could walk in any minute. When he finally comes around, empty handed, small smile on his face. Your knees are bent, gripping onto the counter for stability. 

Castiel

I just know the perfect little angel boy who can do no wrong in my eyes absolutely loves them. He thinks humans are the funniest thing's in the world, that they literally created sex toys for people to feel even better when they have sex(lmfao). I don't think he'd necessarily use them cause he doesn't know how. A dildo kinda speaks for itself, but anything else (with their vibrant colors and the strange shapes they come in) is a little overwhelming for the perfect angel boy. I can imagine them being used on him first. You gotta explain how it works. Even afterwards, he's very confused on the mechanics. I think he'd be so curios too, he'd then want to use everything. 

Cas's head tilts back, chest heaving. Neither of you had time to take off the white button up, the tie had been pulled down a bit giving him more room to breath. A couple buttons had popped open due to all his movements. You run the vibrator up and down his length. Big scary Castiel, reclining on his back, one hand gripping the sheets and the other your hip, eyes shut in bliss all because of a small pink vibrator was almost laughable. He was nervous to try it, not understanding how a piece of rubber and a few batteries could be pleasurable, but he was mistaken. His back arches as he finishes, and he's hardly caught his breath before his blue eyes open and they stare at you like he's taking you apart already. He's flipping you onto your back, suggesting that it's your turn to feel good. And he is very great at controlling the objects. After you're both satiated, he's grinning and wondering what other adult toys you can play with do. 

Car

Dean Winchester

Backseat, front seat, on the hood, passenger seat, he's fucking you all over that car. He doesn't like it being messy, but it's his own personal oasis. The backseat happens when you're being annoying on the road and alone. You're arguing so he just pulls over and forces you into the backseat. Front seat, days where you're on watch but you can't help but grind on each other. Sometimes he'll pull you onto his lap and just play with you. Passenger seat, I can imagine it's a grocery store run, and almost the entire parking lot is empty so he just tells you to lean against the door and he'll eat you out right there, with everyone watching (even though no one is watching lol). On the hood or over the trunk. It's probably if there's something wrong with the car, engine problem and you're out in the middle of nowhere. Your top is too tight, roads to empty, he'll just push you down, chest warm against the car, and take you there. 

The smoke billowing from the front of the Impala lets you know you're in for a long day. You were about to sigh, roll down the windows, shove some glasses on your face and kick your boot covered feet out the window until Dean came back around. Pissed. The sexy kind of pissed. Of course like the lady you were, you just had to voice those opinions out loud. Next thing you know, you're bent over the trunk of the car, Dean grumbles about how you're the only thing in the world he doesn't have to worry about letting him down. You're just glad there aren't any people on this stretch of road. For now. 

Sam Winchester

It doesn't happen that much because he's nervous Dean would kill him (soulless Sam never cared though lol). Soulless Sam drags out the experience so it’s a lot of foreplay. I think he'd even flirt with you, like nasty flirting, with you even when Dean is right there. But for the sake of my sanity, we're gonna stick with regular Sam. I think it could also be a really late rendezvous point. Like you'll be lying right next to each other but Sam will text you and ask if you wanna head to the impala (cause you can't do anything with dean right there (like go away bro)) and of course, you're agreeing. 

You can hardly remember when your phone chimed, just that it had and Dean was fast asleep in the bed beside you. You waited. One. Two. Three. Four. Five minutes, and then you sprung up from the bed and tiptoed across the room so you don't disturb Dean, you'd rather die. And not because you'd be embarrassed as to what he'd figure out you're going to do, but because he'd keep you from this. Sam's cock so far up, you brain all fuzzy. Not that you needed to think anyway, that's what Sam was for. He held you against him, chest to chest, staring into your moonlit eyes. Out in the Impala, you can be as loud as you want, so whatever you want. The only thing watching you are the stars and the rising sun (if you stay out that long).

Castiel

I don't really see him using the impala at all. When he gets his own car, sure. But I ultimately think if he's gonna have sex, he wants to do it the 'proper' way. He thinks you deserve to be lavished on a bed not like some drunken mistake. However once you explain to him that that is exactly what makes it so fun, especially because it's Dean's car (although he still thinks that ones a bit odd), he'll be a bit more on board with it. 

It wasn't anything special or intricate, just simple love making without the interruptions of any Winchesters or anyone really, the Impala was a safe house. You just lied on your back, cold leather against your skin. Windows fogging up from the puffing of air between you two. There's not a lot of space, and the awkward angle makes it even funnier than it should be, but Castiel loves those breathy giggles you let out so much. He loves your laugh, he loves your moans, and both are better than Heaven to him. 

Fingering 

Dean Winchester

Dean's fingering techniques are always cocky, always a 'let me show you what i can do' kind of thing. He's got that laid back look on his face. He'll lie down right beside you, fingers curling and thrusting in and out like he's got something to prove. He knows he's got a past, but this is all about your pleasure, proving to you that he sees you, he loves you. He's a huge dirty talker, loves hearing himself talk. He really adores pointing out every shift, mutter, whimper you let slip between your lips. He likes it when you get a little embarrassed because yes, he does make you feel that good. 

Your head is tilted down to watch as his fingers pump in and out of you. It's merciless and you can hardly keep your eyes open, but Dean's other hand comes around and pats your cheek, and he laughs. He actually laughs at you. You whine and glare at him and he faux pouts. He says something about how you're just feeling way too good, huh? Can't even think straight. And then something along the lines of 'it's alright sweetheart, you don't ever need to think when you're with me'. His ultimate goal is to make you squirt, even though it makes you nervous, but uhm we won't open that can of worms today. 

Sam Winchester

I feel like Sam is more of a prep you for his cock fingering rather than a let's do this to make you actually finish kind of dude. I can imagine he's standing behind you, flirting so lewdly in your ear. Maybe he'll do it all day. You'll be eating ice cream and there's a little drop on your lip and he swipes it off, sticks his finger in your mouth. Or he'll brush passed you, way closer than necessary. He'll shove his hips into your butt. It's literally grinding but you don't say anything. He just appears behind you, shoves his hands down your panties and play with you, make you beg. I know that man loves some begging. 

I can imagine you taking your makeup off. So sexually frustrated from all the teasing he's done all day. You're sure the closer you get to bed time, he's gonna become the feral little monster you love, but you hate the waiting game. Sometimes if he's gotten you irritated enough, you'll initiate it but tonight he's already got your head feeling a little too cloudy with need. You brush your teeth, spit, rinse and when you stand he's behind you. You step back in shock and he wraps his arms around your waist, hands sliding underneath your shorts. He'll tease the shit out of you if you're soaking wet. He'll barely skim his fingers across the opening, then pull it out to show you how wet you are. He'll make you taste it. This goes one for a while, your hips attempt to grind down against his fingers but there's no pressure behind his touch to cum. He doesn't want you to, he's just working you up until you boil over and beg him to finish you off properly or else you'll do it yourself. 

Castiel

I just wanna say, I personally think Castiel is great at this. I don't know why, I just have a feeling this is something he's particularly exceptional at. Maybe because he's got an angelic touch, but his fingers just delicately dancing along your skin leave shivers running down your body. I think this is also something you didn't need to explain too much. I think his fingers are longer than they are thick. He's kinda got model hands now that I think about it.  

You recline back on the bed, your back against Cas' chest. You grip onto his thighs to ground yourself. Your head is tossed back against his shoulder, and he presses kisses against your cheek, your forehead, your neck, every few seconds. He curls his fingers up inside you with one hand and the other ravages your body. One moment it's circling your clit gently, and the next they're tugging on your nipples or running up and down your thighs. Castiel can sense everything, he's got magic in the tips of his fingers because it only takes a couple of minutes for you to finish, which is record timing. It's incomparable to anything anyone else has ever made you feel. 

So, did he lock you down tonight?

——————————————

10k words of sex and sin.

i got a little bit carried away on a couple. i'm a slut for these stupid fucks. also, some are super short, some are super long. at some points, i just wanted to write full out fics about it. ask me about it & maybe i will write a few random thing's before mbf comes out !!

Tags;

@iamaslytherin0

[l1tw1ck]

Not a Suspect

Bottom!Dean x Top!Male Reader

☆ Word Count: 1,292 ☆

probably ooc/plot dependent, I haven't watched in a while 😭

CW: Non-Con, First Time Bottoming, Anal Fingering, Humiliation, Overstimulation, Semi Rough Sex, Blood Mention, Daddy Kink, Creampie

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Your hand is pressed against Dean’s neck, his back against the wall. You lifted him a few inches in the air in order to meet your eyes. You caught him snooping around your room.

“I- I thought this was my uncle’s house!” He smiles sheepishly. You're so much stronger than he is, he wasn't expecting to be put in a chokehold. “The door was unlocked so—”

“Save it. I’ve seen you and that other guy hanging around town snooping for information about that incident. You must think I’m a criminal, huh?”

“That's not the case, sir, I um—”

“Did you come to that conclusion after you searched my things?” You click your tongue then look him up and down. “I’ll let this slide though. As long as you make it up to me.”

“I uh, I have forty dollars-”

“Hmm.” You place him on the ground and turn him around. You grab his wallet from his back pocket and find an ID. Your old jobs gave you the skill of knowing what's fake and what's real. “Of course. I knew you weren't a real detective.” You laugh.

“I’m an undercover investigator!”

“Uh huh.” You find a secret pocket and find his real ID. “There we go. Dean Winchester.”

Dean’s ears burn red. He can't believe he's in this situation and that he can't fight back, something about this is making him feel timid. Sam warned him not to do this but he didn't think he'd feel so helpless against you. He’s fought much stronger and scarier creatures than you but it's different when it comes to humans. You can't figure out their motives so easily.

You drop his wallet and lean over, unbuckling his belt then forcefully pulling his pants down. “Hey! What are you doing?!” He flails around defiantly.

“Stop moving.” You use his belt to tie his wrists together.

“I’m not gay!”

“You really think I care, sweetheart?” You pull down his boxers. “Besides, I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself.” You spread his ass open and spit on his rim before forcefully shoving a finger inside him.

“Fuck!” He cries out. “Stop!”

You chuckle. “I know your type. You gag at the mere idea of having sex with another guy.” You force another finger inside him and start stretching him out. “Then, once you do, you love it like the little slut you really are. Trust me.”

His entire face is red with humiliation. “You're wrong.”

“We’ll see about that.” You find his prostate. Dean moans, his knees buckling. If it weren't for your hand on his waist, he’d probably fall. “There it is.” You say gently, your husky voice making him feel strange. You continue to prod at his prostate, reveling in his strained whimpers. He’s trying so hard not to make a sound. He clenches his fists and aggressively bites down on his lip as you continue to pleasure him, although he doesn't want to admit that.

He will admit that it hurts. A lot. Dean rests his forehead on the wall. He hates how good it feels despite everything, your thick fingers stretch him out so well. His face is so hot it feels like he has a fever. “Ah–” Dean gasps. “No- no—” He shuts his eyes tightly and lets out a muffled moan as he comes, splattering the wall with his cum.

“Good boy~” You praise him, slowly sliding your fingers out. It feels like Dean’s head is going to explode. “I’m a little too impatient to keep going.”

Dean gulps at the sound of your belt falling to the ground and your fly being unzipped. There's nothing he can do to stop you. You take out your hard length and press the tip against his rim. You lick your lips and begin to force yourself inside. “You're tight, baby.” You groan, pressing your chin on his shoulder. His palms begin to bleed from how tightly he's clenching his fists, it's too painful for him.

“Fuck—” He breathes out. You're big.

“It hurts, doesn't it?” You coo, reaching out for his weeping cock. “Let me help you.”

Dean moans as you begin to roughly stroke his dick. “Sto- stop–” A single tear runs down his cheek. You're reaching so far inside him. He rolls his eyes back as you bring him closer to his climax.

“It’s all in, baby.” You bottom out. “How’s it feel?”

“It fucking hurts–” He hisses, more tears running down his cheeks. “You bastard– ah~!” He comes once again.

“You're cute when you whine.” You slowly pull back then shove your cock back inside. Dean rolls his eyes back and lets out a slutty sounding moan. You grin and start thrusting in and out of him at a steady pace. You look at his beat red face, his mouth remaining open to let out his pathetic moans. “‘S good, isn't it?”

Dean shakes his head despite his body betraying him. “No- No~!”

“You're not good at lying.” You place your hand on his throat, lifting his head up. “Admit it. You like getting fucked.”

He bites down on his lip and rips a bit of skin, blood trickling down. You lean in closer and lick up his blood. “You like how Daddy spreads open your tight hole, don't you, baby?”

He lets out a muffled whimper, his cock weakly spurting out another rope of cum.

You chuckle. “I know I’m right.” You let go of his neck and stroke his dick again. “You’re just a pretty little cock whore.”

“Nnh- No-” He moans. Dean is well aware of the fact that his lies are completely unbelievable. He doesn't want to like this at all.

“Yeah? You really think you're not? You think you're not into this?” You laugh again. “No, Dean, you're a slut who loves taking cock. You love how it feels to have a cock in your ass. Admit it.”

“I don't- I don-” He pauses, drool spilling from his lips as you stroke his sensitive cock.

“Be honest, slut.” You rub the tip of his length with your thumb. Dean has another orgasm. He…He really does like it.

He whimpers adorably. “Don't…Don’t stop.”

“That’s what I thought.” You say smugly, smirking. He shivers. You let go of his poor length and pull out. You turn him around and lift him up by his thighs, pushing his back against the wall. He looks at you in embarrassment as you slide your length back inside him and roughly fuck him.

Dean moans more freely than before, his eyelashes fluttering like a hand fan. He wraps his arms around you for stability. “Fuck~! Wai- wait~!” He gasps.

“I can't control myself, your cunt feels too fucking good.”

He mewls. You lean in and sloppily make out with him. You’re driving him insane. You slide your hand up underneath his shirt and rub your thumb against his nipple. He moans into your mouth. His nipples have always been sensitive but it feels even better in this situation.

You pull away and let out a groan. “Gonna come, sweetheart, right in this tight ass of yours.”

“Mmh- yes~” Dean really feels like a slut now. You were right.

You chuckle and let out a low sound of pleasure as your thrusts slow to a halt, your cock spurting hot ropes of cum into his cunt. “There you go, getting your ass stuffed is a much better job for you.” You pull out and drop him onto your bed. “Should I call you a cab?”

He shakes his head. He doesn't want to leave. “Can I stay?”

You chuckle. “Sure. And you know what? I know a few things about that incident you're looking into.”

[shanastoryteller]

i know spn hates good writing and also sam, but the dumpster fire of s4 really could have been salvaged if they'd just played ruby and castiel straight

by which i mean

ruby should have been one of the good guys (honestly it feels like the writers changed their minds last second regarding her anyway)

castiel should have been the villain (which, let's be clear, he totally was)

the point of this is that it would force dean to confront his own bullshit and maybe figure himself out, which not only would have been good television but would have been satisfying to me, personally

sam's problem is that he wants there to be a good equal to every evil. that he believes goodness exists even where it doesn't, that he always wants to give things a chance, that he always has hope. they sound like good traits, up until they're used against him. they reach the station of angels are bad eventually, but it should have been more immediate and visceral, that there is no greater good here. sam should have had this knocked out of him, which would have shattered him in way, to lose this thing he's depended on his whole life, but it really would have hammered home that it's choices that really do matter, not circumstances

dean's problem is always that he sees monsters as monsters with no grey area, that sam always has to play his moral center the second anything becomes complicated. then he goes to hell, breaks, tortures innocents, and an angel yanks him out and tells him that he's a righteous man

dean desperately desperately wants this to be true

because it's sam who they had to look out for, sam who was destined to go darkside, sam with the demon blood

dean doesn't have that excuse

he's just a human man with a hunger for violence who never learned to curb his appetite. who was instead pushed to gorging himself on it, who is left broken and desperate and angry by what he did to save himself. his whole life, his whole self perception for thirty years, was about protecting innocents. then he betrays that in hell. do you think he kept count? how many innocents he destroyed against how many he saved? the day it equaled out, do you think he wished he could weep?

dean is so unbelievably messed up by hell. not the torture he endured, that's barely a blip, but the torture he inflicted is what haunts him

so he needs for sam to be the bad guy

he's using his powers, he's hanging out with demons, he's drinking demon blood. he's the monster. he's inhuman

(he's using his powers and hanging out with demons and drinking demon blood and still he's doing less harm than dean, still he's trying to save people. dean can't accept this, because he can't be the rotten one. he'll forgive sam anything, but never himself, so it has to be sam. because he can fix sam, he'll always love his brother, so if he's evil there's stil a path forward there. but if it's dean? if he's the one going evil? sam's left him before. why would he stay now? if dean is the one going darkside then he loses everything. himself. his brother. it has to be sam)

dean is projecting all his own shit onto sam because he can't deal with any of it, which is why he treats sam like shit, why he treats him in a way that he's never treated him before. it's how he treats himself. and sam has no idea what to do with this, is left reeling and hurt and broken himself by dean doing this to him. sam never thought dean would leave him to die in the panic room, because dean wouldn't, not the dean he's known his whole life, not the dean that loves him. not alone.

but dean would do that to himself. and since sam is his proxy for himself, it's what he does to sam, but sam doesn't know that so all he feels is the weight of betrayal and grief and rage

isn't it funny, almost? the demons brought sam back just as he was, exactly the same. the angels bring back dean but he's not the same. dean comes back wrong, comes back different. but no one wants to say that. to deal with it

having ruby be evil and castiel venerated justifies all of dean's spiraling, all of his punishment. he was right all along, sam was the problem, don't you see?

boring

ruby stays loyal to sam, a demon who chooses something different, who chooses the boy with the demon blood because there's something compelling about sam winchester, as tempting as the apple before eve, and ruby didn't get where she is by knowing better

(remember when sam pulled all the psychic kids together, acted as leader, and resisted azazel? there is a leader in sam, a compassion in him, that azazel had to cheat in order to beat. and if ruby can show him how to win against demons then-)

castiel let sam out of the panic room. he's following orders, because that's his job, and damn the consequences. this should have been seen as the act of betrayal and evil that it was, castiel proving he was never really on their side at all, never on the side of preventing harm. it also would have made his redemption arc mean something, it would have given castiel a lot more to work with if they'd had to really bring him back over

ruby realizes too late what killing lilith means. tries to stop sam, but now that she's here it's too late, kill or be killed. sam accepts that, is willing to die rather than start the apocalypse. but then dean is there, and he can't watch his brother die again, he just can't. so he kills lilith to save dean, when he would have been willing to die himself

ruby gets them out of there. they discover what castiel did, that he pushed forward the apocalypse rather than prevented it

this breaks dean. he finally snaps, but it's good, because everything he'd used to shore himself up before had been terrible and rotted and corrosive

a righteous man is not a good man. dean is forced to confront everything he's done in hell, and after he'd gotten back, everything he put sam through, how he left him in that panic room and almost killed him, how he's treated him for the past year. how it was a demon who tried to help in the end and an angel that damned them

and how sam saved him anyway, damn the consequences

we should have returned to what the show had been building up to from the beginning - that sam loves his brother enough to do terrible things and dean has no idea how to deal with that

so we've got sam and dean on the run with ruby, castiel's slower and much juicier redemption arc, and dean having to pick up the pieces of himself while sam tries to figure out how he gets them out this mess. and sam's guilt is justified here, his aching sense of responsibility, because this time he kills lilith knowing it'll free lucifer. he makes that choice, for dean. and he's determined to fix it

just. demon blood tainted sam and turncoat ruby trying to save the world. the angels trying to end it. all while dean finally accepts the crushing guilt of what he's done and starts to work through it, starts to work on becoming the brother sam lost, on once more being the steady thing sam can hold onto no matter what it takes, because sam choosing him reminds him of something he'd told himself he forgot

he doesn't want to be a righteous man, a torturer, a demon, a victim, a martyr

he just wants to be sam's brother. the one he looks up to, depends on, loves

he wants what he's always wanted

to feel worthy of his little brother's affection

[wendichester]

Hi, hello, how are ya? Could I request the following:

Sam and Reader are in a relationship. And Reader is asexual and is down on themselves about that, and why Sam is still with them, etc. Especially seeing Dean with his current woman.

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ enough,

summary. you begin to question if you're the right partner for sam.

pairing. sam winchester x asexual!reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 274

notes / warnings. not feeling enough, doubt and overall overthinking // thank you for requesting this sweets! hope you like it 🩷

The bunker's kitchen feels too bright when Sam finds you staring blankly at the coffee maker, hands wrapped tight around a mug that's been empty for hours.

"You okay?" he asks, voice still rough with sleep. His fingers brush your shoulder, feather-light.

You force a smile. "Yeah. Just... thinking."

Sam knows that tone. He pulls out the chair beside you, his knee bumping yours under the table. "About?"

You trace the rim of your mug. The words stick in your throat—I saw Dean slip out of that waitress's motel room this morning. I heard them laughing. I wonder if you miss that. If you regret me.

Instead, you say: "Do you ever... wish things were different?"

Sam frowns. "With us?"

With me, you don't say.

The silence stretches. Somewhere down the hall, Dean's boots scuff against concrete, followed by the muffled sound of a woman's laughter. Your chest tightens.

Sam follows your gaze toward the noise. Realization dawns in his eyes.

"Oh," he says softly. Then, with startling firmness: "Look at me."

When you do, his expression is so achingly tender it hurts.

"Dean's way isn't the only way," he says, thumb brushing your knuckles. "What we have—this—is enough. You're enough."

Your breath hitches. "But—"

"No." Sam leans in, forehead nearly touching yours. "I don't need anything else. Just you. However you are. However you love me."

His hand slides up to cradle your jaw, his touch saying what words can't—that intimacy isn't just bodies, that love isn't measured in heat, that you are whole, exactly as you are.

When you kiss him, it tastes like morning coffee and forgiveness.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Rabbit

(Sam Winchester x female reader x Dean Winchester)

Summary There’s something dangerous in these woods. Sam and Dean think it’s them. They’re wrong. CWs Everyone's evil and acts accordingly. Violence, implied torture, violent sex. Predator/prey. Rated 18+. 1.4k words.

Sam x reader x Dean masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

You pump your legs, your naked feet hitting the forest floor, sticks and leaves and earth all around you. A twig catches you on the arm and you're sure it draws blood. You'll have cuts and bruises all over tomorrow, but you couldn't care less. It is all worth it for how hard your heart is beating in your chest.

The night air is cold but you don't feel it. Your body is burning with heat, so much so that you're surprised it's not coming off you like vapor. You come to a dead stop in the middle of a small clearing, look around. In the blacks and browns of the forest you must look like a beacon in your white nightgown, but then that's the point.

You want them to come to you.

You feel eyes on you, feel the hair at the back of your neck stand up. Your alerted senses tell you he's somewhere behind you, and just like the smart little rabbit you are, you do what’s least expected: you run towards him.

Even in your state and with all of your body's strength thrown against him, you can't tackle Sam. He grabs your arms, uses your momentum to throw you both to the ground. You roll a few feet, and then he lands on top of you, pins you with his hips. A few days ago, you would have gasped, cried, screamed, maybe begged. Now you don't.

Hissing, you bring your arm out to scratch at him. Words haven't found their way back to you yet, the trauma to your body too great. But you know what you feel.

You manage to get one hand on the back of Sam's neck, pull him close, but instead of kissing him, which is what it must look like to an outsider, you sink your teeth into the soft skin of his neck. He grunts in pain but pulls you close with one hand, while the other snakes between your bodies. He finds the fly of his pants, deft fingers opening it quickly and efficiently. Then he pushes up your nightgown. You're not wearing underwear. Too much of a hassle, he decided earlier.

He sinks into you without warning. Your teeth unclamp from his neck and you throw your head back as your treacherous body reacts to him immediately. Sam ruts into you, the taste of his blood and the way your bodies are irrevocably connected to each other taking you high quickly.

Sam grunts on every thrust and your hands are blindly lashing out, no concrete goal. One lands on his shoulder, gripping into the fabric of his shirt, the other his side, doing the same. You’re not sure if you’re pulling him closer or trying to get him off you, or both, or neither. The way he pumps into you shakes your entire body.

Your orgasm is a scream, in so far as an animal can scream. Sam is right behind you, a deep satisfied groan leaving him.

Your eyes are closed, head pressed back against the forest ground. You can hear things crawling around you. Can hear the low wind. God, you swear you can hear the moss grow. What you can also hear is footsteps. You open your eyes, the vision of Dean upside down making you laugh in a deranged, sick way. He smiles down at you, black eyes amused.

"Sammy get a little ahead of himself?" he asks, as his brother pulls himself out of you, then pulls you up by your hands. You stand, and Sam, strangely gentle, pulls a leaf from your hair. Dean studies you, watches you for a moment. Then he steps closer, runs the pad of his thumb over your cheek.

"Our little darkling," he says, something similar to adoration in his voice. It started with him, so sometimes it feels like he's the leader of your little trinity of horror.

Once Dean became a demon, it wasn't long before he found a way to make Sam follow him. Fitting, really, since Sam followed Dean all his life. It would make sense he would do the same now. The demon blood Dean forced into his brother was quick to do its work, and soon Sam's eyes turned black too.

The duo’s next stop? You. Their life-long friend and confidant.

What they did to you, you're not entirely sure, neither are you sure of what you are now. Demonic, yes, but something else, too. Something that consists of Sam and Dean's influence as much as it does of Hell. You were weak and terrified when they found you, but you are not anymore.

The corruption of you is complete, or nearly. Sam says the confusion will lessen, that things will seem clearer to you soon. But you don't think they could be clearer. They've brought you here to sharpen your senses, and also to have their fun. They think you're trapped here with them, at least somewhat unwillingly while your transformation settles. They're wrong.

You can feel Sam’s spendings run down the inside of your thigh, cooling quickly against the cold air. You put your hand on Dean's cheek, pull him in. Look deep into those onyx eyes and then kiss him, bite his lip, suck on his tongue. When you separate, you throw Sam a long look, then tighten the grip on Dean.

"Now you run," you say to both of them, voice raspy from lack of use, and their grins would be enough to send them to Hell, if their dirtied souls didn't already guarantee that.

They do run. The first few rounds it takes you a long time to find them. You get so frustrated, so needy, that you scream and beat the forest floor with your fists. But then you remember what they taught you. Close your eyes, use your senses. Use your knowledge of how they act, how they move.

You find them quicker and quicker, and every time you do you force one of them into you, on the ground, against a tree, holding you up, it doesn't matter. You don't know if you'll ever get enough of them, if there is a part of you that will someday be satiated.

Dean grabs your hair by the roots so hard that your vision blurs, that tears shoot into your eyes, and Sam opens you up over and over, fingers digging hard into your flesh. Sounds come from deep in your throat and one of them drinks them down while the other twists a nipple or bites it or bites you, somewhere, on your neck or thighs or ass. Your skin makes beautiful sounds when their palms connect with it.

At one point, you are straddling Dean, riding him roughly and quickly, and your hands find their way around his neck, squeeze. He only smiles at that, grabs you, flips you over. Pushes into your tightest hole as you whine and moan into the forest floor beneath you, come shaking and crying.

Dean climbs off you and just as you’re pressing yourself up, Sam takes his place, pushes you back into the damp earth. He runs his tongue along your neck and you push back against him try to urge him on. You succeed.

You scratch and kick and bite and pull and push. You give as good as you get, and all three of you are bleeding and bruised when morning light breaks through the thick crown of trees. You don't need to sleep anymore, but you have been resting, lying on the ground, the earth cooling your burning flesh.

Your eyes snap open, and even though you can't see it, you know they are black. Rolling over on your front, you get up on all fours. Sam and Dean are nowhere in sight, but you can smell them, sense them. You get up. There is a low mist around you as you start walking. You feel like a fever has broken.

"Oh, boys," you singsong, and a wicked grin breaks over your face as you set out to find them. They’ve taught you well. You know now that love always comes with pain attached, and you will make sure they get plenty of both.

Because the truth is, you aren't trapped here with them. They are trapped here with you. 

[girlboysam]

wincest fic rec list

a collection of my favorite fics sorted by my favorite genres. most of these are not smut based, though they contain it (and if anyone’s interested i can make a pt. 2 with smutty ones). proof i read too much fanfiction…

pov outsider

Do you wish you could still touch… her? by ace__BETHANY (6,100 words) - “Every time Jessica Moore hears the name Dean and the consequences following it”

Rift by Fenix21 (6,511 words) - “John thought he knew what he was betraying. Turns out, he didn't.”

Daisy Boyhood by AnonDude (1,229 words) - “Bobby quickly discovers that the boys have no concept of the idea that their particular brand of closeness may not be right.”

Welcome Home by Samcursed (12,373 words) - “The hunters of the bunker don't know what to make of the strange man and the even stranger relationship with his brother when Dean shows up after being possessed by Micahel.”

weecest

Guardian Ad Litem by fraukatzen (24,389 words) -“Sam has always called Dean “daddy” when dad’s not around. Dean likes it a lot.” slow burn, kinky but also sweet

The Ballad of the Invisible Boy by dollylux (57,490 words) - “This is a story of adolescence. This is a love letter for the slow burn, for Led Zeppelin, for the 90s. This is the first of two sets of stories about how Sam and Dean didn’t fall in love. They never had to. It was always there, this desperation between them, like a real, breathing thing. When they came together, it was inevitable. As sure as continents colliding, as the phases of the moon and the life and death of stars. This isn’t a love story, but it’s a story of love” a classic, popular for a reason. the weecest of all weecest

The Salt-Filled Skins of Ptolemaea by BlindSwandive & Maven_Morozov (92,128 words) - “Sam has always felt like a freak in his body. As long as he can remember, his life has revolved around his brother--but as he begins to transition from a child to a teenager, he's forced into a reckoning of his feelings for Dean, and a strange angel appearing in his dreams that calls itself Azazel.” this is my favorite long form fic ever. changed my life a little. featuring trans!sam as well <3

house song by according2thelore (55,501 words) - “Pre-Canon/Teen!chesters AU in which Sam develops powers at age eleven, Dean will do anything to protect him, and they have to live with the consequences”

susceptible to falling by kermiethefrog (7,957 words) - “Dad says keep Sammy safe. Dad says take care of Sammy. Dad says make sure Sammy stays close, no matter what. So Dean does. No matter what.”

Too F’n High by ladygizarme (9,032 words) - sick fic with dark undertones, very smutty, be warned

It Started Out With A Kiss by intrepidheart (17,291 words) - “Sam has a date. That's not the problem. The problem is that Sam's asking Dean to teach him how to kiss. The problem is that this kiss changes everything.”

Crush by BewareTheIdes15 (23,401 words) - “Dean looks at him different now, Sam just can't figure out what the difference is.”

obsession/codependency heavy

mother is pretending by hathfrozen (19,936 words) -“Sam and Dean get reckless about how they're handling the pain of season 2, and whoops! slowly develop a Mommy kink along the way.” hathfrozen has the best fics ever. this one is one of my all time favorites, a must read

Monsters are always Hungry by untraceablegirl23 (27,460 words) - “Nonlinear depiction of the time Sam and Dean are found out and how it all comes to in the months beforehand which are Heaven and Hell at once. Or an acknowledgement of just how far they’d go for each other, even when it’s beyond wrong, because how can you hide when you’re entirely made for someone else?”

Hands Away by objectlesson (13,298 words) - “When you’re horny and alone with one person in one room for a long time and you’re sixteen and all you’ve ever been taught is to love your brother more than anything, it doesn’t seem like that far of a leap to start imagining what his mouth would feel like around your dick.”

case fics

The landscape after cruelty by zorrosuchil (16,428 words) - “After getting coordinates from Dad, Sam and Dean head north to Oregon to find a house that's making people sick for no apparent reason. Dean's antsy because of his unfinished business in that town with a violent spirit from four years ago, a machete-wielding murderer that simply vanished. But what he doesn't expect is the return of his feelings of obsession from four years ago - not over the case, but over Sam, who was away at college that summer. Dean tries not to get too worked up over all of it, but Sam's always been too hard to ignore.”

The Things We Carry with Us by lovesrain44 (47,604 words) - “Sam and Dean are on the road, saving people and hunting things, like they always do. Dean discovers that Sam is attempting to turn himself into a monk, and so he does his best to get Sam laid. Sam resists because, of course, who needs to have sex with a girl when Dean’s around? It's about going on a roadtrip with your brother. It's about the food you eat, and the maps you follow. It's about the things you carry with you.”

What Went Wrong Yesterday by SinnamonSpider, stormbrite (16,224 words) - “With Broward County in their rearview and a new case in their laps, Sam struggles to come to terms with the six months he spent alone after Dean’s death - and the fact that it never happened at all. And on top of it all, he now has to deal with the feelings for his brother that have been dragged to the surface.”

others

nothing's gonna hurt you, baby by orphaned (17,652 words) - angst slow burn getting together

Feel About the Same Most Every Day by orphaned (4,747 words) - angst unrequited smut

i don’t smoke by brotherfuckin (loved hands) (18,783 words) - “After John's death, Dean blames himself, puts up walls, and barricades himself from love. Sam tears it all down.”

Stranger Than Fiction by nyxocity (50,644 words) - “Meta-comedy/drama set immediately post-4x18” featuring dean being obsessed with wincest fanfiction

[secretlycursedd]

soft smut

Dean loves Sam to death, but he's too afraid to accidentally tell Sam about it during sex, because after everything Sam's been through, the last thing Dean wants is for Sam to think that Dean loves him only for his body.

But every time Dean barely holds back from saying those three words out loud.

Sam is too beautiful underneath him. His long hair is scattered across the pillow, and a few strands are stuck to his sweat-sticky forehead, his eyes are looking straight into Dean's, and Dean can't help but moan at the piercing, fucked-out gaze of his brother. Sam's cheeks are covered with a light blush, and his lips are plump from kisses, and Sam makes the most beautiful sounds on the planet, mixing them with needy and sincere "More, Dean, please, it feels so good, like this."

Dean lets out a soft groan as he buries his face in Sam's neck, pressing kisses and bites into the tanned skin, turning them both on even more. He changes the angle slightly and Sam whines, gripping Dean's shoulders tighter and spreading his legs wider, giving Dean more room to move.

"Fucking perfect for me, Sammy, my beautiful baby boy, just like that".

Dean has no control over what comes out of his mouth, but he knows that the sex he has with Sam is the most genuine thing that has ever happened in his life, and he regrets every stupid and meaningless night he spent with some stranger from a bar, instead of spending those same nights with Sam, methodically pounding into his brother's body, listening to his moans and receiving barely noticeable scratches from his short nails.

Sam is close, Dean can tell by the increased moans and the way Sam cups his face in his large hands, asking Dean for a kiss. He doesn't refuse, leaning closer and brushing his soft lips against Sam's, swallowing every moan and whimper from his little brother, picking up the pace.

And if hot and moaning Sam was beautiful, then Sam who cums from just Dean's cock, arching his back and opening his mouth in a silent cry, is simply incredible, and Dean doesn't think anyone could ever describe even a part of the feelings that Dean is experiencing at this moment.

Sam pulls Dean back to him, forcing him to press close, smearing white streaks of cum on Sam's stomach, and then he captures Dean's lips in his own again, almost immediately finding Dean's tongue with his own, catching every uneven groan Dean makes, bucking his hips to help Dean cum.

And this is the most dangerous moment, because Dean loses all vigilance when he reaches his peak.

He had never made a mistake before. He bit his tongue and didn't let the words escape his mouth, but today Sam is especially beautiful and vulnerable, especially soft and gentle, especially content and happy, and Dean makes one of his greatest fears come true when he whispers "I love you" into Sam's lips and then comes, resting his forehead against Sam's and letting his little brother wrap his muscular thighs around his body and not let go, squeezing Dean in his arms.

They stay like that for a while, catching their breath, but Dean can feel himself still tense and paralyzed with fear.

He waits for Sam to say something, because Sam always says something after sex. But today Sam is silent, instead tracing strange patterns on Dean's back with his fingertips and gently kissing his temple, and it can't help but be frightening.

Dean decides to break the silence first, awkwardly clearing his throat and asking a little fearfully, "Are you okay?", immediately kissing Sam's collarbone, moving to his neck, licking all the bites and hickeys he left a few minutes ago.

"Better than anyone," Sam says tiredly, and Dean hears a smile in his voice, but even that doesn't help him relax completely.

He's a complete idiot and a cretin, just a fool who couldn't cope with his stupid emotions and feelings, letting them get the better of him.

And so before Sam can say anything else, Dean lifts himself up slightly, resting his elbows on either side of Sam's head, and looks into his eyes, then leans down and kisses Sam deeply and long, burying the fingers of one hand into his little brother's wet and tangled hair, responding when Sam runs his tongue over his bottom lip.

"I love you," Dean says again when they pull away to breathe. "But I love you for more than that, okay?" he explains, his gaze darting over his brother's bare, toned body, then back to Sam's eyes, looking at them openly and sincerely, hoping Sam will understand. "I love you for you, Sammy. Always just love you. Love you so much."

And as if to cement his words, he kisses Sam again, tracing his own words on Sam's lips, leaving them as a silent promise.

"You know that, right? I need you to know, Sammy, tell me."

Dean doesn't immediately realize that he's stubbornly keeping his eyes closed, afraid to see any hurt or pain on Sam's face, but when Sam gently kisses his closed eyelids, Dean understands his silent request, opening his eyes and looking at a smiling and happy Sam, who can barely contain his contented laughter.

"I know, Dean. Always have." Sam runs his thumb over the freckles on Dean's cheek, and Dean can feel Sam lifting a huge amount of worry off his shoulders with that movement. "And I just love you, too, always so much."

And this time, Dean kisses the joyful laugh off Sam's lips, which is passed on to him too. He closes his eyes with happiness and lightness because everything is fine and he didn’t ruin anything. He realizes that Sam is getting better and that Sam is here, warm and happy, and his. Dean loves him so fucking much.

"I didn't know you were so sentimental," Sam tells him slyly, as Dean carefully rolls onto his side, pulling Sam along with him.

And maybe one day, when Dean is ready, he will tell Sam the reason for his emotions and fears, but it won't be today, and so he rolls his eyes good-naturedly, tsking.

"Oh shut up, I'm not sentimental."

"I could have sworn you were about to cry."

"Even if I did, it was because of the fucking good sex."

"Sentimental and horny."

"You enjoyed it, so don't act like I'm the only one."

"It doesn't change the fact that you're sentimental."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Dean pulls Sam closer anyway, gently lifting his chin and kissing his sly smile.

"I just love you so much," Dean tells him, brushing Sam's pointed nose with his own and closing his eyes, savoring the moment.

"I just love you so much, too," Sam tells him, and Dean drifts off to sleep, feeling lighter from the absence of stupid fear. Sam is there, safe and loved, and that's always been the most important thing to Dean.

[zepskies]

HEADCANON: Man Flu

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader || Beau Arlen x Reader || Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader || Boaz Priestly x Reader

HC: When Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Boaz Priestly get sick, how would they act when you (try to) take care of them?

AN: After reading I Got You by @bettystonewell (Dean x Reader) and The Best Kind of Medicine by @lamentationsofalonelypotato (Soldier Boy x Reader), I realized that I've never actually written a sick-fic before. Here it is in headcanon form, since you guys seem to like these! lol 💜

Also adding Priestly to this lineup for the first time because some of you have been requesting more of him recently. 😉

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, hurt/comfort, sick-fic, some needy affection-starved men who don't want to admit they're needy, lots of fluff.~

Dean Winchester

He's not sick. Because he doesn't get sick.

Dean claims he has the constitution of a horse, but you still take the beer out of his hand before he can take a sip at 10:00 a.m.

He's too busy interrupting himself, namely by coughing half a lung, wheezing, blinking teary eyes -- the whole phlegmy nine yards.

Sam shakes his head, casting you a look that frankly says, Good luck.

He knows his brother is stubborn as hell, and one of the things Dean dislikes most is being fussed over for "no reason." Being seen as weak. Not being able to just shrug his shoulders and shake it off.

To be fair, Dean tries. Except this time it's accompanied by a body shiver and a reluctant sniffle. His pallid face is drawn, and his usually strong and solid frame looks unsteady as he leans a hand on the War Room table.

"Okay, come on, Rambo. Let's get you back into bed," you say, guiding your boyfriend back to the room you share with him.

"I'm find," he insists, even as he begrudgingly accepts the gentle pressure of your hand on his back and shoulder, pushing him down to the bed.

"Sure you are, baby," you say with a smirk. "You're in the primb of libe."

Dean shoots you a narrowed look. Damn you for forcing him to binge-watch all those episodes of Friends late at night when you both can't sleep.

Right now he's Monica, trying to convince you he's in tip-top shape, while you're Chandler, just trying to get him to use tissues instead of his flannel sleeve to wipe his runny nose.

After taking his boots off, you get him to change out of his jeans and back into his sweatpants. Then you manage to get him to lay down under the covers with the promise of coming back with medicine and soup.

"I don't want soup, damn it," he grumbles. You just roll your eyes and rub his arm.

"Just rest. I'll be back with the Vicks."

As you might expect, Dean is not an easy patient.

He refuses to drink tea, but he does down the pills you bring for him, with a measured toss of his head that still makes his head swim. He groans.

He swallows a couple of cautious spoonfuls of the soup, pausing when he realizes that its warmth actually feels good down his sore and scratchy throat. It tastes pretty good too, especially with the warm, buttered slices of bread on the side.

"You made this?" he asks.

"Mhmm," you nod, smiling. If nothing else, good food will pacify this man. "Chicken and wild rice, made especially for you."

"Hmm. S' good," he nods in reply. He manages to finish the bowl.

He has to admit, if just to himself, that he does feel like shit.

He won't admit that the way you're rubbing his back, the gentle pressure of your nails between his shoulders and down his spine relaxes him, makes him feel better.

He knows that you care about him. That you love him. But this is one of those moments where it hits him, just how much.

It's a little overwhelming. A heavy swell of pressure fills his chest, so he tries not to let himself think about it for very long.

(He fails.)

After he's done eating, you take the plates away and help him back into bed. You linger there, slipping your fingers through his soft brown hair and pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead.

"I really need you to rest, okay," you say quietly. "If you need anything, just text me or Sam. Don't get out of bed."

Dean grasps your hand before you can move away from him. Since you're probably going to wash your hands anyway, he lays a kiss on the back of your hand.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Beau Arlen

Sheriff Beau Arlen is the type to run himself into the ground because he's so damn into his work.

He wants to do well in his station of responsibility, and he feels like he has to make up for his performance during the summer madness of Buck Barnes and Avery...and everything in between.

You just have to make Beau realize that he needs to slow down, before he well and truly burns himself out.

You put your foot down one morning.

He tries to get out of bed but has to pause, his head swimming. He takes a couple of steadying breaths while sitting on the edge of the bed.

You notice with a frown. "Hey, you okay?"

"Fine. Just fine," he answers a little too breathlessly. He raises a hand to his head. His throat is sticky and coarse. He wrinkles his nose when he also feels a sneeze coming on.

"Just need a...a...mugh-ah-ha-hugh."

His coughing sneeze makes you grimace. You didn't even know someone could sneeze and cough at the same time.

"Aw, babe. You're sick," you say as you move over to him, resting a hand on his back. He shakes his head and groans.

"Nah, can't be sick. Gotta lot of work to do today," he says. His voice is like gravel blended with broken glass. It would actually be sexy, if for the distinctly un-sexy way he tries to clear the great wad of phlegm from his throat.

He tries to rock himself onto his feet, but there he sways on the landing. You hurry out of bed to grab his arm and steady him.

"Oh no, you don't. Back into bed," you say.

"Aw, sweetheart. I'll be fine--"

"No. Lay down. You're not going in today," you say more firmly, all while you tuck the man back into bed with the blankets covering him.

"All right, all right. No need to be so pushy," he can't help but tease.

It earns a small smirk on your face. It seems like his man flu hasn't yet deprived him of his sense of humor.

"I thought you liked that though," you reply. You sit on the edge of the bed and rub his chest. He groans in defeat.

"Can't believe this," he grumbles. "Today of all days--"

"There's always going to be another case. This is your body telling you that you need to slow down," you tell him. "So how about this. I'm gonna call in one of my sick days, and we'll bunker in together."

You stroke his bearded cheek. He quirks a smile, grabbing your hand and squeezing warmly.

"How long until I'm allowed out, warden?" he asks.

"Until you can stand without keeling over," you dryly reply. A smile tugs at your lips. "Remind me to stop by CVS to grab you a Life Alert."

"All right, har har haugh--" His sarcasm ends on a very real, wheezing cough. Your amused smile drops. You relent from your teasing and stroke his chest once more.

"Okay, just rest. Let me get you some actual medicine and I'll be right back."

He stops you by grabbing your wrist. "Hey, uh...can I have some chicken noodle soup later?"

"Of course, baby. I'll swing by the store now and get some stuff for you."

"And some saltines?"

"Saltine crackers on the side. Got it."

You're about to head to the bathroom to brush your teeth before you start getting ready to go to the store, but once again, Beau's needy hand stops you.

"Before you go, some tea with honey and lemon would be good. Just something for my throat," he croaks.

You smile and nod. "Yeah, for sure. That'll be better for you than coffee."

"Oh, and can you gimme that quilt over there?" he asks, pointing to your favorite knitted blanket at the edge of the bed. You graciously lay it over his form and drop a kiss onto his forehead.

"And some cough drops. Thank you, darlin'," Beau adds.

Your lips begin to press together, but you nod and continue getting dressed.

You can already tell this man is going to settle into you taking care of him just fine.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Neither of you thought it was possible, considering his super genes that allowed him to eat and booze and drug harder than Andre the Giant and Keith Richards put together.

But one day, your over six-foot super soldier goes down hard. The warning signs came the night before, when you could hardly sleep with the way he was snoring like a grizzly bear.

In the morning, he wakes bleary-eyed with a runny nose and a coughing fit hard enough to shake the bed.

"Fuck," he groans, dragging a hand over his face before he turns onto his back. "This's gotta be some kind of bullshit hangover."

You move over to him in bed and feel the intense warmth of his clammy forehead. Your brows draw together in concern.

"No, I think you're sick."

"Not possible," he grumbles. "I haven't been sick since..."

Well, since he was a kid, probably. He won't admit it, but he's surprised he still has that memory lodged in the back of his mind.

It comes to the forefront now: your hand on his cheek unknowingly mimics his mother's gentle touch, her soft, kind voice.

"Aw, my sweet boy. Let's get you feeling better."

He can almost recall the floral scent of her perfume, echoes of it in the shampoo you use.

Ben claims he's fine, that he doesn't need your help or want the medicine and tea you bring for him. (He tries the tea, grimaces, and spits it out when you're not looking.)

He's a sourpatch grumbly patient who only begrudgingly stays put in bed when you ask him to. He doesn't mind lying around and watching movies all day, not to mention episode after episode of Below Deck. It reminds him that he wants to get back into boating.

"Hey, sweetheart," he calls to you from the bedroom, his voice croaking all the while. "I'm getting you a yacht for Valentine's Day. You want it all white, or throw in a bit of gold? Actually, check out this one with the navy trim."

You roll your eyes to yourself when you step back into the room. You're carrying a tray with a large bowl of soup and a fifth of whiskey. He claims the latter will help soothe his throat, and you don't have the heart to argue with him when he's clearly feeling so shitty.

"You mean you're getting you a yacht," you reply wryly. "We live in the city. Where the hell would we put a boat?"

"In a yacht club, where it belongs," Ben retorts. He hooks an arm around your waist and peruses what you've brought him on the tray. He doesn't look all that interested.

"Look, I know you're not exactly a soupy kinda guy, but this'll make you feel better," you say.

"Why can't you put some fucking steak in it or something?" he grouses. He tries and fails to hide another wet cough.

"Why can't you just eat what I lovingly made, just for you," you snipped back.

He rolls his eyes at your attitude, but he pipes down. In that silence, he's conceding that you have a point. There was a time were all he had to do was glance in someone's direction, and there'd be some fucking moron to fulfill his every whim.

Now, you're probably the only one in the world that would actually do what you're doing...

Cooking for him, putting your heart into it, for the simple reason that you do care.

Ben takes the bowl of soup from your hands. Raising a brow, you offer him the spoon as well.

He eats without further complaint.

You smile and reward him with a sweet kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair back as you do so.

"See? That's not so hard, huh?" you can't help but needle him. "It's okay, baby. I'll take care of you."

He eyes you dryly, but he won't admit that there's a different kind of warmth coiling in his chest.

Boaz Priestly

"Uuuughhh, babe," he groans. "I feel like death on toast."

You're standing beside the bed with a smile playing on your lips. You brush back his for once un-gelled hair back from his face. It's weird to see it all limp and lifeless, slightly damp with sweat.

"Unironically, I should make you some toast," you reply. "What kind of medicine do we have?"

Priestly unearths his head from under his pillow to look up at you with miserable red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling, stuffy nose. "Can we count the tequila in the mini bar?"

"Maybe later," you laugh. "How are we on groceries?"

Priestly struggles to think. He takes your hand and rubs it back and forth across his chest. Maybe your sweet, loving touch has the power to clear away his congestion without him needing Vicks. Too minty.

"We have that pastrami I brought back from the shop," he says.

"That's six days old already," you shake your head.

"Aw, that's still good," he argues. "But uh, other than that, I think I have half a cheeseburger left from last night."

Last night's date at TGI Friday's, he means.

You heave a sigh. "Okay, clearly I'm going to the store. You just stay in bed and rest. Drink your tea."

He grimaces like a child. "I don't like tea."

"I know you don't like tea, but you need to drink it. It's good for your throat and your immune system."

He groans and flops back over onto his stomach. You bite your lip against a smile. He's such a whiny baby when he's sick.

Talk about Man Flu.

"Come on, be a good boy for me," you say, smacking him lightly on the ass. "Soon enough you'll feel better."

A smile creeps across his face where it's pressed against his pillow.

"Know what would really make me feel better?" he hedges. He tries to guide you down to him by tugging on your hand, but you resist him.

"Oh, no. You're not gonna get your germs all over me," you say.

"Hey, what happened to in sickness and in health?" he croaks. Even while under the weather, he's still plenty strong enough to grapple with you. He manages to yank you down. Laughing, you stumble into a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Huh, I don't remember exchanging any vows. You see a ring on this finger?" you tease, flashing your bare hand in his face to try and distract him and weasle out of his grip. "I can jump this ship anytime I want."

Priestly pouts. His arm hooks tighter around your waist. "Huh, guess you got me there..."

He turns his head and coughs roughly into his arm. Your amusement fades into concern and sympathy. You lay a hand over his chest while he struggles.

Once again, he clasps his free hand over yours. He glances up a bit hesitantly into your eyes.

"Well, maybe it's time there should be something on this finger," he murmurs.

You blink your eyes wider. Your head tilts, wondering if you just heard him right. Is this delirium fever talking, or is he serious?

"O-Oh yeah?" you ask.

Priestly tries to gauge your reaction. Seeing your face break out into a cute, shy smile raises the corners of his lips. Hope blooms in his chest, right beneath your hand.

"Yeah," he says, trying to clear his cracking throat. "I mean, if you're okay with that. If it's not too soon--"

You slip your fingers over his plush, chapped lips, and your smile brightens.

"When you're feeling better, you can ask me that question properly."

AN: 😆 I hope you liked the first ever addition of Priestly!! It was so fun to try and write him again (it's been a while lol). Feel free to imagine this vignette in the same storyverse as The Miracle Man and Code Red.

But I also hope you enjoyed the "Big 3," as I call them, even though Russell is starting to give Beau a run for his money on one of those slots. 😂 Let me know which guy you had the most fun reading on this one! 💜

If you want to read a reverse of this - How Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy, and Russell Shaw would take care of you when you're sick, check out this HC by @luci-in-trenchcoats:

How They Take Care Of You When You’re Sick

And if you want even more fluff, check out my friend @waynes-multiverse who just posted her set of V-Day headcanons with Dean, Soldier Boy, Beau, and Russell:

Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

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[castielscaplan]

Can't Be You (Deanmon)

Summary: you discover Dean isn't human any longer.

Warnings: angst, demon dean

WC: 570ish

Read on Ao3!

--

The bunker was eerily quiet as you descended the metal stairs, the weight of unease pressing heavily on your chest. You’d heard whispers—Sam had been dodging your questions all week, his answers clipped and vague. Something was wrong.

It wasn’t until you found Dean in the dungeon, sitting in the corner with his back to the wall, that the pieces began to fall into place.

He looked up as you entered, and for a split second, relief flooded your chest. He was alive. He was okay. But then you saw his eyes.

Black. Endless. Wrong.

Your breath hitched, your hand tightening instinctively around the blade you always kept at your side.

“Dean?” you whispered, your voice shaky, like saying his name would somehow undo what you were seeing.

He smirked, pushing himself to his feet with an ease that sent chills down your spine. “Well, hey there, sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice the same, but not.

“Tell me this is some kind of trick,” you said, stepping back as he moved closer. “Please tell me this isn’t real.”

“‘Fraid not,” he said casually, shrugging. “This is as real as it gets.”

Your heart shattered at the confirmation, tears pricking at your eyes as you tried to reconcile the man you loved with the monster standing before you. “What happened to you?”

“Me? I’ve never been better,” he said with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “No guilt, no baggage. Just freedom. It’s... liberating, really.”

“This isn’t you,” you said, shaking your head. “Dean, the real you wouldn’t—”

“Wouldn’t what? Kill? Torture? Hurt people?” His smirk widened, but there was no humor in it. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but that’s exactly who I’ve always been. Demon or not.”

“No,” you said firmly, the blade trembling in your hand. “You’re not the person I thought you were.”

He tilted his head, as if considering your words, then stepped closer, forcing you back until your shoulders hit the wall. “Maybe you never really knew me,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

“I know you better than anyone,” you said, glaring up at him despite the fear twisting in your gut. “And I know this isn’t you. The real you would fight this.”

“The real me?” His laugh was sharp, cold. “The real me is tired, (Y/N). Tired of fighting, of losing, of pretending any of it matters. You should give it a try. It’s... peaceful.”

Your hand trembled as you raised the blade between you, the weight of the moment crushing down on you. “I don’t want to do this, Dean. Please don’t make me do this.”

For a moment, his gaze softened, something familiar flickering behind the darkness in his eyes. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the smirk you’d come to hate.

“You can’t kill me,” he said, leaning closer until his breath ghosted against your cheek. “Not because you don’t have it in you—but because you don’t want to.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as the truth of his words cut through you. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t kill him, even like this.

He pulled back, his smirk turning almost... sad. “See? You’re just as weak as I am.”

Before you could respond, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving you crumpled against the wall, clutching the blade like it was the only thing holding you together.

And maybe it was.

[urblondiebaby]

PUT YOUR HEAD ON MY SHOULDER

Sleepy Sam needs your help to make it into the motel room after a long hunt. Thinking he’s dreaming, he says some things he means. warnings: drowsy confession. dean leaves to get food as usual. use of y/n. fluff. idiots to lovers. friends to lovers.

"You are so much heavier than you look."

Outside the door of a trashy motel room, Sam has his face buried into the nape of your neck. One of his hands is braced against the brick wall while the other is secured loosely on your waist while you fiddle with the room key.

The entirety of his weight has been on you since you tugged him out of the passenger seat, barely holding him up as Dean drove away under the ruse of grabbing some food. His lazy ass just wanted to make you carry his brother to bed-- not that you could complain, being this close to Sam was heaven.

You've only been traveling with the brothers for a few months, but you couldn't help the gnawing feeling of a crush whenever you looked at Sam for too long. It was like a breath of fresh air, standing beside him in the darkest of moments and feeling safe even though you know you shouldn't.

With a hip on the door, you bite your lip, willing yourself not to think about the position you are in. It reminds you of college-- watching drunk couples struggle to get inside their dorms late at night when they couldn't decide between making out or properly opening the door.

But you and Sam weren't a couple. And he wasn't drunk, just tired.

"'M sorry," he murmurs, voice barely audible and kind. His hot breath tickles your skin. Heat rises to your cheeks and you're grateful that his lanky body has created a shadow over you to hide your blush.

"It's okay," you chide, trying to focus your attention on the tricky lock rather than brushing the hair covering his slow-blinking puppy dog eyes. "Just try to stay awake for me until we get you in bed. Okay, Sammy?"

Softly, he releases an agreeable hum into your shoulder. The vibrations send a pleasurable chill down your back. Goosebumps form on your arms.

The blue neon Motel sign flickers. In the split second of darkness, with pure luck, you finally probe the key into the lock and twist.

Pushing the door open with a harsh kick, you're surprised Sam doesn't completely collapse as you walk. Instead, he holds onto you desperately as you help him to bed.

Blood and grime are buried underneath your fingertips as you maneuver the vomit-beige comforter over top of him, yanking it up past his jeans and to his chest like you're tucking in a child. You can't help but smile down at Sam adoringly. Honestly, you feel like a creep, but when else would get the chance to stare at him so blatantly without him noticing or Dean's tease.

You wrinkle your nose at the clinging feeling of fabric and sweat on your back and reluctantly turn away from Sam to go take a shower. A hand wraps around your wrist weakly yet surprisingly firm. Sam murmurs something in audible, tugging your wrist.

“Hey, sleeping beauty," you whisper, giggling.

His eyelids flutter, barely opening as he sighs when he sees your face, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Y/N.”

“Hi,” you breathe, titling your head at the exhausted and strangely worried expression on Sam’s face. He yanks your wrist, and you stumble, letting out a small curse as you catch yourself on the side of the mattress. “No, Sammy. I’ve gotta shower.”

“Please.”

His little whine has your heart breaking into shattered little pieces. It takes a lot for you to escape his grip, physically and mentally. Pursing your lips, you will the pounding of your heart to calm down.

“One sec. I’ll be back before you know it, I promise.”

There's a pregnant beat of silence as you force your feet to move rather than stay looking at Sam -- you don't know if you'll be able to look away if you keep staring. The quiet is filled with the idle clapping of your shoes and the small creak of the bathroom door as you take one half-glance back at Sam before you step past the threshold, slowly shutting the door as to not make any noise and wake him from his oncoming slumber.

Then, you hear it, muffled through the white-painted wooden door. They're small and sound slurred together, but you hear them and you're unsure if you're the one dreaming.

“I love you.”

For a brief moment, you’re frozen in place, making eye contact with your wide eyes in mirror where you’re holding your breath. The bathroom door whips open, silver handle knocking against the eggshell white motel walls.

Pulse in your ears, you exit the bathroom, breathless. “What did you say?”

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

The three words ring in your ears like a new form of tinnitus, forsaking your traumatic days and replacing them with something much scarier.

You feel pale as a ghost, but you can feel the heat in your cheeks, as stark contrast to the blasting AC that was determined to freeze your bones.

Immediately, your gaze finds Sam, begging him to respond.

The tips of his eyelashes are prodding into his cheeks, his lips gaping. Chest rising and falling in even breaths. He’s asleep.

“No, no, no.” You rush to the bed, not even flinching when your knee bumps into the corner of the frame. Leaning over Sam, you repeatedly pat his cheek, urging him to wake up. His skin glows pink under your feverish touch. “You can’t go asleep on me, Sam! Wake up.”

He sits up, eyes darting around the room, confused, voice rasping with sleep, almost raw. “What?”

One look at your face and he’s placing a hand gently on your forearm. It sets your skin on fire. “What’s wrong?”

“Say it again,” you demand. Say it to me so I can say it back.

His brows furrow. “Say what again?" His thumb starts to rub circles on your arm. Sam looks so beautiful you feel like you might die. "What happened, baby?”

Baby.

Your stomach flutters. Swallowing, you plead for your throat to wet so the words will come out without burning. “Say you love me.”

His eyes widen, the whites of his making his hazel eyes stand out even more, the raw lighting in the motel makes it looks like hearts are forming in the highlights of his eyes.

His lips part, head tilting, and his eyes flickering across your face, as if he's trying to commit you-- this moment -- to memory. They pause at your lips then they're back at your eyes.

“I love you.”

Instantaneously, your lips find his.

His find yours.

The kiss is helpless and sloppy. Each of your lips plump and lazy with sleep, tongues peeking for a taste, hands searching for anything that would provide stability. Somehow, you make your way into his lap, arms thrown around the back of his neck, hanging onto the headboard.

Sam breaks away from you, but not for long. Forehead resting against yours. Him panting. “I thought I was dreaming.”

You cannot stifle a giggle, pecking his lips, relishing in how his chase after yours. “Yeah? You dream of me often, Sammy?”

“When I’m lucky.”

i’m gonna be honest, i’ve only watched like ten episodes of spn and read a bunch of ffs so if this inaccurate i’m so sorry. But these puppy eyes have been haunting me

forget this in my drafts tbh

[acciofictionalmen]

chick-flicks & plump lips

(sam winchester x female!reader oneshot)

→ courtesy of dean who can't stand the romantic tension anymore between his brother and best friend, you and sam are forced to share a hostel room..

warnings: fluff, angst, sexual references, strong language... love confessions ♡

"We'd like to check in." Dean sauntered up to the front desk, that usual swagger in his step as he gave the receptionist a once over, "Under Connors."

The receptionist's eyes immediately dropped to your undoubtedly dishevelled appearances, but once they settled on Dean's face, she seemed to check herself.

"Rough night." Dean drawled in a forced attempt to make conversation with her, referring to the mud that caked each of your clothes.

Grave-digging wasn't for the weak after all.

You and Sam exchanged a look, rough night didn't even begin to describe the evening you'd all had.

She blushed, clicking a few times on her computer before facing the three of you, "Dean Connors? Two rooms?"

He nodded, flashing a grin that had the receptionist close to drooling, "That's the one."

Dean rubbed his hands together as she passed him both keys, chucking one in Sam's direction which he caught smoothly.

"Enjoy the two bedroom en-suite!" Hollered the receptionist in Dean's direction as he strolled off, you and Sam following closely.

Once you reached the correct corridor, you paused, watching Dean swiftly unlock his room as you waited expectantly. By this point, one of the brothers would give you their key so that you could enjoy some privacy. With the added bonus of a break from their constant bickering.

Dean turned towards you both from the doorway as your eyebrows rose, immediately recognising that familiar look of smugness. By the look on Sam's face, he'd noticed it too.

Clearing his throat, Dean stared you both down, "I'm giving you both tonight."

You and Sam exchanged confused glances.

"I'm sick of the tension, and I refuse to be stuck in the middle of some corny chick-flick. You either fuck or you sort your shit out."

The door slammed.

Every muscle tensed as you hesitantly faced Sam, who seemed determined to stare at anything except you.

He stepped towards the door opposite and unlocked it with a soft click, reaching blindly to fumble for a light switch. Within moments light flooded the room, and he swore under his breath.

One bed. Typical.

The receptionist's earlier words directed towards Dean resurfaced in your head: "Enjoy the two bedroom en-suite!"

You could practically hear Dean's snort of laughter from the other room, and you swore you'd make him pay for this in the morning. For your mounting humiliation and the words he'd spoken into existence that neither you nor Sam had been able to admit yet. Words that could no longer be ignored now that they were out in the open. Exposed.

Sam finally met your eyes, flashing you an apologetic look as he walked inside, shutting the door softly once you'd entered too.

You both stood for a moment, unsure what to do with yourselves- it wasn't like you had something to keep busy with or any belongings to unpack: most of your bags had remained in the Impala.

Eager to escape the awkwardness, you quickly yanked pyjama bottoms and a loose t-shirt from your rucksack and announced that you needed a shower.

You slipped into the bathroom before Sam had a chance to reply.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, the impassivity of your face concealed your inner turmoil well. Dean's words had taken you by surprise, yes, but they hadn't exactly been news. Perhaps it was a good thing he had acknowledged it. Especially with the job the three of you shared. Emotional conflict and unspoken secrets didn't bode well when your lives were constantly in eachothers hands. Not that either of the Winchester brothers would ever allow any harm to befall you.

Tugging off your clothes, you let your torn henley, mud-splattered jeans and lace-trimmed underwear pool at your feet.

Sam. Sammy. Your best friend.

It was true. You'd entertained the thought of something more not too long ago. Who were you kidding? You still did; it was impossible not to. When his fingers brushed against yours, when his lips pulled into a smile in those brief, deeply personal moments, intended for your eyes only. A privilege you kept close to your heart.

You knew Sam thought about it too, knew that the amount of times you'd both stared at each others lips was too much to be an accident. To hold him, to touch him, to be with him.. it sent an indescribable thrill through your body that matched the adrenaline after a successful mission; that feeling when you'd faced death, and came out alive.

Shaking your head in an attempt to banish these thoughts, you drifted into the shower, tugging your hair free from it's hair band.

With a strangled squeak, the shower head relented as it burst into life. Stepping underneath the streams of water, you hissed at the searing hot temperature. It didn't seem to compromise between agonisingly cold and painfully hot, so you settled for the latter with a soft sigh, moaning with satisfaction as the water hugged your scalp, chest, thighs, legs; tinted crimson by the time it disappeared down the drain. You scrubbed at the blackened blood in your hair, still uncertain whether it was yours or not.

Once you felt clean enough, you stepped out, towelling yourself down quickly before sliding into your pyjamas. Your eyes widened as you realised the purple t-shirt you'd chosen in your haste had once been Sam's, and you traced the dog's outline almost dotingly. It was impossible not to remember the time you'd lost all of your clothes when Dean had recklessly torched a demon (and all of your belongings in the process) during a moment of impulsivity. Sam had lent it to you those months ago, conveniently forgetting to ask for it back once he realised how much you adored it. The fit not suiting you, it revealed slithers of your shoulders as you moved.

After a quick brush-through of your hair and a once over in the steamed up mirror, you decided it was time to go out. To face the inevitable. Your hand trembled slightly as you gripped the bathroom door handle, pushing it open and wincing at the obnoxious creaking sound that accompanied it.

Sam, who had been sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, instantly looked up at the harsh sound. The lights had been turned off, and it took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Sam's eyes dropped to your t-shirt, but he made no comment. Disappointment swelled within you for a reason you couldn't, or simply wouldn't, identify. You had wanted to be the one to speak first, to behave nonchalantly, but too much swirled in the air between you. Too much was at stake, and you found yourself incapable of acting as though you didn't care. Instead, you opted for the safest option and walked towards the large window. The city view would've been breathtaking if the air hadn't been stolen from your lungs already. Thousands of stars twinkled promisingly, woven in-between a duvet of endless darkness. The opportunity of love in a world dominated by the opposite.

Perhaps you had looked forward to the chance of a confession. From both sides. To voice the intensity of your feelings, to gain clarification. To at the very least cleanse your system of emotions that threatened to suffocate you so that you could at last move on. If that was possible.

You sensed him before he spoke. The warmth radiating from his body, the distinct smell of his aftershave, the uneven, short breaths he took as he neared. Sam stopped directly by your side, close enough that you could detect the rising and falling of his chest, his expression as he turned to face you. It was one of conflict. A long-standing mask of calm that threatened to crack beneath the breadth of possibilities. The millions of outcomes of this singular moment between the two of you, the millions of words he could say- perhaps only a couple being the right ones.

You couldn't bring yourself to face him back. Not yet, so you stubbornly stared out the window, tracing the city skyline with your eyes.

His shoulder brushed yours, "(Y/n)."

The way he spoke your name was imploring, as though he needed your attention, needed your eyes on his.

"I'm sorry about this," he briefly gestured around the room, "happening."

You turned around so quickly that he flinched, caught by surprise, "You're sorry?"

His brow was furrowed, unable to understand the source of your reaction, "Yes," he began, his gaze studying you intensely, "I'm sorry Dean did this, it wasn't right and-"

"It wasn't right." You repeated, suddenly feeling numb, hurt eating at your words, "Is that what you and I are? Not right?" Your bottom lip quivered, eyes blinking ferociously in an attempt to stop the first teardrop falling and the others from inevitably following.

Sam realised his mistake, a hand reaching out to caress your arm when he reconsidered, and it dropped to his side.

Beneath the stars, you couldn't tell whether the glistening in his eyes was from the shining of the moon or tears of regret.

Beneath the stars, your heart exposed, his silence was damaging.

You gave a small smile and turned away, ready to knock on Dean's door and beg to sleep there instead.

When a hand grasped your arm and pulled you back.

Sam held you close this time, his large hands holding your waist as though he was scared you'd attempt to leave again. His hair brushed against your forehead as you instinctively leaned into him, your noses brushing.

"Don't leave." He murmured, hot air hitting your cheek as he spoke.

Heart throbbing, chest aching, you couldn't bring yourself to speak.

You leant back slightly, just enough so that you could peer into Sam's eyes. It was then that you noticed it; submerged beneath the flickering hues of honeyed brown and whorls of rich green: longing.

He continued, each word softer, more intimate than the last, "I need you, (Y/n)." His thumb swiped away a stray tear from your cheek, but instead of dropping back down to his side, his large hand softly cupped your face.

His thumb traversed your features, swiping over your lips, tracing your cheekbones, lovingly brushing over your eyelids as your lashes fluttered.

Your breath hitched, words unable to scramble past the growing lump in your throat as your mind went back to all of the memories you shared: fighting by Sam's side, cleaning his cuts, car drives as you chased your next case, late nights in random local libraries researching with him..

As though he could read your mind, Sam continued, "I need you, (Y/n). Not to go back to back with me during a fight, not to fix me up when I get hurt..'

You swiped away a stray hair from his face, unsure where this was going but too entranced by him to voice it.

"..but to be with me afterwards. I want to treat you to a proper dinner - not Dean's pot noodles - somewhere nice." He added quickly, earning a small giggle from you, "I want to cherish you, to care for you- not only when you've been injured during a fight, but all the time. I want to be with you at the end of the day, when you're drifting off to sleep- I want to hold you - I want to show you- to show you that I love you."

You froze, eyes widening.

"I love you." He repeated, almost a whisper, yet ten times louder in your ears as his words echoed in your mind.

You couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't breathe as his words struck a chord deep within your heart. You saw doubt begin to drown out that shimmer in his eyes- you decided to banish it. Decided that in a world of supernatural hunts, infinite risks and dangerous uncertanties, there was something Sam Winchester would never have to doubt for one second: your love.

Slowly, meaningfully, your hands settled on his neck, travelling upwards until they tugged softly at the ends of his hair.

"Sammy.." you murmured so quietly, the movement of your lips almost undetectable. Except to him.

Urgently pulling your head forwards, Sam's lips crashed onto yours as he kissed you with every emotion he had failed to repress, every thought and dream about you that had threatened to be his undoing, every innocent touch that had every potential to become something more, until the evidence of his love plumped your flushed lips. You briefly pulled away, resisting that disappointed groan of his that drove you half crazy because you had to say it, had to- "I love you." You gasped, as he claimed your lips once more, his tongue swirling around your own as though he was capturing those words, those revered words, trapping them in the intimacy of a moment that neither of you would ever forget.

After a few minutes that felt like blissful eternity, yet simultaneously would never be long enough to satiate your longing to be forever close to him, you both pulled away. A string of his saliva mixed with yours adorned your lips as he wiped it away dotingly.

His grip on you tightened as you leaned in once more, begging to kiss him again, to close that tantalising distance between the two of you that stretched on for too long.

He almost gave in- his eyes, illuminated by the moonlight that danced across your faces, yearned for you. He kissed your cheek and, with effort, pulled away. You pouted slightly as he ran a hand through his tousled hair.

"Don't look at me like that, doll." He spoke, a smirk hidden beneath his expression of pure adoration, "I need to shower first-" his eyes dragged down your figure, any trace of his puppy dog eyes gone, catching on your curves as they returned to your face, "-if we're going to follow Dean's initial suggestion."

proud of this one🥹

writing this healed a small part of me, i suppose sam winchester has that effect ♡

thank you for reading this. it makes me so happy that people read my works and it never fails to amaze me?? like i truly can't comprehend that you're there, on the other side of the screen, reading my writing :) im honoured :)

please do comment, id love to hear your thoughts !

yours, 𝒜