#and Sam is good at knowing how to handle Dean and his broad strokes

[suncaptor]

It is actually kind of insane that Dean probably knows an incredible amount of details of Sam's entire life and then Hell happens and that's like more than Dean will ever know of him and Dean's like. relatively just. in the dark.

[deanwinchesterswitch]

Dreams of Happiness

Summary: You’re doing well in your new life—many would say you’re ‘living the dream’. The only problem is, it’s not the life you dreamed of living.

Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Angst; Some fluff; Language; Mentions of smut; Canon divergence.

Betas: @princessmisery666 and @wayward-and-worn

Word Count: 2,747

Part One

It’s been a long time since you’ve attended one of the monthly gatherings. The possibility of seeing Dean makes your chest clench with pain, punching the air from your lungs. Yet, you miss your found family, and avoiding them to avoid him, serves no purpose. Besides, you're in a better place emotionally now. At least that’s what you keep telling everyone, anyway.

Eyes scanning the room as you pull out of Jody’s hug, your heart stalls at her next words, unsure if it’s from gratified relief or abject longing.

“They’re not coming,” Jody informs you, handing over the glass of whiskey in her hand. “Caught a case at the last minute.”

“Oh, sure,” you shrug, “I could have handled it if he was here.” The cock of her eyebrow lets you know that she can see right through the facade. Jody is the big sister you always wished you had. There’s no hiding from that all-knowing scrutiny. “Yeah, okay. Whatever.”

“You doing alright?” she prods.

“I’m great. Things are going good.” You are not great. Things are not good. The reality is so far from either of those that you’re unsure where you’d begin to explain. “How’s everyone?”

“We’re good. The girls are excited about seeing you.”

“Of course they are. I’m the cool aunt.”

“You’re the only aunt,” she deadpans.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m still cool.”

As if on cue, Alex and Claire burst into the room, shoving each other and shouting your name, vying for your attention. Taking a large gulp of whiskey, you hand the glass back to Jody just as two sets of arms squeeze you tight in their hold.

A couple of hours later, the bathroom mirror reflects a genuine smile, contentment from being around the ones you love. Exiting the bathroom, you’re stopped in your tracks outside Alex’s room, overhearing your name.

“She looks happy,” Claire states.

“I don’t know. There’s a sadness in her eyes that wasn’t there before.” Alex always seemed to understand you. Relate to you a little better. When you showed up on Jody’s doorstep, physically and mentally exhausted, emotionally devastated, she had been the one to help paste the pieces back together enough for you to function again in the world outside their home.

“Well, I think they’re both a couple of dumbasses. Everyone can see that they belong together. Did you see his reaction last time when Jody told him she wasn’t coming? And she is obviously disappointed that he isn’t here today.” 

Claire’s no slouch at observing people either, and you reluctantly smile at her forthright assessment. You’re curious about his reaction, and though you know you’re wrong for eavesdropping, you silently lean a little closer to the open doorway, hoping to hear more about him.

“Yeah, but they both seem to be moving on. The art business is working out great for her, and he’s still out there putting himself in harm’s way to save the world.”

Does he know about your new business venture? Maybe he believes that you are happier without him. Agitation begins to coil in your chest at Alex’s response, but Claire’s next words cut a broad stroke through your heart.

“She still loves him, though, don’t you think?”

Of course, I do! I can’t just throw a switch and stop.

“I think so. Her poker face is almost as good as his, so it’s hard to tell for sure. I wish she’d talk to us about it.” 

There’s no way I can talk about him. It’s too difficult to explain. It still hurts too much. 

“I bet he still loves her even though he’s being an idiot.”

“I know, but,” Alex’s disgruntled huff reaches your ears, “Sam said he’s back to picking up waitr-”

You need air—an escape. 

Stumbling down the stairs and sprinting toward the front door, you hastily call to the group in the living room that you’re going out for a while. Not waiting for a response, you rush to your car, tires squealing as you pull away from the curb, bound for the lake a few miles from Jody’s. Windows down, wind whipping at your hair, the sequenced pitch of rubber racing over asphalt begins to soothe your troubled mind. Backing up to the edge of the rocky beach, you breathe a shaky sigh of relief, solace seeping through you with the familiarity of your surroundings, your sanctuary.

A swath of emotions threatens to bleed through your pores, but you hold them back until you're lying in the bed of the truck. Staring up at the inky darkness, tears coat and gloss your eyes, turning the view into an image reminiscent of Van Gogh’s Starry Night.

As the months dragged on, you got better at keeping the guilt and desolation hidden, putting on a show for others. A bright smile painted on your face, posing an apathetic demeanor whenever he’s mentioned. Yet, there are still times when you least expect it, caught off guard like tonight, that the hard outline is feathered by grief.

You’d heard tidbits of information about him when running into old acquaintances—laughing, joking, playing pool, the occasional story about him leaving with a beautiful woman draped around him. What you knew, though, that most of them didn’t, was that beneath the cheeky swagger he showed to the world was a compassionate, kind heart steeped in a complex, volatile cocktail of emotions. The person the world saw was only a guise shielding the man you knew and loved.

So you had taken their words with a grain of salt. You’d smile and nod, steer them back to talking about whatever case they were working. They’d eventually ask you to help. If you could, you’d assist with the lore but decline further involvement, telling them, ‘I’m not a hunter.’ As time passed, it became easier to say, but the sting continued to echo.

Hearing about his extracurricular activities with Sam as the source cut deep. It had to be true, then. Didn’t it? Sam was ground zero. Dean had moved on… let you go. Did he even love you anymore?

Colors blend and evanesce, fingers brushing cold metal as you absentmindedly reach for the warmth and security of a hand no longer there. A lost comfort, an intangible ache that lingers on your skin. Fuck, you miss him. You’ve made some pretty questionable decisions over the years, but leaving him ranks the highest. If there were a way to take it all back, you would. Tell him that you were wrong to leave, that you meant all the promises contained in the last words you said to him. You figure he knows on some level. It doesn’t make your choice any easier to accept.

You left him to deal with the never-ending cycle of douchebag demons, dickhead angels, and whatever new monster of the week emerged. Left him alone with the burden of saving the world on top of all the emotional trauma he constantly tries to shove down and hide away.

Hands curling into fists, heated tears whitewash a salty trail to your hairline unabated. There’s no reason to repair the peeling varnish of the facade you painted with no one around to assess the damage. So you let the heartache fade and blur into memories.

“A fireplace.” Rough-skinned fingers traced a path down your spine, palm coming to rest on your hip.

“It takes up half the wall,” a quick nip at his ear, “with a big fluffy rug and lots of pillows. Glass panels on either side to watch the snowfall.”

He laughed, “You’ve been watching too many of those sappy movies again. Not everything is a Hallmark moment.”

“When I’m with you, it feels like it.”

A random conversation that had become a ritual after bad hunts. Sometimes after good ones too, when you were both feeling overly optimistic about the future. The two of you, naked and cuddled close, on a blanket staring up at the stars, in Baby’s backseat, or safe in your bed at the bunker, whispering sweet, healing words and envisioning the home he would build for the two of you post-hunting life. It was a way to escape the horrors of the current day-to-day. Light in the darkness; hope where sometimes it seemingly never existed.

“A chef’s kitchen. Open concept, restaurant grade appliances, butcher’s block, and a marble countertop for rolling out pie dough.”

The sweet scrape of scruff against your flesh and heated breath, “An island I can bend you over and rail you from behind.”

“Wow, what a sweet talker.” You’d kissed him until there were no breaths left to share. Then he’d taken you on the backseat, tender and loving, like you had all the time in the world, replacing whispered words with cries of passion.

Rufus’ old safe house in Montana would be the perfect fixer-upper. By the time you remembered it, it was too late, and you never got the chance to mention it to him. Sam had kept the three of you on a string of hunts until one of them became the final straw for Dean. It had been a bit of a rough one. The witch had nearly succeeded in making you her next sacrifice, but you’d managed to outmaneuver and kill her just as the boys burst into the room. Dean had not been happy. 

Between fuming bouts of silence, you’d argued, for hours, the entire ten-hour drive back to the bunker. Sam was so fed up that Baby was barely parked before he was out, grabbing a set of keys to one of the old cars and driving off without a word to either of you. By the time the two of you reached the bedroom, the fight had come to a head, and the spiteful words cut deep.

“Let’s sleep on it, and we can talk tomorrow.”

“I want you to leave.”

“Fine. I’ll sleep in my old room tonight.”

“No. I want you to pack your things and get out of the bunker. I’m tired of having to rescue you. I’ve got enough on my plate without having to try and keep you from getting yourself killed all the time.”

Anger had instantly flared, “You’re being an asshole! How-,” but as you’d fired back, you caught the flash of torment in his gaze and realized what he was trying to do. Quickly switching tactics, you’d attempted to reason with him. The harsh words thrown back at you had felt like a salt round to the chest at close range.

“...You’re not a hunter. You’re a liability.” 

Dean’s anger was a sight to behold but had never before been directed at you with such force. He’d drawn himself up—arms crossed, stance widened, face an unyielding mask, eyes dark, glare chilling, breath nearly undetectable. For a moment, you wondered if you reached out and touched him, would his skin feel like marble, and an imagined draft of air had prickled your skin.

You’d known he wouldn’t back down once he’d voiced his ultimatum. Struggling under the burden of keeping those he loved alive and out of harm's way, Dean was doing what he did best by trying his damnedest to push you away, believing you would be safer. So you’d let go of the charged words you’d been ready to hurl back and stared him down, uttering the only words that truly mattered.

“I love you.”

The clench of his jaw—rolling muscle beneath stubbled flesh—the singular movement betrayed his vulnerability. You’d thought your words might be enough, but it only made him double down on his determination. He fired one last shot, then walked away. 

You’d heard him pause in the hallway, hoped his resolve would break, and whispered, “Please don’t leave.” As his strides had grown more distant, you’d stared at the space he left behind. 

Standing in the dimly lit room, you'd waited until your legs ached, finally collapsing into a sobbing heap on the bed to wait a bit longer. Exhausted from the hunt, the argument, and with utter despair draining every conscious thought, you’d eventually fallen into a fitful sleep. Waking with a gasp, you frantically searched the room, but there was no sign that he had returned. 

No missed calls or texts lit up your phone when you checked it. It felt like your heart was pumping sludge through your veins, then anger flared, flushing everything loose. How could he leave like that? Say those things to you and then walk out without a backward glance? It didn’t matter that you knew why he did it. The outrage over his callous words ignited a fire in your heart that seared its way through your emotional cortex. 

Debating whether it was best to wait and confront him when he finally returned or give each other some time, you finally shoved a few items of clothing in a bag, figuring you’d be back in a day or two once the dust settled. 

The first step across the bedroom’s threshold felt like stepping off a cliff, a point of no return. As you’d dragged yourself through the bunker, hope had kept you moving forward. Hope that he would be in the garage, sitting in the Impala. You wouldn’t have cared if the fight continued. You’d just wanted to see him there.

When you’d found Baby’s spot empty, muscle memory had been the only thing that kept you upright. Residual shock kept the emotions at bay until you hit the Nebraska state line. You’d found a liquor store and then a motel. Cried, drank, rehashed, dissected every detail that you should have done differently, drank some more, cried again, then drank until your tears were laced with alcohol. 

You knew Dean was afraid of losing someone else he loved, and he did love you. It had been there behind the cold stare and harsh words. He wouldn’t have believed you had forgiven him before he even walked out of the room, but you had. 

Your bout of anger did not negate that forgiveness, knowing that the extreme harshness of his words was proportionate to the feelings he held for you. You hadn’t chased after him for the same reason you had stopped arguing. As much as it hurt, anger and betrayal bleeding through every pore, you’d known there was no point. In that moment, Dean had decided on a course of action and would remain firm. He believed what he was doing would somehow protect you from a hunter’s end, deflect the chaos and darkness of this life, save you… from him.

On the fifth day of radio silence, having eaten nothing but a couple of packages of stale vending machine fare, you’d finally taken a shower, dragged ass to the nearest food source, drank an entire pot of coffee, and downed a huge helping of the greasiest food you could order. After puking up everything you had consumed, you’d ordered a coffee and two bottles of water to go.

You’d believed that regret, guilt… love would somehow, for once, win out over his innate stubbornness, and he would eventually call to apologize. You had been wrong. 

You’d lost count of how many times you’d stopped yourself from calling or texting. You’d rationalized that he needed more time, that if you tried to contact him too soon, you would only make things worse. Deciding it was best to give him space to work through the wealth of emotions you knew he’d be wrestling with, no matter how painful it was for you. So you hauled yourself north, away from the only true home you’d known in years… away from the tormented despair… away from him.

Now you have to face the consequences of your decision. He’s moving on, adjusting to a life without you, and, according to rumors confirmed by a reputable source, finding solace in the arms of another. In an attempt to save your sanity or a matter of self-preservation, you hadn’t let yourself think about him with someone else. 

It hurts like hell, but the blame lies with you as much, if not more so, than him. You told him you loved him but then abandoned him like so many others. You were just as much at fault for letting the months drag on with no contact, no attempt at reconciliation. Caught up in a new life that you only ever wanted to share with him, you realize you had waited too long. 

Too afraid, too ashamed to contact him.

Part Three

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 3: Rainbows

Title: We’ve Got Your Back, Jack

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 1,660

Tags: Mild (brief) Angst, Dean Winchester and Castiel are parents, De-aged Jack Kline (he did it to himself), Jack Kline is twelve, Fingernail painting as therapy, Claire is an excellent big sister, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Canon Divergence from 15x18 (twelve years later), Jack has a guinea pig named Nougat

Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Claire Novak/Kaia Nieves, Background Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy

On AO3 Here

When Jack is teased at school for wearing his favorite rainbow jacket, his family comes together to help build him back up.

“Sunshine, you gotta calm down.” He moves to stand behind Cas where he’s sitting at the kitchen table and squeezes his shoulders reassuringly. There’s hardly any give; Cas is a single ball of tension.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean sets a steaming mug of tea in front of Cas, who glares at it with such intensity that Dean’s surprised it doesn’t shatter on the spot.

“I can’t calm down,” Cas growls. “He was bullied. The sweetest boy in the world, and they made him feel small. How are you calm, Dean?”

Dean sighs and pulls up a chair. “He seemed fine, Cas. I mean, he is God. He was already talking about changes he wants to make once he comes back into power.”

Cas grips his mug and takes an abrupt, angry sip. “I wish he could make them now.”

“Me too, buddy. But he’s learning. Every shitty person he deals with, he learns something. That’s why he’s doing this whole human thing, remember?”

The kitchen’s quiet for a moment while Cas contemplates. He cups his hand over the tea, steam escaping between his fingers in lazy tendrils. “It’s just my instinct to shield him from cruelty.”

Dean nods. He scoots closer, sliding an arm around Cas’ warm, solid waist. “I know.”

Some of the rigidity in Cas’ posture softens and he leans into Dean’s side. Dean presses a kiss to his temple.

“What can we do?” Cas asks quietly. “For now. I want him to feel happy at school.”

Dean hums thoughtfully. “Not sure. The school already talked to the other kid's parents, so that part’s taken care of, and Jack said it was just the one boy. I think we just gotta be there for him. Remind him he’s awesome.”

“I just want to wear my rainbow coat.”

Dean and Cas turn around to see Jack standing in the doorway, rubbing his eye. He’s wearing the bee-patterned pajamas Cas got him for his twelfth birthday in the spring, and is cradling his guinea pig, Nougat, in one arm.

Cas immediately stands up and beckons Jack over. “You couldn’t sleep?”

Jack shakes his head, as earnest and deliberate as he does everything. He pads across the kitchen and hands Nougat to Dean before sitting down in Cas’ empty chair. It took Dean a while to get used to the guinea pig, to her sharp nails and shrill squeaks, but now he likes having her warm little body against his chest.

Cas flips the kettle back on to make Jack a cup of tea, too. “Did that boy’s teasing start with your coat?”

Jack plays with the strings on his pajama pants and nods. “I don’t understand. When he said those mean things and laughed, he felt—” Jack pauses, blinking thoughtfully at the ceiling. “He felt afraid, like he was cornered. Defensive.”

“His emotions must have been strong for you to sense them,” Cas says gently, pouring the steaming water into Jack’s favorite mug, a blue one with a big sun on the side. Dean slowly strokes a finger over Nougat’s soft brown head. His chest feels tight.

“Yes, they were. I feel bad that he’s scared,” Jack continues. “And I’m going to work on helping people like that when Amara gives me my powers again. But I also just want to wear my coat.”

He’s twelve, Dean thinks. He’s God, and he’s twelve.

“You’re gonna wear your coat, kiddo,” he says, bumping Jack’s foot with his own. “That other kid, it sucks that he’s hearing shitty stuff at home. And it’s not your fault that he took it out on you. Trust me. If you wanna go to school decked out in rainbows, we’ve got your back.”

Cas nods and crouches down next to Jack, handing him his mug. “Dean is right. Our priority is helping you be yourself and be happy during your time as a human.”

Jack shuffles his feet a little. He cups his hand over the mug just as Cas had done. “Um, in that case, can I ask something?”

“Yes, of course,” Cas says.

“Well, my friend Mallary likes painting her nails. They look so cool. But she said boys don’t usually do that.”

“And you’d like to,” Cas prompts. His eyes meet Dean’s for a moment.

Jack nods. “Rainbow.”

Dean stands up, cradling Nougat snug against his chest as the guinea pig emits a startled squeak. “Well, then, you’re gonna have rainbow nails. I know just who to call.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Claire sweeps into the house the next morning — Sunday — in a whirlwind of hair and shopping bags. Even though they heard her coming all the way up the driveway, swearing and dropping things, it’s always a shock when she bursts through the door. Kaia follows quietly, with a fondly exasperated smile on her face. She rolls her eyes at Dean and he stifles a laugh.

Claire stomps into the living room and dumps her mountain of bags onto the couch. “Hi, old men. Where’s my brother?”

“Hello, Claire,” Cas says, lips quirking. “I see you’ve come quite prepared.” He’s leaning in the doorway to the living room, arms crossed, an old t-shirt of Dean’s stretched over his broad shoulders. From his perch on the couch, Dean lets his eyes roam appreciatively; Cas has been ageing ever since he returned from the Empty a human, and the years look good on him. He even has a bit of silver in his wild hair. Twelve years together, and Dean still can't believe his luck.

“Yeah, well, Dean calls me saying my baby bro needs a confidence boost, I’m gonna go all out.” Claire starts emptying the bags onto the coffee table. “I brought every color I could find.”

As if on cue, Jack appears in the doorway next to Cas. His hair is still rumpled from sleep but his eyes are shining, taking in the rows of nail polish that Claire is lining up on the table.

“Wow, is that all for me?” He practically bounces into the room and sits cross-legged on the floor, picking up a blue bottle.

Claire ruffles his hair, disheveling it even more, and sits down next to him. “Hell yeah. And for your dads, too.”

Dean blinks. “Uh— you want us to— yeah, that idea was for Jack, actually.”

This time it’s Kaia’s turn to stifle a laugh, and Dean shoots her a dirty look. Cas chuckles and pushes off the doorframe to join Dean on the couch. He takes Dean’s hand in his own and lifts it up, lightly stroking one finger at a time as he looks at the short, blunt nails. Dean may work hard at the garage, but he’s hygienic and doesn’t bring any grease home, under his nails or otherwise.

Now, he blushes a little as Cas brushes a kiss onto his knuckles. “Dean will look beautiful. Just like Jack.”

Jack whoops and shoots Dean a dazzling smile. Dean can’t really say no to that face.

It’s decided that Kaia will paint Jack’s nails rainbow, a different color on each nail (Jack insists that some should have polka dots, too), and that Claire will do Cas’ and Dean’s. Dean tries to ask for just black, like Baby, but gets shouted down by everyone in the room and grudgingly agrees to a dark green. When Claire is done wiping down his nails and applies the first brush of color to his thumb, he has to admit it looks nice.

Jack keeps exclaiming in delight every time Kaia starts on a new color, and nearly loses it when she reveals that she got some tiny glittery stars to sprinkle on the drying polish.

“It looks like a galaxy,” he breathes, eyes wide, moving his fingers gingerly in the light from the window. Dean glances at Cas, who’s getting his nails painted a holographic blue, and is surprised to see a bright sheen in Cas’ eyes as he watches Jack. He’s smiling softly. Dean reaches over (careful of his own drying nails) and lays a hand on his shoulder. Together they watch their kid — sort of God, sort of not — reclaim his happiness one sparkly fingernail at a time.

Once everyone’s clear coat polish is dry (Dean had no idea there were so many steps involved), they take a bunch of pictures to send to Sam and Eileen. Dean almost considers hiding his own hands, but Jack’s gazing at him so excitedly that he splays them on the table next to Cas’ without a second thought.

They do look cool. Sam even says so in his text, after a string of heart-eye emojis.

Claire and Kaia head out after lunch (Cas quietly packs up about half of the nail polish they brought, pressing it into Kaia’s hands to take back home with them). Jack spends the rest of the afternoon picking out a suitably colorful outfit to match his nails at school tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This was a wonderful idea, Dean. Thank you,” Cas says that evening as they’re back at the kitchen table, Cas nursing his usual mug of tea and Dean packing Jack’s lunches for the week. “He was so happy. I hope he’ll be okay tomorrow.”

Dean slides the last sandwich into the fridge and lays his hands back on Cas’ shoulders. They’re warm and pliant tonight. He digs his fingers in, leaning down to kiss Cas’ cheek.

“He’ll be okay. He knows we’ve got his back.” He’s quiet for a moment and runs a hand through Cas’ thick hair, following a silver strand with his shiny-green thumb. “That counts for a hell of a lot.”

Cas twists around, covering Dean’s hand still on his shoulder with his own and gazing up at him. “You are a good man, Dean Winchester. A good man and an excellent father.”

Dean sucks in a big breath. “All right, sunshine. That’s about all the feelings I can handle today.” He grins down at Cas, though, just to assure him he’s fine.

And he is.

[holylulusworld]

Dominance Hierarchy

Summary: Meeting Sam Winchester didn’t mean anything to you. He’s a tall Alpha, a hunter so you decide to leave the moment the case was done but Sam has other plans.

Pairing: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader, Alpha!Dean (barely), Jo Harvelle, OFC’S 

Warnings: angst, possessive/angry/jealous Alpha!Sam, abo dynamics, dominant Sam, smut, unprotected sex, manhandling, language, hair pulling, knotting, mating, claiming, breeding kink, public sex, oral (female receiving), fingering, orgasm denial

6000 Followers BINGO CARD kink: Breeding Kink

6000 Followers Celebration Masterlist

“You just left him at the bar?” Chuckling Jo slaps your thigh not believing you just left Sam fucking Winchester while he tried to seduce you.

“I told you I’m not looking for a mate, a possessive Alpha and a hunter on top of all, Jo. He acted as if he owns me. I swear he was close to grabbing my hair and drag me into his cave. I don’t say he isn’t attractive but I’m too independent to let an Alpha rule my life.” Sipping at your drink you roll your eyes as an Alpha strides toward you. 

Chest puffed, licking his lips he tries to impress you with his size but he’s a dwarf in contrast to Sam. Shaking the thought away you try to continue your conversation with Jo but the Alpha sits next to you, starting to hit on you.

“Dude, I try to talk to my friend. Get lost.” Voice hard you turn your back toward the Alpha, rejecting him as the door to the bar opens and your breath hitches in your throat.

Sam is entering the bar, tall enough to fill the door frame, chest puffed he searches the bar till his eyes land on you and the Alpha behind you touching your shoulder.

You can see the tall Alpha’s posture change as he walks toward you to shove the Alpha away, snarling into the way smaller man’s direction. “Mine…” Laying his claim at you Sam grabs your waist, squeezing your flesh tightly.

Glancing up at the angry Alpha you gulp hard seeing his darkened eyes and the possessiveness in these hazel orbs. “You left…” A low purr leaves his lips as you cover his hands with yours.

“Didn’t know I have to ask for permission to drive home, Winchester.” You try to sound confident, but the way Sam looks at you, full Alpha, makes you melt into a puddle.

“You’re mine, can’t let you leave me like that.” The tall Alpha tilts his head to bury his nose into your neck, inhaling your scent deeply he purrs against your throat and your body reacts to his closeness.

“I’m not yours, dude. Sam, you’re not a caveman. Control your needs and find an Omega to use as your rut bunny.” Trying to reason with the dominant Alpha you feel his teeth graze your skin and a gasp leaves your lips.

“I don’t want a rut bunny. I want you…Y/N.” 

“Go home, Winchester. I want to have a nice night with my friend.” Now Sam tightens the grip on you. His hazel eyes search your face as he sees your breathing quicken. 

“Is there another Alpha? Did you let someone else touch what’s mine?” Sam is stepping between your legs, bending your body to nip at your neck.

“For fuck’s sake, Sam…” Panting your try to get rid of Sam but he moves his hands up and down your body, leaving goosebumps on his way.

“You’re mine. I’m the Alpha of my pack, your Alpha.” Now he grabs your waist to toss you over his shoulder, ignoring your protests. “I’ll show you who’s in charge, Omega.” Angrily clenching his jaw Sam carries you out of the bar, not caring about the insults you throw at him or your try to wiggle out of his grip.

“Sam, let me down…damnit…”

“I told you that you are mine…”

“No…I’d like to be with the Alpha you scared off.” Stopping in his tracks Sam places you onto the hood of his car, towering intimidating over you. 

“You’re mine! No one touches you but me. I’ll kill him right now.” Ready to attack the innocent Alpha Sam wants to walk back into the bar but you grab his biceps.

“Sam, no! Please…” His eyes meet yours and you tilt your head, submitting to the tall Alpha. “I was just joking, okay. I don’t even know that guy.”

“Not funny at all.” Sam is tilting his head, just looking at you. You feel his gaze on you and your body starts trembling as his rough hands stroke your cheeks. Leaning into his touch you purr and Sam smiles before he growls low in his throat.

“Alpha?”

“That guy is not smart.” The Alpha from before storms toward Sam a broken bottle in his hands he tries to attack Sam but the tall Alpha is faster, disarming the man in a split-second he grabs his arm, bending it till he feels the bones break.

“Sam!” Gasping you try to drag Sam off the man but he tried to touch you and now he disturbed Sam’s claim so the Alpha will kill the smaller man out of instinct. “Please…I’m yours…”

Dropping the smaller Alpha Sam strides toward you to pick you up. He’s slamming you against the car, claiming your lips roughly. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Alpha…” Appreciating your words Sam purrs, licking into your mouth and you feel your head spinning as the Alpha moves his hand between your legs.

Fingertips crazing your clit he chuckles against your lips when your hips jerk at the spark he ignites.

“Mine, only mine. Gonna bring you home and take you hard. I will not let you out of my room till you are round with my pups. Swollen and beautiful.” Growling low in his throat Sam nips at your neck as you grind against his thick fingers.

“Sam…not here…” Desperate to get more friction, more of the dominant Alpha you fist his shirt, earning yourself a snarl and a pinch to your clit. “Please…Alpha.”

“Such a good girl now. But there still will be punishment.” Sam’s eyes darken and a dirty grin appears on his kiss swollen lips. “Need to show you who is in charge, Omega.” Fisting his shirt tighter you look up at the tall Alpha, licking your lips.

“I’m not a little girl you can push around, Sam. You want to fill me with pups? Earn it.” Challenging an angry Alpha is not a good idea, but you can’t help yourself. He’s like a wild beast and you love it.

Gripping your thighs, he pushes you onto the car, growling against you as your panties get ripped off your body and his face buries between your thighs.

“You will submit to me, Y/N. Gonna punish you till you beg me to stop…” 

Squealing you feel his lips seal around your clit, suckling hard and you fall back onto the hood of his car, fisting the Alpha’s hair. Two thick fingers slide inside your cunt, roughly pumping into you.

Toes curling, breathing quickening you look at Sam as he purrs against your folds, sliding his tongue up and down your sex. Close, so close to a high you purr his name, but he stops right before you can reach the peak.

“No…Sam…I was so close…please…” Wiggling you try to get any kind of friction, but Sam holds you in a tight grip, only breathing against your heated flesh. “Alpha, please…” Whimpering you rut against his stilling fingers, hoping he will make you come.

“Punishment. I’ll make you feel good when you be a good girl and submit.” Now you narrow your eyes as you slam your hands onto the hood. 

“Fuck you, Sam. Get off me and never touch me again, asshole. I’m not someone to play with. You want a little doll to push around? Fine, look for someone else.” Sitting up you push against his broad shoulders. 

Your outburst hits Sam by surprise and he retreats, staring at your exposed sex with darkened eyes. “You’re mine…I want…” Confused Sam paces around the car, not knowing how to react to a feisty Omega.

“Yeah, maybe I’m your true mate but that doesn’t mean you can treat me like I’m a stupid little girl without a brain or will. Do you want me? Earn it!” Jumping off his car you brush past Sam, muttering under your breath.

“I…” Angrily clenching his jaw, hands balled into fists Sam runs after you, grabbing your arm to drag you behind the bar. “I’ll treat you like you deserve it.” Purring Sam presses your body against the rough wall, careful to not bruise your face. “Gonna make you mine right here like the dirty and feisty girl you are.”

He’s pressing his hard body against your back, not playing with you he opens his pants and your breathing quickens once again feeling his large cock prod at your entrance.

“Sam Winchester, you can’t fuck me right here…” Whining you press your hands against the wall when Sam starts to sink his aching cock into your heat. Snarling he moves his hands up and down your thighs as his nose slides along your pulse point.

Leaving open-mouthed kisses along your neck Sam moans when he’s finally fully sheathed inside of you. “You’re so tight for me, Omega. Such a good girl.”

“You’re fucking big down there too, Winchester…Fuck. How do you manage to hide your package?” Panting you hear Sam laughing behind you as his hands wander to your breasts playing with your nipples.

“I want you to be mine, Y/N. Never had a feisty Omega…Sorry…” The last word makes you purr.

The tall and self-confident Alpha apologized and you don’t know if you want to give him a snarky comment or accept it. “Still, I want to breed you, make you round.”

Full Alpha again Sam starts moving and you need to bite your tongue to muffle the cries leaving your lips. He’s pounding you at a maddening pace, making sure you won’t be able to walk for a few days.

His girth almost too much to handle, long enough to hit your cervix Sam pumps into you as if he did this a thousand times with you. The Alpha rules your body plays you like an instrument as he hits your g-spot with every long stroke.

“Sam…”

“Say it…”

“Fuck, I’m not…oh…” Another hard thrust and you dig your nails into the wall, arching your back. “Shit…” One skilled finger flicks your clit as his cock starts to swell.

Balls tightening, length twitching Sam moans into your neck, whispering your name and you cry out his presentation, along with what he wants to hear. “I’m yours, for fuck’s sake, Sam…fuck me harder…”

Fisting your hair Sam slams into you, burying his dick as deep as possible with every thrust and you come undone. Hard. Loud. Violently. Tilting your head you submit to Sam, letting him sink his teeth into your neck the moment he bucks into you, filling your womb with his cum.

Licking the small wound Sam praises your name, along with Omega as his knot swells and you need his strong arms to keep you upright. “I’ve got you, Baby. Shh…it will fade soon and then we will drive to your home and get your things.”

“Shit, you are one annoying bastard, Winchester but fuck it you are a catch.” Chuckling you let Sam hold you in his arms. 

“Hmm…you’re not that bad either, Omega. Gonna make sure you are round soon.” Patting Sam’s hands you fall against his hard chest, muttering under your breath.

“We will see, Romeo…”

“I mean it, Omega. I might have to change a bit but I’m your Alpha and will make you full with my pups sooner or later. I want you swollen and see the milk leaking out of your breasts.” Sam is imagining you with his child inside of your belly and you whimper as he nips at your neck, stroking your flat belly.

“Fine, but can we not make a pup behind a bar…?” Laughing against your throat Sam nods and you slide your fingers through his hair. “If anyone asks, we mated in a cozy bed, not in a dirty alley behind a bar, Winchester.”

“All you want, Omega.” Rubbing your belly Sam purrs against your claiming mark as he carefully slips out of you.

—-

Around six months later…

“If our child ever asks when and where we made him you will not tell him ‘behind a bar’, Samuel Winchester.” Poking your finger into your Alphas chest you want to slap his cheek as he grins down at you, mischief in his eyes.

“Can’t change you are that fertile, Omega. Who thought I would knock you up the moment I shove my cock into you for the first time?” Shrugging Sam smirks before his large hands caress your swollen belly carefully.

Sam is a tall beast, wild and strong but with you, he’s gentle and careful, afraid he might hurt his child or you.

“Don’t go all cozy now, Winchester.” Pointing at Sam’s cock you smirk this time. “Last night you took me hard, like the animal my mate is.” Giggling you watch Dean scrunch up his nose before he almost runs out of the library.

“You enjoyed every second…” Sam kneels to kiss your belly, muttering against your skin. “My Omega is a feisty one, but still I’m in charge.”

“Yeah…” Patting Sam’s head your chuckle silently. “Just tell this to yourself, Alpha. Sooner or later we will outnumber you. Me and the pups will make sure you are wrapped around our pinkies.”

“Pups?” Panting Sam looks up at you. “The doctor said we are going to have twins, a boy, and a girl. She was hiding behind her brother, Alpha. We. Will. Outnumber. You.” Enouncing the last four words you start laughing at your Alpha’s pained expression. 

“No…” Whining Sam glances at your belly. 

“What? Is my tall and tough Alpha cured of his ‘breeding kink’ or does he want more?” Sam’s eyes darken and a snarl leaves his lips.

“Going to breed you again and make sure the pups and I outnumber you, Omega…Mine…” Smirking you nod, knowing the pups will make Sam run around the bunker.

“Let’s see if you can handle me and two pups…” Walking toward your bedroom you giggle as Sam mutters something about dominance and being the Alpha…

SPN Forever Tags

@donnaintx, @screechingartisancashbailiff, @fallen-wolf22, @sister-winchesters99, @mogaruke, @the-is13, @helloitsmeamie203, @strayrosesbloom, @thewinchesterco, @hobby27, @kittycatlover18, @gh0stgurl, @marvelfansworld , @sandlee44, @hawaiianohana31, @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt, @katpatrova17, @notyourtypicalrose , @heyitscam99, @flamencodiva, @echoesofpassion, @cocklesbelli, @voltage-my2dlove, @fandom-princess-forevermore @thenamelesschibi, @lauravic, @fandomsrourlives, @wittysunflower, @drakelover78, @lemondropirwin, @lonewolf471, @wronglanemendes, @spnhollis, @void-imaginations, @jay-and-dean, @shatteredabby, @juniorhuntersam, @helpmeluci, @neii3n, @goodgodimaweirdperson, @alltimesamantha, @chonisberonica, @supernaturalonice @stuckys-whore, @shadowkat-83, @officialmarvelwhore, @wecantgiggleitsafandom, @meganywinchester, @shikshinkwon, @miraclesoflove, @yolobloggers, @lu-sullivan, @maniacproffesor, @hollymac79, @straycuties9, @kayla-2000, @ilovefanfic86, @gracefultrenchcoat494, @babygirls-fav​, @sadn0va, @spnwoman, @amiquette, @linki-locks11, @geekofmanyforms, @eggingamazinglove, @jessica-marsh09​, @spnficgirl​, @shut-themoonscone​, @thequeenreaders, @countrygal17a​, @kteelou​, @soryuwifeyxx​, @kricketc28​, @heartislubbingdubbing​, @atomicfandombomb​, @defenderrosetyler​ , @shortwinchester​, @maybesomedaygayyyy​, @tmiships4life​, @deanmonandnegansbitch​, @exo-nova​, @the-chocolate-moose​, @jamesmoriarty-biotches​, @laxe-from-outer-space​, @sabascio​, @that-place-called-middle-earth​, @the-broken-angel-13​, @bunnybaby89​, @pandabiiissh​ , @differentstudentrunaway-e70bf763​, @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel​

Sam/Jared Forever Tags

@moosekateer13​, @thevelvetseries​

[winchester-fantasies]

That Damn Shirt

Summary: You’ve always had a thing for men in uniform. And Sam is no exception.

Word Count: 2865

Warnings: smut, fluff, swearing

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

     Your eyes traveled over the white cotton fabric. Over the sleeves that hugged broad shoulders and strong arms; down buttons that were taut and nearly ready to burst across a firm chest and toned abdomen.

     You bit your lower lip to stifle the groan at the the back of your throat as you admired Sam and his unadulterated good looks. Normally he changed out of his FBI suit almost immediately. But today he hadn’t, and you were both grateful and irritated. Grateful because it gave you a better opportunity to admire your favorite eye candy. Irritated because you hadn’t gotten an iota of work done, and it’d been nearly forty-five minutes since you and Sam had come back to the motel.

     Damn that shirt.

     “(Y/N)?” Sam’s voice broke through your thoughts. You jerked your gaze away from his body to his eyes. He was looking at you closely with concern.

     “Hm?” you asked, trying to focus back on reality.

     “You okay?” he asked.

     You blushed and hoped to god he wouldn’t see. You shrugged away his comment. “Yeah, I’m good. Just kinda zoned out for a second,” you chuckled. Sam seemed to accept your excuse because he went back to reading whatever was on his screen.

     You turned your gaze back to the ancient text in front of you, but all the words seemed like gibberish as you fought to maintain focus. Where the hell was Dean? It made it easier to get stuff done when he was throwing wisecracks and talking about the bar waitress he had picked up instead of getting hopelessly distracted by his younger brother. Like now.

     Your attention was once again diverted by Sam’s shirt. This time your eyes honed in on the cuffs which he had rolled up just high enough that the muscles in his forearms flexed as he typed on his laptop. You wondered what his arms would feel like around you, and you could only imagine what kind of pleasure his fingers could administer.

     He was muttering under his breath as his lips moved along with what he was reading. You bet that mouth could do a lot of stuff. A lot of dirty stuff.

     This time you couldn’t stop the moan as you imagined what it would be like to straddle his thick thighs and run your hands over his chest and shoulders....

     “You sure you’re alright?” Sam interrupted your reverie once again. He was frowning as he gauged you suspiciously. He sat up straight, swinging his legs over the side of the couch to the floor. “You look a little flushed. You feeling okay?”

     “I...I,” you stuttered. You were stuck in a corner, and you only had two options: Fight or flight. “I have to go to the bathroom!” you said, choosing flight. You jumped up from your seat and rushed to the bathroom. You slammed it shut and locked it, leaning heavily against it.

     “Get yourself together, (Y/N)!” you chided yourself. You breathed deeply, trying to get your pounding heart back to normal. You crossed to the sink and turned on the faucet, splashing your face with cold water.

     You looked in the mirror, water droplets dripping down your face. “Why the fuck did you allow Dean to talk you into coming on this hunt?” you asked yourself, agitated. This was the first hunt you’d been on since you realized you had feelings for Sam. You thought you could handle a couple of weeks with him. How you could have been so naive to how strong your feelings had become you’d never understand.

     At the bunker, when Dean wasn’t distracting you from Sam, you had your room where you could escape to when you were feeling a little too lustful; you could let off some steam and relieve some of the tension between your thighs.

     But here at the motel, you were with the boys 24/7. You had zero privacy and no place to run away to. You didn’t even have Dean as a cockblock. He didn’t like being cooped up in the motel, instead opting for long drives in the Impala or spending hours at the local bar. Most times he didn’t return to the motel until after 2:00 a.m. and by then you didn’t need his help anymore.

     Sure, you could have gotten your own room, but it was cheaper and more convenient for you to just share a room with them. At least you had the couch to yourself. You didn’t know if you could control yourself if you had to share a bed with Sam!

     Sam was your best friend. You knew you were his as well and also knew he’d never see you as anything more than that. And while most of the time you were fine with that, being with him like this reminded you of what you couldn’t have. You promised yourself to never go on another hunt with the boys again. You could help them just as much from the bunker.

     You dried your face and smoothed your hair before surveying your face. Once satisfied that your previous blush had subsided, you turned toward the door, unlocking it slowly and gingerly stepping back into the main room.

     Sam stood at the foot of his bed, rifling through his duffle. He had changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants, and you sighed in relief. Maybe he wouldn’t be such a distraction now that he was out of that damn shirt. Deep down you knew it wouldn’t make a difference. It didn’t matter what he wore; you still found him incredibly sexy.

     You tiptoed to the sink, making sure you took the long way round, behind the table, so you wouldn’t have to get too close to him. You poured yourself a glass of water and chugged, inwardly sighing as the liquid relieved some of the dryness in your throat.

     You jumped when you felt a hand rest on the small of your back. “You feeling better?” Sam asked as you whipped around, meeting his concerned hazel eyes. Why was he so intent on making sure you were okay? He was a naturally empathetic and caring person, but the amount of times he had asked you if you were all right was excessive, even for him.

     But you shrugged it off and nodded. You forced a smile and clenched your thighs together as you felt that old, familiar ache begin to rise at his close proximity. “Yeah, I’m good now. I just felt a bit distracted and out of it tonight for some reason,” you said and you chuckled nervously. “Way to keep it on the down low, (Y/N),” you silently berated yourself.

     Sam frowned. “You were fine earlier today,” he commented.

     “I don’t know. Probably just tired or something,” you said nonchalantly. You were desperate to placate him in some way, anything to get him to leave your side and allow you to run and hide under your covers.

     As if reading your mind, Sam took a step closer, his hand never leaving the small of your back. “I think I have an idea of what had you so distracted,” he said, his voice holding something you’d never heard before but that made you shiver.

     “And...what’s that?” you whispered, your voice tiny and a little bit uncertain.

     “I saw you watching me,” Sam said. You jerked your head up, and your breath caught in your throat. His usually light and kaleidoscopic eyes had darkened to an almost inconceivable shade of brown, and if you hadn’t known better, you could have sworn you saw lust swimming in their depths.

     Sam suddenly moved, coming to stand behind you. His hands now rested on either side of your hips, his chest pressed firmly against your back. What the ever loving fuck was going on?

     “Is that what had you so distracted tonight?” Sam asked lowly, his warm breath tickling your ear. “You like seeing me in my FBI suit?”

     “Y...yes,” you panted. You could have made an excuse, told a lie to get yourself out of this, but you didn’t think you’d be able to come up with anything coherent.

     “Did it for you, baby,” Sam growled. You gasped as he rubbed himself against your ass. “You left your Pinterest open and saw your “Men in Uniform” board, and I just couldn’t resist.”

     His hand found its way under your shirt, his fingers ghosting over your abdomen, causing you to shudder. His hand slid down, his fingers stopping at the waistband of your pajama shorts. 

     “Is this okay?” he asked, his earlier cockiness giving way to sincerity. You nodded furiously. His fingers resumed their path underneath your shorts and into your panties.

     You whimpered as his fingers brushed over your heated core. “Damn, baby,” Sam breathed appreciatively. “You’re so wet.”

     His fingers ran through your folds, dipping in a few times before Sam found your sensitive clit. Your head fell back against his chest while his other hand moved to your abdomen, pulling you tighter against him. You could feel his growing length on your ass as he continued to rut against you.

     He leaned down, brushing his lips against your neck while his hand moved up, pushing under your bra and cupping your breast in his large palm, your nipple hard against his skin.

     You gripped the edge of the sink as you felt your climax nearing. Seeming to sense you were close, Sam’s pace picked up, his strokes over your clit firm and fast. “Oh, god, Sam,” you moaned. You moved one of your hands and gripped his forearm, his muscles rippling as he worked steadily. You were right about his hands. They were pure magic.

     You came hard, his name a breathy cry on your lips. You breathed heavily as Sam removed his hand from your core, turning you around to face him. You leaned back against the counter, still trying to catch your breath.

     Sam sent you a lazy smile and then he kissed you, his lips firm yet soft against your own. His hands were on your hips again, holding you steady, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. A new wave of arousal settled in your panties as the kiss deepened, his tongue sliding past your lips and into your mouth, mapping out every inch.

     “Wanna feel you,” Sam panted against your lips.

     His bulge was prominent against your stomach, and you smiled. “Wanna feel you, too,” you whispered back, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. He stared reverently into your eyes, and you wondered what he was thinking.

     Suddenly he was carrying you to the bed, your laughter echoing off the yellowed motel walls. He dropped you onto the mattress, and you climbed up until your head was lying on the pillow.

     Goosebumps rose over your skin as his large hands ran up your legs to your hips. His fingers dipped under the waistband of your shorts and tugged them down gently. You sat up and pulled your shirt over your head before reaching behind you and unclasping your bra, tossing both into the corner.

     You laid back down, your arms coming up over your head. You spread your legs, the cool air in the room hitting your still warm core, and a shy smile spread across your mouth as Sam’s eyes roamed over your body admiringly. “Damn, you’re beautiful, (Y/N). More beautiful than I could have ever imagined,” Sam said in awe.

     “I want to see you, too,” you quietly implored.

     Sam smirked before he started undressing, taking his time, allowing you every opportunity to take him in. By the time he was naked, your need for him had risen to unimaginable heights.

     Wetness had already started pooling beneath you as Sam crawled to you, and you wondered how long you’d last. As if your thoughts were on the same wavelength, he chuckled deeply. “Fair warning: I don’t know how long I’m gonna last,” he said, settling between your thighs.

     You giggled and bit your lip. “No worries,” you said. “I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”

     Sam’s lips crashed into yours, forceful and bruising. When he pulled back, his eyes were lust-blown. “You ready, baby?” he asked.

     You nodded enthusiastically, and he grinned, his dimples coming into view. He glanced between your bodies, lining himself up with you.

     You moaned and a groan fell from his own lips as he pushed himself in. He filled you perfectly as if you’d finally found your missing piece. “Fuck, you feel so good,” Sam growled, his face burying in the crook of your neck while he gave you a few moments to adjust.

     A ripple of pleasure coursed through your core when Sam finally started moving. You moaned, and your hands found the back of his head, your fingers weaving into his soft hair.

     He captured your lips in another searing kiss as he moved. His thrusts were unhurried and steady. He was taking his time, enjoying the way you felt around him. Each time you’d think he couldn’t go any deeper, he did and it sent you flying towards the edge of your release.

     His mouth left yours and trailed over your chin and down your neck, nipping, sucking, licking at every inch of skin he could find. You gasped as he found the juncture of your neck and collarbone, and Sam groaned as your walls started to flutter.

     “Sam,” you breathed, your voice barely audible past your labored breathing.

     Sam nodded and smiled. “I know, baby. Just relax and let go. I’ve got you,” he panted. He propped himself up on one elbow while his other hand found your leg, encouraging them up around his waist. Nothing short of ecstasy shot through your core with this new angle, and you clutched at his back.

     Sam gripped your thigh, his fingers digging into the meaty flesh as his pace picked up. Two more thrusts, and you came. “Sam!” you cried out as your walls clenched around him in wave after wave.

     “Fuck,” he breathed, his hips faltering. He buried his face in your neck once more, and a throaty groan emanated from deep within him as ropes of hot cum coated your insides.

     He stayed there for awhile, just laying on top of you, his face still in the crook of your neck. His hand ran over your damp brow and stroked your hair. You rubbed your hands up and down his back, his skin warm and sweaty beneath your skin.

     Sam didn’t pull out until he was flaccid. He gingerly rolled off you and flopped down on the other side of the bed. You instantly felt the loss of his warmth and the magical connection you had shared. But you weren’t sure how to act as the gravity of the situation dawned on you. You had just had sex with your best friend. You had felt one another, seen one another, experienced one another on a whole new plane. It didn’t matter if this was only a one-time thing. This changed everything.

     You thought you and Sam must be connected telepathically because he seemed to read your mind for the third time that night. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close, his hand resting on your ass.

     “Well, that happened,” he chuckled.

     “Yeah,” you said indifferently. You didn’t want to act too eager, especially if this was something he didn’t want to happen again.

     You must not have acted eager enough, though, because Sam jerked his head towards you, his eyes filled with horror. “Was it not good?” he choked.

     “No, no, it was amazing!” you hurried to reassure him.

     “Then what?” he asked in confusion.

     “It’s just....” You looked down, your fingers trailing over his chest absentmindedly. “I’m struggling to ascertain if this was just a one-time deal or if...there’s something more.”

     When he didn’t answer you looked up. He was staring at you, flabbergasted. “I want you, (Y/N),” he finally said, his voice sure. “More than anything. I thought I just made that abundantly clear.”

     You swallowed hard. “So that wasn’t just you getting lost in the heat of the moment?”

     Sam smiled gently, his hand coming to cup your cheek. “That was me getting lost in you.”

     Your breath caught in your throat, and your mouth went dry. “I’ve wanted you for months, (Y/N),” he continued ardently. “You’ve been the only thing on my mind. Do you know how hard it’s been for me on this hunt? It’s been so difficult for me to get anything done! Having you so close, just within my grasp - it’s been positively intoxicating.”

     You stared, wide-eyed, your head spinning. Sam gave you an odd look. “What?” he asked bluntly.

     You shook your head in amazement. “It’s like you stole the words right out of my mouth,” you said.

     He grinned and leaned down, kissing you. The kiss quickly deepened, and you held each other tighter. Contentment filled your heart, and you smiled against his lips. You were finally in the arms of the man you loved. And all because of that damn shirt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading!

***Please do not share my content on any other platform without my consent.

[writingkeepsmewhole]

The Mark Part 5

This is part 4 of The Mark it is set in Amora’s POV

Fic Summary: AU where everyone is born with half a mark on their body. The other half being on their mates body.

Part Summary: Amora and Dean meet each other.

Warnings: I don’t think there is any?

Let me know if you want to be tagged.@fariesandwanderlust @all-will-be-well-love​ @akshi8278​

Part 1 Part 4

I woke up when my alarm went off. It blaring threw my dreams. When I rolled over to shut it off I jumped up seeing that this was my second alarm and I was late for work. Staying up late talking with Eva about the ball I had little time to get dressed.

Jumping up I quickly rush to the bathroom.

Brushing my teeth and throwing my hair up into a high ponytail, I run back to my room and grab the first thing my hands touch.

Black tank, red flannel, jeans and boots would have to do. Spinning around to get my phone I stop dead in my tracks when the extra lines of black on my chest catch my eye. Walking up to the mirror I pull down the top of my tank top seeing swirls of what used to be my mark now made up of something. It was a tree or what looked like a tree the swirling path I could never figure out was the limbs twisting up to cover my collarbone. Now I finally got to see the rest. The bottom half of the tree was wide, the roots just as twisted and tangled as the limbs. Them going down to settle on my left breast.

“Oh my gosh…” I say running my finger over it. 

It felt no different than the rest of me but it didn’t stop my heart pounding. 

“What do I do now?” I still have no idea who’s mark I was wearing.

Hearing a knock on the door downstairs it quickly followed by another, much more like pounding then a knock.

“I don’t need this today…” 

Grabbing my phone and keys I take the steps two at a time hoping I still have a job to get to. I open my door and stop when I’m met with two men standing there. One I recognize as Sam, the guy who gave me my invitation and I realize the other is the guard that collapsed at the ball last night.

“Can I help-.” 

I was cut off by the shorter one pushing past me and into my house.

“Umm what is going on?” I ask watching him lift my couch cushions and lamps.

“Sorry about him, he is having a bad morning.” Sam says closing my door as he steps inside.

“So he can just come into my house and start-.”

“Has anyone been here this morning?” The green eyed one asks walking up to me.

His gaze bounced over my frame, stopping on my mark for just a moment then back at my eyes.

“Son of bitch…” He mumbles stepping back from me and sitting falling on the couch.

“I’m sorry but am I missing something?”

“This makes no sense.” He says running his hand over his face.

“I think you should sit down.” Sam says smiling kindly.

“Not until you tell me what is going on.” I say knowing I should feel scared but I just felt nervous.

The guy on the couch stands up and putting his hands behind his head pulls his shirt off in one swoop. My eyes jump from the scar on his hip, to the one on his rib then settle on the dark lines contracting his warm skin. The mark there being an exact copy of my own.

“Wait? You-”

“Not what you were expecting?” He asks quickly, putting his shirt back on it never coming off his wrist.

“Will you stop interrupting me.” I huff out moving to drop my keys on the coffee table.

I watched him take a step back as if I was going to hurt him, making my stomach clench.

“I was going to say you share my mark. I didn’t have an expectation.” I say placing my hands on my hips.

“I’ll leave you two to talk.” Sam says him slipping out before we can respond.

“Everyone has expectations.”

“Not to be rude or anything Mr. Green eyes but you've barged into my house, stripped, interrupted me way too many times and you have yet to tell me your name so before we go on care to share?” I ask sitting down seeing no point in going to work now. It’s not like I could focus anyway.

“Dean. My name's Dean.” He says looking at me then quickly away.

“Well Dean I’m Amora.” I say leaning forward to hold out my hand.

He looks at it then clenches his jaw. Shaking his head he lets out his own sound of annoyance. I clench the hand offered to him and place it in my lap.

“This is not what I expected…” I mumble earning myself a snort.

“I don’t mean you. I mean, this.” I say waving my hands around.

“My parents made it seem like finding your other half was the greatest thing in the world.” “Yeah well my parents hated each other until they got marked. Fate had bigger plans for them then their dislike for the other.” He says almost spitting out the word fate. Like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Are you always this angry?” I ask him wondering if this is what my life will be like. Paired with someone that will be mad all the time.

I looked him up and down when he didn't answer. It gives me the time to really look him over. 

He was tall, with broad shoulders and arms that made me think he could handle just about anything. Come to think of it, all of him seemed toned, I couldn’t tell as much for the jeans he was wearing but he either worked out a lot or did something that took strength. He wasn’t ripped but every muscle was toned enough to see. He had a strong jaw that he kept clinching. It bears a light layer of dark stubble. His brown hair was short on the sides but he had enough to play with on top. It didn’t take long for me to realize that he wasn’t what I expected. With the scars covering the both of us I always expected someone scary. But Dean was far from that. He was a man no doubt but he seemed to have a boyish feel.

“What?” He asks, making my cheeks tint.

“Sorry, it’s just- We really do share everything huh?” I ask looking at the smile shaped scar on his forearm.

He follows my line of sight and lets out a chuckle, showing the slight dimples and his white teeth.

“Yeah afraid so sweetheart.” he says smiling at me.

“Sorry about that.” I say remembering when I did that.

“Care to explain?”

“Best friend dared me. I did it with a lighter smile from me to you.”

“Not quite, I was dead asleep when that happened. I woke up and almost shot my dad.” he says snorting.

“Why did you have a gun at fourteen?” I ask smiling.

“A part of the guard remember?”

“Oh right. Well, if it means anything I cried the night I did that. I felt so bad for hurting you.” I say blushing.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve given you worse.” He says, jerking his chin towards me, his eyes on my shoulder.

“Oh! The J! You have to explain that one!” I say smacking my leg.

He gives me a look like I’m nuts but it fades to a soft smile.

“It’s not a good memory.”

“So? It’s a part of you right?”

“Yeah, guess so…” He says looking down at the floor.

Licking my lips I realize that was something he didn’t want to talk about. 

“Well how about you answer me this, what was with the crazy man I met earlier?”

“The rude one?”

“That would be him.”

“Call it lack of sleep.”

“Fair enough.” I say standing up and moving over to sit on the couch with him.

He turns to face me, his eyes bouncing back to my mark. I let out a giggle and rolled my eyes. 

Moving closer I grab his hand and place it on the black swirls.

“Better?” I ask him.

“Not really, at least I know I’m not hallucinating.” He says leaving his hand over my heart.

“Do you do that?”

“Depends on how much I’ve seen that week.”

“Sounds like sleep would be best for you.” 

“I can’t afford the rest.” He shrugs and drops his hand.

“Busy bee?”

He chuckles and nods. Remembering how it felt like he never seemed to sleep I guess I was right. I look down at his hand when he grabs my wrist stroking the thin scars over it. Clenching my fist, I pull my hand away from him hiding it behind my back, my eyes watering.

“So tell me a bit about you.” I say smiling at him not wanting to even look at that can of worms. 

[idreamofplaid]

I Know What’s Mine

Square Filled: stripper!Sam for @spnaubingo & Edging for @spnkinkbingo

Characters: Sam x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: oral (male receiving)

Summary: It’s only natural to be a little jealous when your boyfriend’s a stripper. Right?

Word Count: 1382

Created for @spnaubingo & @spnkinkbingo

Finals started tomorrow. You knew you shouldn’t be doing this, but you really didn’t care. Your roommate told you how hot the guys were at this club. Between studying for trig and hot guys, there was absolutely no decision to be made.

She had neglected to tell you it was a strip club, but you were certainly no stranger to those. The first act had already started by the time the two of you sat down. You ordered a drink, and before it arrived one of the guys on the stage had already caught your eye. He was tall, had broad shoulders and dark hair that curled in waves around his ears, neck, and forehead. But the most incredible thing about him was his smile.

It was the kind of smile that could make you forget any pressure or problems you were feeling. It practically fucking glowed. And the dimples this man had! A stripper with dimples, the world was a wonderful place.

The way he moved sent your mind to hot, sexy, and sweaty places. He definitely knew what to do with his hips. Tall and gorgeous was on the stage with two other guys, but he was definitely the standout.

You felt a twinge of disappointment when you watched him leave the stage, but you figured another Texas Margarita would be the perfect cure for that. The next couple acts did nothing to hold your attention like the muscled guy with the beautiful smile. By the time he returned to the stage, the tequila had you feeling free. Your head was feeling slightly fuzzy, and your body felt like it could float. This was going to be a solo performance. When the strobe lights hit him, you let out a yell of encouragement and appreciation.

He danced to the pulse of the music. The man was captivating. The announcer said his name was Jared, but you knew that wasn’t his real name. Strippers never used their real names. You continued to think of him as tall and gorgeous, but part of you wanted to know his real name and wanted to know it badly.

“Jared” removed the leather vest he was wearing and dropped it to the stage leaving his chest bare, and he continued to dance. It was probably the tequila, at least that’s what you told yourself. You started to dig around in your purse for a pen while you watched women stroke their hands all over his shoulders and chest. You pulled the napkin from under your drink and scribbled your name and number on it.

Your fantasy guy had returned to the center of the stage and torn off the leather pants that matched his vest revealing tight white briefs that rode low beneath his hipbones. As Jared circled the edge of the stage, women stuffed bills into the the waistband of his briefs.

You folded the napkin with your number on it and wrapped it with a five dollar bill you found in your wallet. It was the only cash you had. When Jared approached your area of the stage you extended your hand with your offering. He knelt to accept what you were giving him. As you tucked the money enclosing your phone number into the side of his briefs, a shiver went down your spine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day Jared sent you a text asking you to meet him at a pizza place a couple of blocks from campus. It was easy to spot him in the crowded pizza place. He was sitting in a booth in the corner and got up to meet you when he saw you walk in. He was wearing a pink polo shirt and jeans looking every bit like the boy next door, the innocent boy next door.

As first dates went, this one was exceptional. You found out his name was really Sam, and his story was a common one. He was stripping to pay his way through school. Conversation came easily like you had known each other for a long time. You felt comfortable enough to ask him what it was like being a stripper and having women he didn’t know touch him all the time. “It’s kinda weird actually. I know most guys would think it was some kind of dream job, but not for me. I don’t like what it does to me. I try not to get turned on even though you get more tips if you’re hard.” He realized what he said, got a funny look on his face, and let his mouth hang open for a second. “Wow. That’s too much information.”

Your instinct was to put him at ease. “No, it’s all right. I asked. I wanted to know.”

After a few more seconds of silence, he said; “There’s something else I don’t like about it. It makes it almost impossible to have a relationship, with a girl I mean, to date.” His awkwardness was cute. “Would it bother you? Do you think you could handle it? Because I’d like to go out with you again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Handling it proved to be more difficult than you thought. You knew there were women slipping him their phone numbers constantly just like you had. His faithfulness was never a question. You’d never seen a guy who more about having one woman than Sam. You kept your jealousy a secret from him because you didn’t want him to feel guilty about what he had to do to pay for school.

Once you moved in together, it became even harder to hide how you felt. He smelled like perfume when he got home, and you knew why. You didn’t like other women touching him, and you’d told him you would be okay with it. You needed to do something about this because now you were falling in love with him, and you had to find a way to deal.

Your solution? Be for him what no other woman was and do for him what no other woman could. That started with a bustier and high heels. He was the one always looking sexy. Now, it was your turn.

Sam’s shift was scheduled to be over at midnight, and you were waiting for him when he got home. You’d draped yourself across the bed, and when Sam walked out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel his mouth literally dropped open. “Wha...holy fuck.”

You smiled, got up, and went over to him. He scanned your body all the way down and back up. “Y/N, you look...I’m getting hard just looking at you.”

He was. The front of the towel was beginning to tent. You cupped his chin in your hand and kissed him. “Good. Let me see.” You opened the towel wrapped around his waist and let it fall to the floor. Then you dropped to the floor and took his hardening cock into your mouth. You bobbed on it and wrapped your hand around the base that wouldn’t fit into your mouth. You did everything you knew Sam liked until he was right on the verge of shooting down your throat, and then you stopped.

His eyes had been rolled back in his head; they focused on you. “Y/N. Please...please finish me.”

You stood. “I want you to fuck me, Sam. You can finish then.”

After a seductive little striptease that made Sam’s dick twitch, you lay back on the bed and spread you legs for him. “Go on, Baby. Give it to me.” Sam plunged deep into and started thrusting chasing that release he wanted. When you felt him begin to throb inside you, you uttered two words that had him pleading with you again. “Slow down.”

It went on like this for several more minutes. Every time Sam got close, you told him to slow down until tears were oozing from the corners of his eyes and slipping down his cheeks. When you finally said, “Come, Sam. Come for me now.” He did with his thighs shaking and yelling your name. Your own orgasm rocketed through you.

Sam collapsed on top of you completely spent, and you softly ran your fingers through his hair. He managed to say, “That was amazing” before he fell asleep. Sam was yours.

@tumbler-tidbits @coffee-obsessed-writer @waywardbaby @maddiepants @sorenmarie87 @thoughtslikeaminefield @girl-next-door-writes @evansrogerskitten @just-another-busyfangirl @cosicas-cuquis @sandlee44 @deans-baby-momma @death-unbecomes-you

[alleiradayne]

Cover You In Oil

Summary: After the spanking incident in the garage last month, Dean takes it upon himself to up his game for Elizabeth. Square Filled: Paddling Warnings/Tags: Paddling, Dom!Dean, sub!Elizabeth, rough sex, oil, anal (female), bodily fluids, unprotected sex Characters/Pairings: Jensen Ackles/Elizabeth Andersson (OC) Word Count: 3,602 A/N: For @spnkinkbingo this fills the Paddling square. And as always, thank you @atc74 for your wonderful beta’ing. Song: Cover You In Oil as covered by AC/DC

Patience.

It had all come down to a test of willpower. As he sat in a chair in Elizabeth's room, Dean recalled the recent weeks of research and preparation that had gone into his plans for the evening. After their happy accident in the garage last month, he had asked Elizabeth to give him something to try next. And she had suggested he figure out a way to raise the stakes from where they had left things bent over the fender of the yellow Chevy.

And so, Dean had spent numerous hours on research between hunts, drove across town to the sex shop of which he’d found a few bags in the trash of Sam's room—that had been an awkward yet heartening discovery—and picked up the materials he had determined necessary for his plans.

Those materials sat on her bed in a ritualistic display not unlike some sort of summoning spell. Dean’s gaze listed from the closed door of her room to her bed as a subtle tingle of nerves chilled his feet. He hoped he hadn’t gone too far, presumed too much. The candles would get a laugh out of her to be sure. But the rest of it?

Distant thumps of Elizabeth's long, booted stride sounded down the main hallway and crushed his concerns to pieces. There was no turning back. Committed, Dean straightened in his chair as her footfalls neared. When the handle clicked, his eyes snapped to the door as Elizabeth pushed it aside and crossed the threshold. Her first step into her room slowed as though time stretched. Her second step closed her stance slower, and her hesitant gaze swept the room from the far side to land on him.

In that miniscule moment, all that he had planned came to fruition in her stunned silence. The smile that spread across her lips said more than words ever could. But it was the light of understanding, of intimate knowledge bursting in her hazel eyes that drove Dean to his feet.

Elizabeth flew into his arms before he could open his mouth, her lips landing on his for a deep kiss. As he wrapped his arms around her, she melted into him and her tongue dove into his mouth. Sweet bourbon swarmed his taste buds and mingled with the crisp scent of her shampoo, a heady combination that, when coupled with her muscled body pressed flush to his, stiffened his cock.

He had half a mind to let her have her way with him, but that contradicted with everything he had prepared. So, he slipped a hand into her hair and grasped the nape of her neck. The suckling withdrawal of her lips from his spun the room as blood rushed past his ears and plummeted to his groin. God, but the pliable willingness of her entire body, with her exposed neck and her parted lips, drove him mad with want. And yet, Dean gathered all his willpower to maintain control. Not only of her, but of himself.

From her backside to her hip, Dean slipped his free hand to the front of her jeans and parted them. Between the fabric of her pants and her underwear he plunged his hand to find a small damp spot between her thighs. He teased her with the tips of his fingers and reveled in the dilation of her pupils as her eyes widened and she squirmed in his grasp. The power with which he commanded her body nearly destroyed his control. But he steeled himself, a deep breath filling his lungs, and as he exhaled, he spoke.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?”

Her eyes flicked to the bed, then back to his. “I… don’t know, sir.” A thick swallow bobbed her throat. “I wasn’t expecting—all this.”

Dean withdrew his hand from her pants and lead her to the bed by the back of her neck. Without releasing her, he sat beside his tools for the evening, then coaxed her to lay across his lap. When he sensed a subtle resistance in her prostrated frame, the flat of his free hand met her backside for a vicious slap and Elizabeth screamed a clipped cry. Another urge ravaged him, the urge to tear her pants to her knees, bend her over the edge of the bed, and slam his cock into her. And again, he resisted, his eagerness overpowering his base desires.

“That,” he began as she smoothed her ass. “Was for arriving unprepared. And for resisting. Do you understand?”

Blonde waves cascaded over her shoulders and hung in her face as she nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m ready now.”

“Good,” he chimed as he teased her slit through her jeans. “We have so much to do tonight.” Elizabeth remained silent as he reached for his belt and tore it from his pants. “First, we don’t want you getting in the way of your own punishment. Strip.”

Elizabeth stood without a word and kicked off her boots. Her clothes followed in a flurry of limbs and fabric, heaped in a pile atop her shoes. When she finished, Dean took a moment to drink her in; broad shoulders and lean biceps between which sat her perfect tits with their taut nipples and pebbled skin; her long, muscled torso and chiseled hips begged for his touch; the fine dusting of shorn pubic hair darkened between her thick thighs; and then his favorite part. The part to which he had dedicated all his planning.

“Turn around.”

Long and lean calves flexed as she shifted on her feet. The supple curve of her ass undulated with each step, and as she settled before him, Dean had to touch her. “Come closer.”

She did as ordered, her feet shuffling on the stone floor of her room. The smooth skin met his hand as he reached out for her, warm and bearing a subtle red welt on the right cheek. Dean could hardly contain himself as he stared at that nearly pristine canvas as though it begged for his hand, for his craft.

“Give me your wrists,” he said, voice thick in his throat.

She did as told, wrists held together at the small of her back. “Like this, sir?”

Dean breathed a hum of pleasure through his nose as he wrapped his belt around her wrists. “Yes, sweetheart, that’s perfect.” Secured, his hand returned to her ass with a smooth stroke. “Now, lay back down.”

Elizabeth’s wordless compliance roused him like little else. The weight of her entire body returned to his lap, and it was all Dean could do but to restrain himself. Wild thoughts of railing against her ass; of plunging his fingers into her already sopping cunt and fingering her until she coated his hand with cum; of eating out her pussy until she begged him to stop; every image threatened to break him. But Dean held firm as he gripped the meat of her ass. “Do you know why we’re doing this?”

A long breath preceded her response. “There’s probably a few reasons, sir.”

The flat of his hand met her ass with a resounding slap, and another cry burst from her lips. If the sting in his palm indicated the level of pain she felt, Dean worried he may have gone too far. And the reddening skin of her ass supported that concern. But he pressed on. “Answer the question.”

“You enjoyed spanking me in the garage last month,” she muttered.

“And?”

Elizabeth whimpered as he teased her seam with his fingertips. “I—I enjoyed it, too. It was hot as hell, we both loved it.”

He reached to the foot of the bed as he spoke. “Exactly. And you wanted more,” he added. “Correct?”

A vigorous nod of her head dragged her blonde waves across her face. “Yes, sir.”

The freshly stained and polished wooden handle for which he reached slipped into his palm, and Dean hefted the paddle. He traded it to his left hand to show it to her, it’s burnished glaze glimmering in the candlelight as he twisted the handle in his fingers. It spun from the plain side to the back and revealed the monogram he had engraved, a classic curling script that bore her name.

“You… made it?”

He passed it back into his right hand. “I did,” he said as he laid the flat of the paddle across her ass. “I thought you might like it.”

Elizabeth moaned as he teased her with the flat of the paddle. “I love it. It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” he hummed. “Are you ready?”

Her entire body shuddered as he withdrew the paddle. “Yes, sir.”

Dean held the paddle a few inches aloft, hovering over her ass. A breath steadied his shaking hand, and a twitch of his elbow brought the paddle down onto her ass with a shockingly loud slap.

Had Dean not restrained her, Elizabeth might have jumped from him. A violent startle nearly sent her to the floor. But she had not made a sound, not even a restrained whimper. “How did that feel?”

“Good, sir,” she whispered. “Very good.”

Dean soothed the pink welt with the smooth side of the paddle. “Don't lie to me.”

“It hurt like hell,” she started, “but I love it.”

Dammit. She would make this difficult for the both of them. Taut as a drawn bowstring, Elizabeth writhed in his lap as Dean continued to soothe her skin with the paddle. Soft whimpers she breathed through her gasps aroused him beyond belief. Going into the evening, he had thought it all would be for her. And though he had known he would enjoy dominating her, he had not anticipated how hard it would be to maintain that role for any extended period of time. As he dragged the rounded corner of the paddle between her cheeks and along her dripping folds, Dean wondered how Elizabeth might handle dominating him. Another time, perhaps.

He withdrew the paddle and stripped his belt from her wrists. “As much as I enjoy watching you squirm, I want more out of you. Get up on the bed, hands and knees.”

She crawled from his lap and knelt on the bed. “Here?” she asked.

Dean stood and stripped himself of his shirt. When he turned back to the bed, he found Elizabeth on her knees but completely prostrate, her head resting on her hands. He wanted nothing more than to kneel behind her and pound into that sweet sopping pussy of hers. But a good Dom, he had learned, resisted that urge.

The paddle cracked across the backs of her thighs and her entire body startled. A subtle moan muted by the bed slipped from her lips, and Dean eased the ache in his sac with a firm grasp. “Do you know how hard this is? To see you all sorts of aroused, ready for me, and not do anything about it?”

Elizabeth flipped her hair from her face as she turned to him and smiled. “If your hand down your pants grabbing your dick is any indication, I'm going to guess very… hard.”

Insolence, he had also learned, should be met with more severe treatment. So, Dean wound up for a heavy strike, and the paddle came crashing down on her ass so hard, Elizabeth screamed. A soothing rub placated her for a moment, but then Dean slapped her again, a short strike that dragged a curse from her parted lips. He repeated that strike, alternating between cheeks and thighs and hips. Each slap jolted her body, dragging curses and whimpering cries from her as she gripped the sheets in tight fists. After the sixth strike, Dean pulled back for another heavy fall, but stopped short.

“Whiskey!” Elizabeth shouted as she flung her hand out to him. “Whiskey, dear God, Whiskey.”

Dean tossed the paddle to the foot of the bed and picked up the bottle of oil. “Was that too much?”

Elizabeth straightened to sit, knees spread wide and hands on her thighs. “No, but it was close enough,” she sighed. “Damn, that was amazing though.”

The bottle clicked open, and as Dean poured a generous amount into one hand, he knelt on the bed. “Good. I didn't really… know what I was doing. I mean, I did my research but…”

“You did great,” she stated over her shoulder. “What’s that?”

“Oil for your skin. Supposed to soothe,” he explained as he reached for her hip. “The gal at the shop recommended it when she saw what I was buying.”

A subtle shiver ran along her spine as he rubbed the oil into the reddening skin of her ass. “That feels great.”

“Yeah, she let me test it on my arm. Thought you would like it,” he added. “Lay down, honey, I've got more planned yet.”

With her coy smirk over her shoulder, Elizabeth returned to the mattresses, ass held high and back arched. “Like this?”

Dean shifted behind her and could only stare. She had pinned her knees together and slipped a hand between her thighs to rub her clit. “Yeah,” he sighed as he watched. “Just like that.”

His free hand slipped into his boxers and he grasped himself with a rough tug. God, he wanted to come so bad it hurt. But watching her long fingers rub those little circles around her clit, spread her arousal, and slip inside her encouraged him to hold out a little longer.

“Dean?”

“Hm?”

“Oil…”

He shook his head as he withdrew his hand from his pants. “Right,” he stated. He stood from the bed and discarded the rest of his clothes. Gooseflesh pebbled his skin, nipples taut and cock twitching in its exposure. “On your stomach,” he ordered, and Elizabeth obliged.

He returned to her with the oil in hand and straddled her thighs. The cap clicked again and instead of pouring any into his hands, he upended it along her spine. The dotted line gathered and pooled in various spots, runnels rolling over her ass and between her cheeks. Satisfied, he closed the bottle and tossed it aside, then planted his hands on her ass and squeezed.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“What I've wanted to do the whole time,” he said as he pried her cheeks apart with his thumbs and plunged his tongue between them. A wild moan filled his ears as Dean devoured her, her lips sucked into his mouth. Hard laps extracted all manner of delectable sounds from her as he circled her clit. Within a minute, Elizabeth cried out her orgasm as she unraveled, and the bitter sweetness of her arousal filled his mouth as it ran down his chin. Dean hummed his pleasure into her, muted by her flesh.

When he withdrew, he grabbed the bottle of oil again and squeezed a stream coating her ass. “Son of a bitch, Liz, I can't get enough of you.” He tossed the bottle aside to grab her again, spreading the oil across her skin and kneading her muscles. Elizabeth writhed under his touch, lewd moans and rolling hips begging for more. And Dean obliged her, eager to feel her glistening body against his. He crawled atop her, pressed his cock between her cheeks so slick with oil, and rolled his hips. “I love your ass,” he groaned as he thrust.

“Then fuck it.”

No. He had misheard her. “You want… in your…”

“It's called anal, and you put a vibrator in there two months ago,” she started. “I want to feel you in there.”

Sweat dripped from his brow to mix with the oil on her back as he stared at his cock, stiff and throbbing between her cheeks. But he needn't be told twice. He grasped himself by the base and angled the tip to her ass, then rolled his hips. The muscles parted and enveloped the head of his cock, squeezing him as he penetrated her. A long high moan rent from his lips as his head tipped back, and Dean succumbed to the newness of that sensation.

“God damn, Dean, that’s amazing,” she moaned. “I forget how big you are sometimes.”

He withdrew for a long, slow stroke. “You sure know how to make a guy feel good about himself, honey. Tight ass and all the right words.” His sigh escalated to another primal growl. “Fuck, honey it’s so hot. Get that vibrator though, I’m not about to leave your pussy empty.”

She reached into the drawer of her nightstand and withdrew the ribbed vibrator. “You trying to kill me?”

“No,” he grunted as he took it from her. “Trying to make you squirt all over me again. That shit is so hot.”

Her eyes rolled shut as he pressed the tip of the silicone to her cunt. “Between your fat cock in my ass and that thing in my pussy, we’ll be swimming in it.”

The vibrator slipped in with a gentle push, and Dean whimpered. He had felt that sensation before, but not like that. A deep breath prepared himself to remain steady as he pressed the button of the vibrator to turn it on.

Even at the lowest setting, they both startled, their cries fading to moans of pleasure. Tiny unbidden rolls of his hips stroked him in her ass until he could stand it no longer. Withdrawn, he snapped his hips, pounding into her, and Elizabeth screamed.

“Fuck, Dean, that feels so good,” she moaned, “keep going.”

Each thrust of his hips frayed his nerves and the repeated slaps of their bodies rang like the crack of a shotgun in his ears. The vibrator hummed in rhythm, its pitch rising as Dean clicked the button until it topped out at its highest frequency. Elizabeth scrambled for leverage, but he had anticipated her delirious bid for control, and so, he grasped her thighs as he withdrew from her.

A cry of protest followed him as he wrenched her legs apart and knelt between them. When he hauled her hips up to his, Dean wasted no time in slamming his cock back into her ass.

“Dean, what are you—”

He grasped her hair at the back of her head and shoved her shoulders back down to the mattress. “I'm fucking you like you asked me to. Isn't this what you wanted,” he growled as he thrust into her ass.

A wild moan burst from her gaping lips as Elizabeth shuddered beneath him. A wanton roll of her hips presented her to him as though she needed more. And Dean gave her more, more of his pounding thrusts, his free hand circling her clit, and his hand in her hair gripping tighter. But it didn’t last long. How could he? The ache in his balls had strained him over the last hour, and Dean had put every ounce of effort into holding back.

But then that ache swelled and consumed his entire body, and as Elizabeth’s ass twitched on his cock, Dean knew he had little time left. Her hips rocked back to meet him, marking her wailing cry that she sang to the heavens as her entire body clenched. Between her thighs she reached for the vibrator and ripped it from her cunt as she convulsed. Dean slowed his thrusts for a mere second, stunned by the sensations emanating from her body until his own release surged so violently, he gasped.

His hips snapped back, withdrawing him from her completely as his orgasm surged in a long, hard flex of his cock. Ropes of his cum spurted onto her lips, her cheeks, her thighs, and mingled with her own fluids as they sprayed from her cunt. With one hand grasping her ass and the other his cock, Dean coaxed the last of his orgasm from him in a small dribble from the tip that landed on her asshole.

Suspended in their euphoria, Dean drifted as the world faded away. No sound, no light, nothing penetrated the temple that was their exultant worship. Subconscious rolls of his wrist stroked his softening erection, extracting the final drops of his orgasm and where they fell, he had no idea. He didn’t care. He felt amazing, and from her contended sighs, quivering body, and soaked sheets, he knew she felt the same way, if not better.

His hearing equalized, returned to normal after a long minute, and Elizabeth reached for her robe draped over the chair at her desk. Beneath hers hung his dead man's robe, and she flung it to him over her shoulder. A ginger step carried her from the bed, and she wrapped her robe around her as she spoke. “That was… oh, I'm gonna be so sore tomorrow.”

Dean winced as he crawled from the bed and donned his robe. “Sorry. I thought I got a little carried away.”

“No, it was great,” she sighed as she grabbed his arms. “It was perfect. But…” Her gaze drifted back to her bed. “Laundry night.”

“I'll take care of it,” he said as he turned her from the bed. “You head to the showers. There should be a bath waiting for you,” he stated as he checked his watch. “Then head back to my room. Everything’s ready in there.”

Elizabeth’s girlish giggles would be the death of him. As he ushered from her room, she turned about at her door to place a delicate kiss to his cheek. “You’re the best. I love you.” Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and drifted down the hallway on her slippered feet.

As he watched her go, he muttered under his breath.

“I know.”

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Dean’s Dames (Jensen):

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[shysupernaturalfangirl]

Different - Dean Winchester x Reader - Part Six

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing(s): Dean x Reader

World: Reverse French Mistake AU

Word Count: No longer doing word count

Warning(s): Cussing,

Summary: It’s every fan-girl’s dream to either, end up in the world of their fantasies, their fandom, or to wind up with on of the actors or characters. There is a couple thousand fanfictions with such circumstances. She never thought in her wildest dreams, that she’d actually end up in a fanfiction situation.

Taglist: @sillydecoy @blackeyedangel9805​ @heythereamigodude​ @gaveherhearttotheliontattoo @seppys-return-to-madness @jaylarkson

A/N: Please let me know throw my INBOX if you want to be tagged. Too many are commenting on the stories, it's making it hard to keep up!

Sitting on the table in the kitchen, Dean is stirring gravy on the stove while I strip the corn in the cob, the radio on the corner countertop is playing Sweet Home Alabama as Dean dances across the kitchen. Bobbing my head along to the beat of the music, Dean smirks at me as he turns the volume up a bit as I drop the shucked corn in the pot beside me. Dean grabs my hand, pulling me off the table, before twirling me around as I let out a loud laugh, the two of us dancing with the music, not a single care that it doesn't match the music playing. It seems our laughter draws an audience, because just as Dean dips me, the song turning off, Sam and Castiel are in the doorway of the kitchen, clapping.

"Oh, uh..." Dean lifts me back up, twirling me out of his arms so fast that I have to grasp the table I was previously occupying, the room spinning a bit. "Hey guys." I greet within my best ability.

"Food's gonna be a while." Dean states as he turns the music back down, and takes the pot of salted water and corn cobs, placing it on the stove.

"Oh, we were just checking out the commotion." Sam replies, causing me to blush as Dean nods, though in response to Sam, or to the beat of the new song, I'm not entirely sure.

"Indeed." Castiel states. "Carry on." I have to hid my wince at the way he says it, it sounds rehearsed, almost like being blind-read from a script before him. "Sam and I are going to do a beverage run. What would you like, Emily?" He asks.

"Oh, uh... Grape Crush, or Green Apple Fanta. I'm not large on alcohol, nor caffeine." I reply with little to no thought, a pure answer from the top of my head. The two of them smirk, before nodding as they disappear, and I turn back to the task at hand in the quiet of the kitchen, which is only punctured by the sound of the music. Grabbing a cutting board, I start cutting the tomatoes for the salad, humming along to the music under my breath. "Dean," I finally place the knife down, turning to his broad back as he turns halfway to me, keeping an eye on the pork chops at the same time as acknowledging me. "you have yet to ask. About... anything you saw that day." I cross my arms over my chest as he turns the occupied burners down for safety, and then turns to lean on the counter next to it, eyes roaming over me, studying me.

"Well, I don't make it a habit of digging into the past, when it's obviously something that you want to forget." He replies, causing me to smirk, and he narrows his eyes at me. "Alright Sweetheart, you want me to ask, I'll ask. The douchebag who was throwing and beating on you, what was his deal." If he notices how quickly I stiffens, turning back to my task as if he hadn't spoke at all is sure to worry him, the slight shaking in my arms and shoulders is the only giveaway of the event. "Hey hey hey, Emily, are you alright?" He asks softly, causing me to set the quivering knife down as I slowly turn back to him, and he smiles softly as I force myself to smile at him. "You don't gotta force yourself to say anything." He says softly, reaching up to caress my cheek, looking into my eyes as I bite my bottom lip, before looking away.

"He was my... Ex-fiance." I notice that he stiffens at my reply. "Daniel was manipulative, and accusing and he made me lose all of my friends, isolated me from my family, and made it so I was dependant on him. I didn't notice the signs of abuse, until he started to abuse me, and by then, it was too late. Nobody wanted to help me, or nobody believed me." My explanation causes Dean to look a bit distraught. "I managed to get a restraint order, and moved to a whole new town, new state, to get away. That was a couple weeks before I woke up here." My voice dies weakly, looking up at him sadly.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry." He apologizes as I tearfully shake my head.

"F-Forget it." I rub my eyes, wiping away all trace of tears as I smile up at him. "What do you say, we get this done? I'm nervous enough about meeting Jodie for the first time." He chuckles at that.

"Don't worry so much. She's like a big cuddly teddybear. Gruff and surly on the outside, but gentle and loving in the inside." Dean explains, causing me to giggle, shaking my head at him as he turns to the doorway, as if checking that she's not behind us when he's speaking. "Just, uh... Don't tell her I told you that, huh?"

"Hmm... I think I can be persuaded to keeping that secret." I tease, setting the knife down as I turn back to look at Dean as he scoffs and chuckles, looking at me.

"You are diabolical." He taunts, turning back to me, before leaning on the counter as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Alright, what can I bribe you with?"

"I wanna drive Baby!" I burst out with, causing his mouth to drop, surprise on his face as I bounce on the balls of my feet.

"You wanna drive-"

"You let Sam before! Come on, Dean! Please!" I beg, tugging at his arm, and giving my best puppy dog eyes to him. "I'll bake you some pie!" I offer in a sing-song type voice as he looks down at me, quirking his lips as I giggle, and lean up on my tip-toes. "Any. Kind. You. Like." He groans, rubbing the palms of his hands on his jeans.

"Sweetheart, you don't fight fair." He pouts, leaning towards me as he strokes my cheek, causing my face to flush as I step back, and drop my face away. "One time. You can drive Baby, once."

"Really?!" I gasp, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Oh, thank you Dean! Thank you!" I throw my arms around him, hugging him as he chuckles, his hands falling to my waist in return, and I smile up at him. Suddenly, it's like electrical currents are running through my skin from his from where we touch, my heart is pounding as we look into each other's eyes. His thumbs start to stroke my love handles under my shirt, first in circles and occasionally up in down, causing my skin to hum as I struggle to breath, his fanfiction green eyes are on my own, it's like a magnetic pull, drawing the two of us closer until we're just a hair's breath away from each other.

"Hey Dean, I'm here- oh!" We both jump, Dean pushes me back, like we're two teens just caught doing something they're not supposed to be doing. "I-I'm so sorry! I-" Jodi turns to me with an apologetic smile. "Hi, I'm Jodi." She clears her throat, holding out her hand, which I shake as embarrassment floods and stings my cheeks. "You must be Emily."

"Y-Yes." She looks at Dean with a motherly reproachful look, before smiling at me once more as she shakes my hand. After she drops it, my face enflames even more as she looks between Dean and I with curiosity in her eyes. "I-I'll just let you two talk." I stammer out, scurrying towards the door.

"Hey," Dean calls after me, and turning to look at him, our eyes meet, and my breath hitches as we stand there, lost in each other's eyes.

"Dean! Emily! We're back!" Sam's shout draws my attention, and I dash out if the kitchen to help the other two with the drinks they bought. Shortly after the incident, Dean and I are converting the Map Table into a dinner table, placing piles of food on it, before moving chairs around, and everyone is sitting as I go around, pouring drinks for them.

"Em, sit down." Dean urges as he looks up at me, causing me to drop my head with a blush, shaking my head as I pour the last of the drinks, before I dash back into the kitchen as the over timer goes off. After checking the two pies and chocolate cake that are in the oven, I switch it off while leaving them in the oven to cool, before walking back out with the rest of the food in one arm, and the plates tucked in the other.

"Oh, sweetie, do you need help?" Jodie asks as she scoots the chair back to stand.

"No no, we've got it." Dean says and both he and Sam stand, coming over to relieve me of my burden, placing them on the table, and Dean scoots out a chair for me to sit in, before helping me scoot in. Jodie is watching this all with a delighted gleam in her eyes, looking rather impressed as she smiles in approval at me.

"So, Emily," Jodie starts as everyone starts to load uo their plates. "you seemed to have whipped these boys into shape. Look, they're even eating instead of gulping it down like it's going to run away!" She laughs as I let a soft giggle, stabbing a piece of chicken to put on my plate, before adding mashed potatoes and gravy.

"They just didn't get a lot of home-cooked meals in the past, being on the road 24/7. I mostly stay behind while they're on the hunts, and I always leave them both a plate in the fridge for when they get back." She smiles as I add some broccoli and cheese sauce to my plate, along with a scoop of stuffing.

"Yeah, Emily takes good care of us. Doesn't she, Dean?" Sam inquires, causing me to furrow my brow. "Doesn't she, Dean?" Sam says with a little more emphasis, causing me to discreetly look over at the older man, only to find him staring at me as a blush floods my cheeks. Suddenly something brushes my leg as Dean hollers in pain, jumping before he clears his throat.

"Yeah yeah. Em's the best." Dean mutters as he drops his gaze to his plate, shoveling his food into his mouth.

"So, Emily, how exactly did you meet the boys?" Jodie asks in a friendly tone, causing the boys to stiffen as Emily freezes.

"It's uh... A bit of a long story, and we're still not a hundred percent on the details." I explain slowly, before launching into detail about the way I met the boys abd Castiel, and by the time I'm done, she's gawping at me as I slowly start to blush, shoveling food into my mouth to I don't have to speak. Jodie continues to eat as she takes a long moment to process the information that I told her, long enough for me to worry that she might think I'm lying. I turn to Dean with frantic eyes, but he simply holds out a hand as he shakes his head, smirking at me as he looks towards Jodie, who stabs a piece of lettuce and tomato from her salad, before looking up at me.

"I suppose you're lucky to have woken up near the boys, huh? No telling who or what would be after you for the information you possess." She says, causing a cold sweat to break out on my forehead and neck, both of the boys and Castiel all freeze as well, as if the idea just hit them.

"And we've been letting you go on hunts with us." Sam groans as he faceplants into his hand, while Dean's grip tightens on his fork.

"The dangers just tripled on the playing field." Dean states as Jodie snorts.

"She's survived so far. Give her some credit boys." She scolds, causing them to actually look a bit sheepish. "You can handle yourself, right?"

"I would never put the boys, nor anyone else in danger. I would rather bite my tongue off and bleed to death, than hurt you guys." I reply, causing Dean to swallow thickly, within an audible gulp, his hands turning bone white around his silverware. Sam's frown deepens as he shakes his head in immense displeasure at the thought. Castiel shifts nervously in his chair as Jodie looks around at us, before I press my chair away from the table. "Well, I think I'll set the pies and cake out to cool." I state as I disappear into the kitchen as fast as I can.

~3rd POV~

The moment that Emily is out of sight and earshot, Jodie starts to saw into her chicken, watching Sam and Dean exchange looks, almost like they're having a silent conversation with each other. "Dean," His head snaps up at her voice as she points her fork towards the kitchen, a piece of tender chicken dangling from the end. "you look after that girl. Don't let her go."

"Don't let her go? What do you mean?" He asks, causing Jodie to shot Sam a look, as if to say 'is he serious?' to which Sam nods with an exhausted and forelorn look upon his face.

"Dean, even a blind man can see the attraction and tension between you two." Jodie says, scraping her food off her fork with a sharp clink noise.

"Dean, she's right." Sam chimes in. "You laugh and smile with Emily, like I have yet to see you do. You look at the pictures of Jess and I, and you can see the same look I have her, on your face when you look at Emily." Sam says as he takes a bite of his corn on the cob.

"Wait, what?" Dean snorts. "You saying that I'm in love with Emily?" He shakes his head. "No. No way am I in love with that outsider. She doesn't even understand our world, as much as she claims she might. She will never understand, because she is different than us. I will not drag her into a life where she'd be nothing but useless!" Dean's brow furrows at Sam's wide-eyed, grim expression.

"Well," Dean jumps, turning around to see Emily standing there with teary eyes. She slams the pie, dish and all, in her hands, on the table as she throws her oven mitts in her chair. "let me be the last to know where I'm not wanted." She states with a tight voice, before she walks out of the room.

"Way to go, Dean." Sam snaps as Jodie stands, looking at Dean as she shakes her head.

"That was the most cruel way to handle that, Dean." She scolds, hurrying out of the room after Emily.

Well, Dean screwed up. Again. It'd be too easy for them if I didn't throw in a little twist or two! You'll just have to stick around to see what happens next!

Also, sorry for the lack of content. I moved. Again. And I got a severe bout of insomnia, and depression. Things just were crazy and hectic. Anyway! Please enjoy, and I will try to have the next chapter written and up soon. Love you all, my fabulous readers! Remember, my inbox is always open.

[winsister91]

Make Amends

Part Fifteen - Lucid

This series is a sequel to Breaking A Promise.

Characters: Dean x reader, Sam, Cas (mentioned), OFC Harper (mentioned), OFC Jenny (mentioned)

Warnings: Language, angst, fluff, flangst, smut, possible dub-con, grace kink, magic kink

Word Count: 2500~

A/N: What have I been smoking? FYI @sofreddie made me feel genuinely emotional with her reaction to this chapter. Thank you for beta-ing once again my beautiful wifey <3 Oh, I’m testing out the new line breaks with this chapter too, if they suck or whatever, please lemme know before I start putting them in all my fics.

Series Masterlist Full Masterlist

~ Series and forever tags are open! ~

“I got it!” Sam announces, barging in to the room and making Dean jump with a start.

“The hell, Sam!?” Dean yells, “You ever heard of knocking!?”

“Look,” Sam ignores Dean’s gripes, shoving an open book onto his lap.

Dean glances down at the pages, recognising the print and your handwriting dotting around inbetween the lines. Flicking through each page rapidly like a sticker book, he snaps the book closed. Your spellbook, the one you got from the coven. “She’d been studying it a lot recently” he mumbles, opening it again and checking every page. Each one had your hasty penmanship dotted all over it, “I didn’t realise exactly how much though...”

“A lot, evidently,” Sam sighs, shaking his head, “But check the back page.”

Dean obliges, flicking through and glancing at the paper in the question, “What the…?” he mumbles aloud. His hand traces down the page, he remembered the conversation in the car about this particular spell. The one she and Jenny worked on years ago, that was supposedly unfinished. But now a whole new bunch of stuff had been added, the writing messy and scribbled, wonky in some places like your hand had slipped while doing it.

“I thought this was unfinished?” Dean continues to mumble, his eyes wide and shaking his head as he looked at the hastily scrawn spell, “Didn’t she say this spell like...sends the user into some kind of dream world?”

“Yeah...and it makes sense right?” Sam looks at you, laid out and completely oblivious to the world around you, “She said about the dream root too, so I think she wants us to go in there.”

“Right,” Dean nods in agreement, “Any word from Cas on that front?”

“He said he was heading back now, be here within the hour.”

“Okay, as soon as he’s here, cook me some of that stuff up and I’m going in.”       

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

You walk down the long corridor, your steps echoing off the polished floor and bouncing off the walls. Your hands are clenched into tight fists, not sure where you were going or what you were doing, but this place gave you the creeps.

When you cast the spell, you tried to imagine your old childhood house, yearning for somewhere safe and distant from all this chaos that was now your life. You brain seemingly had other ideas however, throwing you into some warped, deformed version of Harper’s old house. The corridor looked exactly as you remembered, but now twice as long with double the amount of rooms branching off from it. Some of the doors were completely inaccessible, you couldn’t open them, not even by throwing your entire body weight into them. Others did open, revealing memories that made your guts churn. So far, you’d seen your parents, playing with an infant you in your old living room before you all headed out to the park. You’d seen you and Jenny, shooting the shit whilst cleaning down the diner after a long shift and then heading out to a bar. You’d seen the bunker, drinking beers with the boys until stupid o’clock in the morning and then having to spend a sleepless night laying beside a nightmare ridden Dean.

“Oh yay…” you groan, trying another door handle and feeling the door click open, “C’mon brain, show me something that isn’t tainted with something fucking depressing…”

“Do we even have anything like that?” your own voice replies back in the air.

“Sure we do!” you argue, holding your hands on your hips and pouting, “Or we could just cut to the chase and you fucking show yourself to me.”

“I am you!”

“So you keep saying! Yet I don’t see a fricking ounce of me in you!”

“Ha! Yeah, okay, tell me how much you didn’t enjoy what’s behind that door then.”

“Ugh!” you scoff, pouting and throwing the door open, what met your eyes made you stop in your tracks.

“Oh boy…” you mumble, pulling at the collar of your shirt as heat rushed up your neck.

It was you and Dean, from a couple of weeks ago. A frustrating long night of dead end research, and you were both letting those frustrations out.

“Y/N, fuck,” Dean growled, he held you to him tightly, your ass just resting on the edge of the desk in your bedroom. He thrust his hips roughly, hungrily devouring your mouth while the head of his cock relentlessly pounded into your cervix.

“Dean!” you moaned, throwing your head back. A thin veil of sweat made your bodies glide against each other with a unique kind of friction. You dug your fingers into the back of his shoulder, bringing your head back and your forehead meeting with his. You could hear his heartbeat increasing and feel the energy from the waves of pleasure that were coursing through him.

“You’re close,” you mewled, biting your bottom lip as you clenched your thighs tighter around him.

“Says you,” he chuckled darkly, “You’re so fucking hot, Baby. Play with your clit, throw yourself over the edge.”

“Is that an order?” you smirked, raising your eyebrow, “You want me to play with myself?”

“I fucking love watching you get yourself off,” he hissed through gritted teeth, rolling his hips into you.

“Okay,” you gasp a small laugh, “I’ll ‘play’ with myself.”

Your eyes flashed that familiar vibrant blue as your powers kicked in. Dean faltered slightly at the sight before realising that his hand was moving of seemingly its own will. A faint blue aura surrounded it, as his fingers trailed down your body and he could feel your soft, hot skin on his fingertips. His hand snaked down to your mound, until finding the small nub of swollen nerve endings. He pressed it, stroked circles on it, flicked his fingertip across it.

His jaw hung slightly open as you chuckled, bucking your hips forward and groaning with pleasure. You were genuinely using him...to play with yourself, prompting a lustful growl to rumble in Dean throat.

He suddenly felt his hips thrust, again out of his control, a choked moan of surprise bursting from him. They thrust again, and again, each with an increasingly fast pace.

“Y/N, fuck!!” he groaned, feeling your walls flutter and clench around him. He could feel everything building, all the pressure and tension, ripples pleasure bubbling over into an endless cacophony of tidal waves.

“That was a good night wasn’t it?” you hear Dean’s voice behind you.

“Dean!?” you shriek, turning too swiftly on your heels and nearly stumbling. The memory that was playing out suddenly melted away into small gusts of smoke, leaving an empty replica of Dean and your’s bedroom in its wake, “I-is it really you?”

“Got the dream root,” he nods, “Just like you said.”

“Holy shit…” a huge broad, smile spreads across your face before you throw yourself at him. He thankfully catches you, holding you while you swing your arms around his shoulders. Your heart swelled so big at the sight of him, it was painful. You could feel your face scrunching up as your eyes burned suddenly. Your bury your face into his chest, losing the fight against your sobs, “I’m sorry Baby, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Hey, hey,” he says softly, holding you tightly to him, resting a hand on the back of your head, “It’s okay, don’t worry. I’m here.”

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

“So yeah…” you sigh, walking back down the corridor of Harper’s house with Dean. It seemed to have got even bigger. Ridiculously. The thing stretched out before you so far you didn’t see an actual end to it, “I finished the spell in the car after we talked about it...It just hit me that I could possibly finish it. Thought it may have helped with...well...everything. An escape so shit’s easier to cope with.”

“I’m just thankful it works and you haven’t accidentally burnt your brain out or something,” Dean shakes his head. He stands on his toes briefly, like he was trying to get a better look down this endless corridor, “It’s still fricking weird though.”

“You’re telling me,” you giggle, “It’s only gonna get weirder no doubt. Other me is no doubt gonna be an absolute fucking treasure…”

“So…that’s what we’re doing?” Dean asks for clarification, “You’re going to go find and...talk to yourself?”

“I guess you could say that,” you shrug, huffing a small laugh as you drag your heels along the floor, “If they’re really me...we should be able to talk it out. Get all the feels on the table. If I’m stuck like this, gotta find a way to move on and live with it, right?”

“Most people would write in a diary or something,” Dean retorts, narrowing his eyes and smirking.

You giggle, shaking your head, “Well, the main reason I cast the spell was pretty much to knock me the fuck out,” you explain, a small sigh passing your lips, “Might as well try and sort myself out while I’m here. Kill two birds with one stone.”

Dean nods, his hands in his pocket as you both continue to walk. You didn’t know where you going, or if it was even possible to find the “Demonic you” in this place you’d created. Something was leading you though, you weren't sure if it was instincts or something luring you, but you found your legs still moving, the heels of your boots monotonously clicking on the polished wood floor.

“I...I think we’re close,” you mumble, the pace in your step quickening as you strode ahead.

“Y/N,” Dean called after you, grabbing your hand to hold you back and stay close, “Look, I-I’m sorry you’re going through all this.”

“What?” you stop and turn back to him with a furrowed brow, “It’s not like it’s your fault. If anything I’m sorry for burdening you guys with my shit again.”

“No,” Dean clenches his jaw while briefly shaking his head, “I should have known the Bar CCTV was a fucking setup. If we hadn’t have gone in there, they wouldn’t have…” His words trail off, and you squeeze his hand.

“Dean,” you say seriously, “You can’t shoulder the blame for everything. Harper’s potion has been slowly fucking with me all this time, so no doubt this day was coming. Jenny’s new concoction just...sped it up I guess.”

You move closer to him, leaning in to him and resting your head on his chest. Your eyes begin to burn as you actually take a moment to reflect on it all. It was only a few short weeks ago that things were feeling good. Everyone was moving on, you and Dean together again and a vague sense of your own special brand of normality was setting back into place. If you’d have thought that a news story about an office building bursting into blue flames would lead to all this…

Damn, your stomach churns as you realise deep down you never would have been able to let it go.

Dean holds you around your waist, pulling you tight to him, resting his head on yours and breathing deeply against your hair. You both linger, holding each other in silence.

“When’s the last time we actually had a moment alone like this?” Dean eventually speaks, looking down at you and planting a small soft kiss on your forehead, “Feels like a lifetime ago.”

“You’re telling me,” you chuckle in agreement, holding him impossibly tighter, “I miss it…”

“I miss it too,” Dean mumbles. He holds his index finger up to your chin, raising your head to meet his eyes, “Just being us...no bullshit hanging or looming in the air above us.”

“Has there ever been a time like that?” you quip, nudging him with your elbow playfully, “You know, I’ve made it so when I’m here I’m just...me. No freaky shit powers or angel radio...I actually feel normal, disregarding the fact I’m using a spell to keep me locked up inside my own head.”

You shake your head with a bewildered laugh, looking up at Dean. His eyes look pained as they glance back down at you. “But…” you force yourself to continue, your heart breaking under his eyes, “It also doesn’t feel right…”

“I don’t think anything about this situation is necessarily right,” he jokes, picking up on your heartache and defaulting to quips to lighten the mood.

You do laugh lightly, your fingers bunching in to the back of his shirt while you try and bite back a sob, “I mean…” you choke slightly, ignoring the tingle in your eyes, “Y-you never even knew me when I was just some normal girl. I’d been on that potion for a long ass time before you and Sam came to the coven. For a fucking large chunk of my life I’ve been...deep down, a monster.”

“Y/N, stop it,” Dean states sternly, his fingers now digging in to your sides as held you, “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true though,” you shrug, a couple of tears breaking through, “It wasn’t always to this extent but...I-I like my power. Even after you and Sam made me promise to abandon them, I went back. Then we tried again and...look where we are now. I always come back to them, because they’re a part of me.”

“Y/N…” Dean shakes his head, “They may be a part of you, but that’s all they are. A part. They don’t make up who you are. A sweet, funny, freaking batshit, badass hunter. Someone who wants to do good, save people, looks after her family…”

“Oh yeah,” you cut him off with a sarcastic retort, “By bringing all new levels of hell and misery into their lives.”

“Um, correct me if I’m wrong,” Dean raises an eyebrow, tilting his head as he spoke matter-of-factly, “You said I can’t ‘shoulder the blame for everything’. So sounds to me like you need to listen to your own advice.”

Your slump in defeat, a smirk playing on your lips, “You’re unbelievable,” you huff, “But thank you...you’re being all sweet and I far from deserve it.”

“Y/N-” Dean starts to argue but is cut off by a loud crashing sound further down the corridor.

“Oh please! You both make me sick!” a twisted version of your voice echoes.

“Wonderful…” you sigh, pulling back from Dean and inhaling sharply. You roll your shoulders, before turning to Dean and nodding, “I’m doing this.”

“Not alone you’re not,” he grabs your hand, standing beside you.

“You sure about that?” you ask hesitantly, “I don’t know what the fuck is going to happen. It could all turn sour super fast. Probably safer for you to get out here incase I implode my own brain or something.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he answers stubbornly, “You’re not doing any more of this alone.”

You sigh shakily, nodding slowly before the two of you start to walk together.

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[cherry3point14]

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies

Pairing: Dean x Witch!Reader

Prompt: Imagine being a former BMoL and powerful natural witch, who over the years has fallen in love with Dean, and to save him from the Mark, you transfer it on yourself - thus tying yourself to the Darkness, and forcing Dean to finally come clean with his feelings and propose to you before it's too late. By the brilliant @assassinofmasyaf

Words: 9,490.

Warnings: Like there’s a little angst, I’m sorry magic is angsty. A tiny bit of fluff, I’m not a monster.

A/N: Fic 2 of my follower celebration! This got away from me a little. I mean the lies, the heartache. It’s all too much. I’mma cutch my pearls and go lie down.

Ao3 link if you prefer.

The earth feels like fire beneath you and air has been replaced by water. Everything around you is wrong, muddled, confused by the doubt that taints this decision. Spellwork requires clarity of mind and surety of spirit but the road you’ve traveled has not been paved with either.

It’s been a path forged out of lies and secrets.  

Your body is humming against the power that surrounds you, not with it. You know you’ll need to right yourself before you’ll be able to do this, and you have to do this. There’s no scenario where you don’t do this for him.

Where you were on knees, leaning forward with your palms spread out in the dirt you force yourself to sit back on your heels. Your hands flat against your thighs as you adjust your spine until your posture is as straight as an arrow. A lightning rod against the ground. You need to be the attracting force in the universe.

Each rise and fall of your chest is a commune with the energy that envelops you. Every intake of air you use to clear your mind of distractions. Every exhale you use to expel the negative forces from your body completely.

It takes time, minutes or maybe longer. You don’t rush or try to speed the process. You only have one opportunity to get this right, falling short at this stage would be disastrous. Apocalyptic even. No. It cannot be rushed. It has been some time since you attempted to command power of this magnitude, but you know that you are capable. The magic is not something that has left you, or ever will, and your suppression of it does not make you less than. If it takes you longer than you would expect to be ready, then so be it, as long as it is done right.

Your eyes close as your mind becomes settled and focused. When you open them again the sky is showing the first signs of sunset, splashes of pink and red painted in broad strokes against the fading blue. The setting sun feels like work of your own hand and that’s when you know that you are ready. When nature becomes yours and you become its.

The mark calls to you still. Even from your distance, its existence is like a beacon. Good. Rowena has not been able to finish what she thinks she can start. No good can come from the book of the damned and the mark of Cain must not be destroyed lest it awakens the original evil. Rowena is a fool or so blinded by her own self-service that she’s ignoring the cost. Either way, it cannot be left in her hands to deal with.

Your body rolls forward until you’re in the same position you began in. Hands spread over the ground, body folded in a semblance of prayer. Not to god, to the magic that you serve. You are ready now. Everything is where it should be like a neatly stacked shelf of books.

This time when you sit up your body is relaxed. Shoulders hanging low in a moment all your own before you make this sacrifice.

You pick up the bag next to you filled with all the ingredients you need. Rowena and Sam, even Cas, are all looking for impossible things because what they are trying to do should be impossible. There’s a reason why it should not be done. Everything you needed was easy to procure. Most of it was already in the bunker, the Men of Letters from any continent liked to keep ingredients on hand. The rest are not ingredients but connections. Something of Deans and something of yours.

The strongest connection is forged by blood and the memory of how you got Dean’s fills you with shame. With a straight back and a few deeper breaths it eases away, but you need to avoid allowing yourself to become clouded distractions. You remind yourself of your justifications, he will understand in time and if he doesn’t then it won’t matter. You will have saved him and maybe the world. For once it will be you who makes the sacrifice.

Perhaps this will be your final atonement for your sins. Not that you will pretend to be doing this to ease your soul. You’re driven by the love of a good man. A force which has guided so many of your decisions. The bond is strong and uniquely your own. It may be unrequited but it’s still unyielding.

The wind begins to pick up around you as you place the bowl in front of you, whipping faster with each ingredient placed inside. As if the air itself knows that you should be protected while you work. It’s enough to allow the smallest curve of your lips and the faintest glow of pride in your chest. You are doing what is right, what must be done.

You begin to lowly chant words to summon the necessary power while you pour Dean’s blood into the concoction. The ground begins to vibrate beneath you in response. Here, it says. Take the power you need. It charges you like electricity through every nerve in your body.

The sky is stained much deeper now, gone are the soft colors replaced with violent hues of oranges and burgundy. Almost deep enough to match the crimson that seeps from you as you sink your knife into your palm, and then the other. Allowing both weeping hands to rain your own blood into the bowl as the final ingredient.

You speak the spell clearly into the coming night knowing that it comes faster for you.

“Ab manu sanguine hoc viro. Hoc sanguis meus. Maledictionem ad mutare. At eadem manere.”

For a moment there is nothing, even the air freezes, halting every blade of grass in the field where you sit. Everything falls silent. You’re not sure your muscles could twitch if you tried. The darkness that sweeps over you is a falsehood, you can sense the day behind it still, but your spell has created this. Or stolen it rather. Your spell has borrowed everything it needs, light, air, sound.

A clap of thunder is the first noise to break the nothingness. Then a flash of lightning. Finally, a gust of wind with the force of a millennia years old curse knocks you onto your back.

Your flesh sears. It bubbles and burns. It would be agony if it wasn’t so exquisite. Because it worked. Your relief is overwhelming enough to mask the pain. The mark is taking its place on your arm, on your soul, and you will bear it. You will use your power to keep the curse safe.

Or, if this turns out to be the last thing you ever do, then at least you have freed Dean.

When your eyes snap open again, not that you remember closing them, you’re looking up at the tranquil pinks of dusk again. You bring your hands in front of your face in time to see the cuts heal without a spell. The mark has protected you.

When you do look at your left arm, where the mark has chosen to imprint itself, the skin is raised and red, but you quickly realize your fist is clenched holding the muscle taught. With a few deep breaths, again, your fingers unfurl, and your arm relaxes. The mark doesn’t go away but the color pales a little.

It’s not that you think you’re better than Dean it’s just you think you can control the side effects with your powers, the powers that he is only acutely aware of. You simply think you have a better chance.

Oh. And you love him obviously. Love will make an idiot do anything. Give up her career. Sign her own death sentence. Take the mark of Cain from the object of her affections.

When you make it back to the car you borrowed from the bunker garage there is a multitude of missed calls on your phone. Sam, Dean and strangely one from Crowley. You didn’t even know he had your number, but you supposed everyone needs an antagonist, what would life be if yours couldn’t reach you?

Dean is the first one you call back. It rings through to his voicemail. Hearing his voice, even a recording, makes your body flush.

You call Sam next, you need to tell him to stop whatever he’s trying but his phone also rings through to his voicemail. Him you leave a message, strict instructions not to let Rowena try anything.

It’s with a deep sigh that you finally call Crowley of all people but another voicemail. His recorded message wasting time to include several claims as to his position as hell’s king.  

It seems impossible that they are all out of range. Then it dawns on you. Maybe you are.

That’s when your body slumps across the front seat.

You don’t open your eyes this time. They were already open, you just weren’t behind them. You sit up letting out a shuddering breath as you roll your shoulders against the seat. The nature of your collapse leads to believe that your body didn’t need rest, your magic did.

This time when you pick up your phone and dial, Dean answers.

He starts talking without the formalities of greetings. “I’ve been trying to call you, the mark…”

Your laughter interrupts him, it’s unexpected and fills up the car, “it’s gone? It’s really gone?”

He was free. Even before he confirmed it you could tell just by the lightness in his voice. You had him back, your Dean.

“Yeah, how did you… what did you do?”

Normally a question like that you’d quip with him. Teasingly ask him why he assumes you did something. Instead, you let your laughter die to promise earnestly, “you’re ok. I’m handling it.”

“Y/N.” His tone is warning but it’s after seeing him at his worst, with the mark, it’s nothing in comparison.

Sam is in the background and although you don’t make out what he says you hear that he’s agitated.

“What’s happening there? Where are you?” Your concern always with them.

“Don’t worry about us, we’re in this restaurant and I think I-”

The line goes dead forcing worry to ebb at you. Suddenly there’s no time for tamping down your powers to hide them anymore. Urgency pushes you forward as you get out of the car, hopefully, Dean will forgive you for leaving it. With two feet planted firmly on the road, you recite the words, waiting for the ground to change beneath you.

Teleportation is always a tricky master and being out of practice at that level probably makes you prone to mistakes. You’d asked to be taken to Dean, but the literal translation of the spell was ‘home of my heart’ so, it's only a small surprise when you open your eyes and find yourself standing in the bunker.

It’s quiet and peaceful despite the state of the place. The books still piled high ready to be burnt and the furniture strewn about without care.

Your fingers graze the edge of a table in the library as the last conversations in this room enter your head. How you’d begged Sam to stop, told him that he couldn’t, shouldn’t, do what he’s trying to. You’d find another way. Of course, he hadn’t believed you. He had no idea what you were capable of. And Dean, so broken after Charlie and the Stynes that his rage was unparalleled. Watching him walk out while Cas sat bloody and beaten had been your breaking point and you’d known then, with the threats he spat for you all, what needed to be done.

It’s an effort to quell the spark of anger that surges through you at those memories now. You’d have to make a spell for that, experiment until you could create something to control the unruly waves of violence.

It had been years since you’d played with magic like this. Dean and Sam knew you were a witch and since you’d gained their trust before revealing that side of you they’d been shockingly accepting. Although you feared that was only since they didn’t know the extent of your powers. You’d forced yourself into years of minor tricks. Never commanding the arts like you knew you were able to. They simply never questioned how easily you performed any spell they asked of you.

A part of you had feared that if they saw your real power they might think you too dangerous to allow your freedom. That you were the kind of witch they’d kill without question.

Not that it mattered anymore. What was the phrase? In for a penny, in for a pound. You couldn’t undo any of it now. They’d find out soon enough, there was no hiding what you’d done.

Admittedly acceptance of your situation felt like shedding a heavy blanket that you’d been trapped under. Throwing off a thick material and feeling fresh, cool air again. You could feel the crackle of your power under your skin, so grateful for its freedom, so relieved.

There’s a groan from somewhere that startles you out of your thoughts. You walk towards it unthinking of the possible danger. The fact that people have been here destroying and pillaging, and that there could be more of them, doesn’t concern you or even enter your head. Worry only etches into your features when you see who it is. Cas, broken again, like he’d been when Dean… but he’d healed from that. You’d seen him heal so this must be new, different.

“Help me,” falls from his lips in a voice so soft that you wouldn’t believe the sound came from him if you weren’t looking into his face as he said it.

Falling to your knees next to him and shushing him you put your hand to his face. Magic flows around his head. Not angelic anything but spellwork. You can taste it on the back of your tongue. The bitterness of the attack spell makes you sneer.

“What happened?”

“Rowena.”

Of course. She must be free and worse than that, you’d be willing to bet the farm that she has the book. Fury coursed through you unencumbered this time. Fast and unwavering. You fall back from Cas for a moment making a physical effort to beat it into submission as the familiar sound of the bunker door sounds out.

“So, you think Y/N. had something to do with it?”

“I don’t know, she knew Sammy. She knew it was gone and you said yourself Rowena didn’t finish the spell.”

“Sam? Dean?” As you stand up from where Cas is you see them putting bags down. Both of their faces melt into softened smiles at the sight of you making your heart ache for what you heard, and what you still have to tell them.

Their boots thud as they both close the gap to meet you, but you raise a hand to stop them where they are. It takes a substantial effort to not use magic to keep them in place, your abilities being primed at the tips of your fingers and begging to be used. “Stop, Cas is…”

You don’t need to finish because they both boggle at the angel lying at your feet.

Only after they’ve lifted him and placed him into a seat in the library do they both return to you, taking it in turns to wrap their arms around you.

Sam is pulling away and whispering about the mark being gone even though Rowena never finished when Dean’s voice reminds you of the short sleeves of your shirt.

“What the hell did you do?”

Dean had been so angry you’d needed to keep a hand on your arm to remind yourself that he didn’t still have the mark of Cain.

It only made him worse when your defense pretty much revolved around repeating the words, “I saved you.”

He told you he had been handling it and he had a plan. Sam pointed out that his plan was outer space and you filled the questions about that away for another time.

“You weren’t handling it. You weren’t you anymore.” Your words are a whisper. Not because you’re scared but because it’s taking all of your strength not to lash out. His tone is like catnip to the mark as if it recognizes it’s former host. It’s pulsing away on your arm begging you to fight back.

“Y/N, how did you even? We’d spent months looking for the book of the damned, working on it…” Sam is patient. You’re not sure if it’s the mark or your own guilt that makes you hear the end of his sentence despite him trailing off.

Charlie died for that book. The elephant in the room. It’s going to make your admission so much worse.

“I created a spell. A transfer was easier.”

Dean seems to quiet down but then his brow creases, he’s not calm he’s confused. “Created a spell? You’ve never done more than simple stuff before. Even Rowena needed the book.”

Anyone who’s ever tried to write Dean off as nothing but a trained soldier has never seen a moment like this. They've never seen him work something out before anyone else in the room.

For once you can’t bring yourself to watch the realization as he makes it. You normally love seeing his face light up when he has an answer. For how Dean treats self-deprecation like a hobby, the moment he works something out was the complete opposite. It was pure confidence and you usually reveled in watching a moment of genius smooth out his features before it would achingly fade away.

Except for this time, it would be your end. This was the moment he was either going to hate you or kill you. So, you keep your eyes on the floor instead.

“Y/N. How did you do it?” The flat tone is enough to tell you he that’s not what he’s asking. He’s asking how powerful you are.

There aren’t words left or at least no way to answer him. There’s no fitting description. There’s not a yardstick you can measure against. So, you get up out of your chair and walk calmly over to Cas. You sit on the table in front of him while he grips the arms of his chair tight, doubled over in pain as he fights the magic inside of him.  

With your hands cupping his cheeks you bring his eyes to yours and speak, “ad officium consummatum est.”

“Cas?” The word you’ve heard Dean say so many times before stings like a cut and almost breaks your concentration. He asks it in that worried way of his, endless concern in one syllable. As if you would hurt Castiel, your friend, any more than you’d hurt Sam or him.

Cas shakes in your grip although it’s not as violent as you expect. You keep your hands tight on him, your focus on ensuring the spell leaves his system. His eyes clamp shut with a final grunt and when they snap back open his pale blue irises widen impossibly.

Ah, the angel has caught up as well.

None of them move or even blink, as you slide off of the table and back away some steps. “I’m going to go and wait in my room and let you talk. If you decide you want me to leave I’ll go. I won’t- I would never hurt you.”

Your eyes are boring into Dean’s with the last sentence like you could tell him with a look how very true it is. How everything you do, everything you’ve done, is to stop him from hurting. Because the world needs him almost as much as you do.

You’d seen pictures of both Winchesters in the extensive briefings and endless case files you’d read. These two hunters had apparently stopped the end of the world. The sentence was ridiculous to even think. Hunters are barely more than muscle, they’re the dancing monkeys to your organ grinders.

Except you had to stop thinking like that. You’re part of the first wave on this god forsaken continent and you have the most important role of anyone in this recolonization project. You had to get close to and gather intel on the Winchesters. Apparently, they’re the key to this whole thing whether they realise it or not. Get the Winchesters and get America.

You thought it was obvious why you’d got the job. Your rank and abilities. However, with the way Dean Winchester looks you up and down, even from a distance, you fear that maybe you were selected for a more primitive reason.

It certainly didn’t help change your opinion that hunters were no more than upright apes.  

But there was the annoying fact that none of the pictures of him had quite done him justice. None of them had enough detail to see the freckles dusted over his nose and cheeks. Not one profile correctly captured the strength of his jaw. And, most audaciously, there was no picture taken close enough to highlight the green of those eyes. Even in this dimly lit cesspool with him sitting at the other end of this sticky bar they were striking, the colour reminded you of spring mornings back home.

Not that you were weak for that kind of thing. You weren’t weak for many things, there wasn’t room for weakness in the Men of Letters. And with the way you’d seen Dean drink so far you figure he wasn’t aware of that rule.

Today was only reconnaissance thankfully, no contact. You were dying to get out of the outfit you’d been given. Tight jeans and a tank top that had appeared to be child’s size before you managed to squeeze it over your head. And now that he looked about ready to get up and come and talk to you it meant you could finally leave. You push some money forward to the surly bartender and stand up. Slowly of course. If you had been chosen for less than professional reasons then you’d use all the tools at your disposal, popping your hip and flashing him a smile before you turn to the exit. An extra wiggle as you walk away.  

You knew the hunt they were in town for and tomorrow you’d ‘accidently’ meet them on their outing posing as a hunter yourself. Thus, would begin the slow and steady plan to win over the Winchesters. It had been decided much higher up than you that this was the best way to gain their trust. You just have to hope that you can pull this off. Although it would be quicker you know that planting memories is not always perfect. Sometimes trust is easier to earn the old-fashioned way.

To think that weeks ago your life was as normal as it got for you. You’d hunted a werewolf in Albany. Even though the mark on Dean’s arm had still been forefront in all of your minds the hunt itself had been so regular.

The car, the motel, the bad diner that didn’t know how to make a decent BLT. You and your boys. But now their conflicting voices could be heard even from your room. Not words exactly but the rumble of discussion.

You crossed your legs at some point and closed your eyes in an attempt to quiet your mind and silence the court that was in session.

He didn’t even know everything. None of them did. Not even Cas. You’d been careful over the years to never let the angel into your head, which itself is quite the feat. The number of times he’s offered to heal you after hunting injuries and you’d had to insist he didn’t waste his angel juice. The risk was too great that he might stumble over one of the many secrets you held on to so fiercely.

None of them knew how you came to be in their lives. The organization you used to answer to. The people that had probably added your face, your picture, to the Winchester files. Deceased it will say. The first agent to infiltrate them was wiped out. Knowing your superiors, they may even have tried to blame the boys. But if there’s one thing the British knew how to do it was repress. Stiff upper lip. It had been how you’d lived with yourself all these years. Repressing the truth and living a lie.

Eventually, the voices fade to nothing, but no one comes to tell you the verdict. You’re climbing the walls now, your bedroom more of a cell than a home. Tentatively you crack open your door but see no one in the hallway. Trying to remain as silent as possible, you creep back to the library you’d left them.

Straight away you can see Cas is gone. Where you don’t know. Away? Or resting somewhere in an empty room? He would be capable of leaving now that you’d removed the spell.

“I can hear you, sweetheart.”

His voice is thick with emotion and as you take enough steps to be in the room proper you see his hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey. After all these years and he’s still not found the answer he looks for in the golden liquid.

“Dean, I’m so-“

He silences you with a hand held up. Not the one holding his drink, of course, that’s currently engaged in tipping a hefty serving down his throat. You watch the length of his neck tighten and relax again as he swallows it down.

“You’re a witch.” It’s all he says. It’s dull and empty, but at least he’s speaking to you.

You take a step towards the table he’s sitting at but don’t sit down quite yet, you need to gauge the atmosphere first, “yes. Technically you knew I was a witch yesterday too. Just, you thought I was less powerful.”

Dean never had been one for technicalities, “and exactly how powerful are you?”

You shake your head at his second attempt to ask this, “there’s not a grading system. There are so many things that determine a witch’s capabilities.”

He snaps his head up to you meeting your eyes for the first time since you’ve come into the room. He looks tired and you hate to think that you’ve added to the lines at the corner of his eyes. The rest of his face is hard, steely, it’s his cut-the-crap stare.

“I’m a natural. We’re rare. I don’t know what else to tell you. I can do some things others can’t and vice versa.”

“Like take the mark of Cain with a spell you created yourself? No book of the damned or anything?”

You’re not sure what he’s more annoyed by, your magic or that you took the mark. It seems likely that it’s the former considering that Charlie died for the something they didn’t need, but then he grumbles, “what the fuck was you thinking?”

Somehow, it’s more antagonizing than any of the shouting that’s already happened today. The mark can sense the frustration behind it. The mark tells you that he thinks you’re pathetic, he thinks you’re stupid. It whispers right into your heart that he could never love you, never think of you like that, a witch and a liar.

Your hands curl into fists, nails cutting crescent shapes into your palms. You grind your teeth together in an attempt to stop the frustration welling up in your chest from exploding out your mouth. You can feel the scream in your throat vying to escape. He can see it too. He can see your struggle since until very recently he was the one fighting.

His face softens and his lips downturn, but he tries to help. He holds both hands up defensively as he rises from his chair at a glacial speed. “Y/N, just breathe sweetheart.”

“Shut up.” It’s barely your voice that says it for how deep it sounds.

His hands move back a little further in a silent affirmation.

All of the air getting to your lungs travels through those still gritted teeth, canines bared, and nose snarled.

“I’m going to leave now, and I will be back tomorrow.”

“It’s the middle of the night…”

You don’t need to mention your previous command for silence, the widening of your eyes does it for you.

“I will be back tomorrow.” Is all you repeat. The last of your resolve goes into closing your eyes and concentrating on a place. The motel a few towns over, the one with the late checkout and thick-ish walls. It doesn’t matter that Dean is right there or that he’ll only see you disappear without explanation.

It’s easy this time. No mistakes. Later you’ll wonder if that’s because of the mark, if it’s helping you somehow but for now, you simply admire landing directly into an empty room. A click of the lock and you’re checked in so to speak.

This time when you pull yourself cross-legged into the middle of the bed your hands clench your knees painfully while you try to mutter spells into the quiet of the room. As if you just need to find the right combination and everything will return to normal.

Progress report 36:

After the unsuccessful previous hunt, which required a necessary injury on my part, the Winchesters finally took me to what they call “the bunker” aka US01. As far as I have been able to tell US01 remains in a state of acceptable upkeep, however, I have been unable to check the priority rooms, 6, 15 or storage facility 3. Once I have accessed these locations of interest I will report back on the status of all artifacts as per briefing 12.

Yesterday D. Winchester offered me a permanent room in “the bunker”. I advised him I would consider this offer, to lessen any potential suspicion that an immediate acceptance might bring. It is my hope that with my current injuries I will be left alone with time to investigate some point within the next week.

The morning comes quickly since you don’t remember falling asleep. You wake up on your back, spread eagle over the bed. For the briefest of seconds, you don’t remember where you are or why you’re here. You weren’t on a hunt, you’d have changed at least.

The memory hits you square between the eyes. You’d wanted to hurt Dean. You’d teleported in front of him. Nausea rises from your gut and makes you run to the bathroom only to dry heave over the sink. How could you go home now? How could you call it your home at all?

You pace the room desperately hoping to find an answer in the peeling wallpaper and faded shag carpet. Unfortunately, there was only one conclusion the dated décor gave you.

You needed to leave them.

Maybe not as dramatically or murder-y as Dean had but you should leave. It was safer. Until you can find a way to control the mark. Especially since you gave the mark access to magic, no demon skills required.

It might even be good for you to get some time away. You hadn’t been apart from them since, well, since you moved in. There had been days here or there of course but meaningful distance? Not since you gave up the only life you’d ever known to be with them. To be with Dean.

You could say goodbye. It was the right thing to do. Say goodbye and explain. Assure them you’d be back, and everything would be fine. You’d take care of it. They’d let you leave too. If they hadn’t decided to kick you out before then you could be sure that they’re probably of that opinion now.

You’d bloody teleported in front of Dean.

You sink down onto the side of the bed and pick up the plastic phone handle that’s seen better days. Surprisingly there’s actually a dial tone and you punch in Dean’s number without even thinking.

“I know I don’t deserve it but please, can you come and get me?”

It would be impossible to erase your existence entirely. And from this distance. From so many people. Even for what you intended to do you’ve enlisted help. An item in the Men of Letters storage. Sam and Dean had no idea what it is, or for, they’ll never miss it. Its explanation will be buried in the archives somewhere and even then, its sole purpose is to concentrate magic.

You lied to them again. An old friend needed help on a hunt you’d said. They had offered to come with you, but you’d told them it would be fine, he didn’t like new people. You’re sure the look on Dean’s face at the mention of him was just suspicion.

Now you sit in this nice hotel room. The first one since England. Ever since you’d got here it was motels and then the bunker. Not that the bunker wasn’t nice, but these were Egyptian cotton sheets and comfort was a necessity right now.

There are several spells to work and it has to be tonight, or tomorrow morning as it currently is in England. They’re all together and won’t be again for another fortnight. You’re not sure you can keep up the pretense any longer.

The mirror you’ve balanced in front of you is faded like it’s dull with age, but the smoky quality is actually your tracking spell, locating the meeting. When they appear, you watch for a few minutes, making sure they’re all there, The Old Men. The only face you know is Doctor Hess from the academy, the others aren’t very public and until recently you were loyal to the rules that forbade your intrusion. Now you plan to tear those rules apart.

You’re using a revelation spell to lower their warding spells. They’re prepared for magical attacks, although they assume their enemies wouldn’t have the foresight to attack their warding first. They would never assume one of their own would use knowledge of the wardings against them.

It feels like it takes hours when in fact it’s minutes. Were you not on a tight schedule you might take some time to recover. You only have an hour though and the next spell will be the trickiest. Ten minds to alter. Ten memories to plant.

The mirror, which had lost its connection briefly, is alive with their faces again. They don’t seem aware of what is going on. So far so good.

“Memento fabulam. Memento fabulam. Haec sit vera. Super omnia. Verbum meum”

There is a flicker in the glass but nothing more. You repeat the spell, keeping the false memory you intend in the front of your mind. Holding the stone you’ve taken from the bunker wrapped in your hands. Pushing your power from your chest and forcing it to them, over land and sea through the link in the mirror. You don’t feel the blood trickle from the corner of your eyes, but you taste it on your lips while you chant over and over. The lights in the room start to crackle as you pull energy from around you until finally, you see them all react one by one. Doctor Hess presses the back of her hand to her forehead, another elder closes his eyes for a moment. All of them look as if they have a minor headache but that’s not what’s popped into their heads.

What’s appeared is the new truth you’ve put there. Of your death on a hunt. This project is too dangerous for an undercover agent.

The mirror shatters in front of you when it’s done. Hundreds of spider web cracks in the glass. The connection is broken. Their warding will repair itself now. In theory, they should never know what you’ve done.

There’s still more to do tonight. Your own protection, the glimmer spell you have designed to hide from prying organization eyes that may still be watching Sam and Dean. But all of that can wait because for one beautiful second, even with blood staining your cheeks and your lungs still gasping for air, you take a moment to appreciate that you’re actually free.

His voice had been laced with sleep on the phone, so it had been impossible to guess his reaction. He’d barely said more than a few gruff noises. Confirmation that he’d come to get you and that yes, he’d knew the motel you were talking about.

When you slip into the passenger seat he doesn’t say anything first. It only takes two minutes on the road for you to crack under the silent pressure.

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs without looking at you, “take my advice, blanket apology everyone you know. ‘s easier.”

The corner of your mouth twitches as you reply, “maybe that was my blanket apology for you, ever think of that?”

This time he does tear his eyes from the road to take you in, and after a moment that feels like far too long to be safe while driving, he smiles. The kind that crinkles his eyes and warms your cheeks. If you could live in that moment, curl up in it and keep it forever, you’d give anything. You’d watch the world burn to stay looking at that smile. Or even if you couldn’t look at it, just to keep it on his face.

You’re a coward but you suppose Dean is too. Right now, anyway. You’re not mentioning leaving because then he has the drive back to convince you otherwise. If he wants you to stay that is. And he’s not mentioning the mark or your magic. Because then you have the drive back to apologize. Instead, you both fall into a comfortable silence. Hyper aware of each other and the things neither of you is saying but happy to live in this limbo.

What he’ll never understand is you can feel him. In this proximity, you know his soul. You don’t know why you can feel him without a physical connection, but you can, and you’ve always been able to. The black and decay caused by the mark. The deterioration. All gone. What’s left is the same thing you’d felt the first time you spoke. A soul heavy with burden but still so good. A soul almost as green in color as his eyes. That’s what you’d always known about Dean, the biggest secret you ever kept.

Dean could call himself dark, a murderer, a thousand other things. He could command the world to see what he thought he was, but you could see what he truly is. You can see the good, the selfless, the brave, the protector. Everything that was there before this curse ate away at him and everything that was still there now. It reinforces your decision to save him.

He pulls into park outside the bunker and huffs out a lung full of air still gripping the wheel, “so when you leaving?”

He’s not telling you, he’s asking, and the difference means everything.

“Today if I can. Until I can get this under control.”

You watch his eyes close and his lips struggle to put his words in order. “Death couldn’t do anything about that mark except send me away. You think you can stop it?”

It’s a good question. One that makes you sound conceited and power mad but it’s a good question.

“I can’t stop the mark, I mean, eventually it will turn me into a demon like Cain, like you were. I only think I can slow it down. Stop the violence and the anger. And maybe I’ll get a few decades. So long as it’s not you or Sam coming to kill me if I turn into a big bad. That’d be awkward.”

You’ve done your research on the this while trying to cure Dean. You know why the mark has to survive and you’re not willing to risk the darkness. All you want is a little time. As much as you can have living with the boys and saving as many people as you can. To give your life some meaning before you become one of them.

Maybe once you do turn you’ll be able to control it like Cain. Maybe. Or a natural witch turned knight of hell might be the end of the world. You’d have to find out when you get there.

He doesn’t laugh at your joke about them killing you, in fact, he leans forward, his forehead pressing against the wheel like he’s hurt. “You’re talking about becoming a demon sweetheart. Yesterday I found out you can freakin’ teleport and now you’re picking out china patterns for your holiday home in hell.”

Your nose wrinkles at the idea of living in hell. “Someone has to bear it and it was killing you, Dean. I think I can make it kill me slower. It’s worth a try.”

“Stay.” He whispers into the space between your heartbeats.

“What? I can’t. This magic is dangerous. I might be dangerous.”

“Then you should stay. Keep it inside the bunker. We can keep you safe.” He’s looking at you this time, imploring you with his lips barely parted and his eyes bright in the daylight.

Despite your promises yesterday, which you still meant, you’d never intentionally hurt them, you have to ask. “What if something goes wrong? Who will keep you safe from me?”

You’re both silent for a long moment until you find the courage to ask the question that haunts you, “if I find a way to control it, can I come back?”  

He lifts his head and stares as if you’ve just spoken another language. He looks almost childlike in his confusion, not the tired man at the end of his tether than he claims to be. His answer is the sincerest thing you think you’ve ever heard, “I’m counting on it, sweetheart.”

Five weeks later

Last night had been the closest you’d come to a kill. Not a monster obviously but a human kill. No weapon required. You knew enough spells to murder and maim but last night it had been your fingers wrapped around his throat. The rest of the people in the dive laid unconscious at your feet, that was magic, but this guy? This hulk shape of a man who had decided you were what he fancied for the evening, his windpipe had been under your thumb. You’d felt it get narrower under the pressure you applied, watching his face become red while he clawed at your arm.

Your left arm.

It’s only thanks to the temporary spell you’d fashioned weeks back that you manage to soothe the bloodlust enough to let him go. He crumbles impossibly small for a man his size but when you hold two fingers to his throat he’s still alive.

It had been too close for comfort. You’d barely got your spell out. Yes, you knew it was a magical band-aid at best, but you were ending up with less and less time to say the words. The mark getting closer to making you a murderer, again.

You’d killed before. You’d felt life slip away under your hands. The Men of Letters had taught you well. Trained you well. But that was a different you, the one from before the Winchesters. You didn’t kill humans anymore and you were terrified that one slip and you’d become that person again. Someone who doesn’t even want to stop the mark. So yes, in spite of the anger you’d sighed gratefully when his pulse thumped against your fingers.

But today there’s a hopeful guide in your inbox. A book you traced to a tiny library in Scotland and a friend who’s scanned the volume for you. You’re not crazy enough to risk a visit back to the UK yourself. There’s not a border you could cross without signing your own kill order.

The book in question has spells so old that it’s said they predate magic as you know it. Some words are so obsolete that it’s impossible to decipher everything. Even looking at this book as PDF’s on a screen there’s an energy in the air like reading brings something ancient into existence.

It takes hours to do even a first read of the entire thing and you end up with furiously scribbled notes to remind yourself of meanings, or possible meanings. However, once you’ve finished you’re able to narrow down some points of interest. There’s a chapter on curses, casting them that is, but reversal is normally not that difficult. Then there’s the part that really interests you. The equivalent of a magical lock box. Potentially somewhere you could put yourself, magic free, if you ever got out of hand.

By mid-afternoon, you want to try. You’ll start small obviously, but you’ve been surprisingly decisive these past weeks, in a way you haven’t been since you lived by a strict code that left no room for indecision. When you’d found the book’s whereabouts you hadn’t agonized over whom you could trust or if you should go. You simply made the call and continued with other things, other spells and practice while you waited for the email. So now you want to start. Which means ingredients, so that means a supply run.

There’s this little new age store run by a tiny woman who appears to be dramatically shrinking due to the curve of her spine. You’re watching Margret bag up your herbs in brown paper when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

You spin around to see Sam, suited and booted, smiling down at you like he’d only seen you that morning and your face drops for a moment. Your lips part and your eyebrows quirk, stuck in a moment of genuine surprise until you notice the flash of rejection across his face. Quickly you remember yourself.

“Sorry, Sam. Hi, how-how are you? What are you doing here?” You wrap your arms around his middle in the semblance of a hug you might have given him as friends, but you pull back too quickly for it to be normal.

His smile is polite, “I’m good. We just got in, one of our old hunting buddies wanted some help with something weird in town.”

“In this town?” you fail to hide your surprise. You’d set up shop here a few weeks ago because of the lack of supernatural activities.

“It might be nothing,” he starts trying to reassure you like you’re scared, “Dan was just at this bar last night and some stuff went down so we said we’d come and check it out. I think Dean just wanted to get out to be honest.”

Of course. You’re only some two away from the bunker and you’d never thought to consider if there was a hunter in the bar. Not that it would have stopped you, but you would have skipped town by now.

You change the subject while you wonder how fast you could get out of dodge, “Dean’s here?”

There’s an attempt to mask the hope in your voice with a casual glance around him, but Sam sees straight through you. He thinks he’s so clever, “he misses you too. I mean we both do but Dean misses you.”

Sam can’t possibly know what he’s talking about. As well-meaning as your friend is he simply has no idea.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Sam. But um… I’m really sorry but I need to get going.” You turn back to Margret who is holding out a bag for you as you hand her some money with a rushed, “keep the change.” You could have given her ten dollars or a hundred, you don’t know, you just wanted to leave.

He catches you though, a hand on your shoulder when you try to get past him and concern seeping out of those bloody puppy dog eyes, “wait, hey. How are you doing? You know, with the mark.”

He mouths ‘mark’ like it’s a secret which already stokes the flames of your frustration. Not to mention him touching you is added fuel for the fire. So, there’s a little bite to your tone as you shake off his hold, “I’m fine. It’s fine, I’m dealing with it. Don’t worry about me.”

“What are you talking about? Of course, I’m worried about you, we all are. Cas too. Dean- he’s- we just want you to come home.”

You don’t mean to, but your face tightens, and you look up at Sam from under creased brows, “Forget about it ok. If I come home, I’ll do it on my own terms. Nothing to worry about, I have it handled.”

You’re away before he can catch you. You turn back once you’re on the sidewalk again, seeing him as he dials his phone and starts yammering into it.

It was pretty obvious who he was calling and whether Sam had worked out that you were the problem in town, or was just worried about you after the encounter, it was time to leave.

The rain wouldn’t have normally stopped you, but it was, in a word, torrential. If you didn’t know any better, having seen a few apocalypses at this point, you might think it was the end of days. You loved the rain normally. You just didn’t love driving in the rain, at night, on dimly lit highways and pitch-black backroads.

You’re packed and ready to go except for the ingredients you have out. If you’re trapped here until the morning the least you can do is keep trying.

The first spell, unfortunately, works. You manage to create a small box of nothingness. You only know it’s there by the way the light seems to shimmer at the edges. It’s a shape of nothingness, that it, until you put one hand into it.

The buzz of magic in your veins is cut off at your wrist like there’s a lead wall separating your arm and hand. You don’t ever remember a part of you feeling so empty. Even the years you’d spent limiting yourself in the bunker, magic had still always been there just not utilized. The sensation is odd, almost to the point that it doesn’t feel like your hand. You’re aware that you’re the one moving your fingers, but it feels like someone else. A phantom limb.

A shudder ripples through you as curiosity turns to discomfort and you pull your hand away. You’re quick to reverse the spell and thankful that you can move through the space again without experiencing that. For the first time, there’s a true sense of dread that somewhere in your future this may be your only option. Locking yourself away without powers. Barely imaging the sensation, no connection to the world around you like you’ve had all your life, makes you feel lost. You start to fear that you can’t fix this as neatly as you hoped.

Not for the first time your phone flashes and Dean’s name glows on the screen, however, it is the first time in five weeks that you answer. Fear has apparently weakened your resolve.

“Hello?”

“What room are you in Y/N?”

The sound of the horn from the Impala just about makes it to your room through the rain. You jump up from the floor as if it physically touched you.

He must have heard your gasp, but he repeats calmly, “what room?”

“Nine. First floor.”

The line goes dead, and you stare your phone utterly convinced it was a dream. Ready to write it off when the sound of knocking tells you otherwise.

It must take you hours to make it to the door, or it feels like hours. Pulling the thing open there’s Dean drenched from only walking the few feet from his car.

“You promised me you were coming home.” Dean’s normally stoic face looks on the verge of breaking into a thousand pieces.

“What?”

“Today. To Sam. You said if you come home.”

The fact that he’s still standing in the downpour has been lost to you both while you scrunch your face in confusion. “I didn’t technically promise.”

You don’t know why you’d said it. Of course, you wanted to go home. Everything you’ve ever said to Dean is a promise whether he knows it or not. And now he’s pressing his lips together to stop himself saying something that’s on the tip of his tongue.

Instead, he nods stiffly, “fine. Ok.”

His body turns to leave and you call after him, “you came here just for that? Why do you even care?”

It has never, in any of the days and nights spent thinking about him, during the hunts or the breakfasts or the road trips, never has it occurred to you that he might feel the same as you. It’s too impossible.

Until his rain-slicked lips are pressed against yours. He’s tentative and patient with his mouth against yours, kissing you enough to tell you everything but then pulling away just in case. However, his hands hold you still, fingers curled around your neck and thick, wet thumbs brushing your cheeks. You don’t have to kiss him but he’s not letting go.

You’re grateful for the moment to breathe with his forehead against yours. Breathing grounds you and you’ve never felt more like capable of floating away than you do right now. Dean just kissed you.

You’re still not entirely convinced this isn’t a dream and the only thing you can think to do is reach up and press your mouth to his again. Your tongue darts over his lips, a hand in his hair, nails scratching at his scalp. You’re getting wet now having been the one to close the gap this time, but a little rain never hurt anyone.

You’ve been home for a month when you’ve done it. It took a mash-up of several spells and endless experimenting. It took spells that went wrong and one that went really wrong. It took late nights sitting in the dungeon because it was the only place that felt safe and bouncing magic off the walls hoping something would stick. It took reading more spells books and grimoires than you knew existed.

But you did it. You found the right words in the right order. Spoken under the full moon and amongst the stars.

The mark is still there, of course, it will still corrupt you eventually. It will have you in the end and there’s no clue how long it’ll be before your eyes turn black.

All you know if that for the first time since sitting in that field and working a spell to save the man you love, you feel wholly yourself again. The murderous rage is under its own lock and key just like the darkness, because you continue to bear the curse. Except now you have some semblance of control.

Sam and Dean are on a hunt when you manage it. You hadn’t told them you were attempting it again, not after the last time, you didn’t want them to worry. So, the first thing you do is sleep. You sleep well into mid-morning the next day. And then Dean texts you that they’re on the way back and, well, it doesn’t seem like the kind of thing you tell them over text message.

You devise a plan. Because they’ve both been so patient with you. They hadn’t taken the bait when you’d frequently tried to agitate them. Dean had coached you through some of the worst rages, even when you’d said things to him so awful that he should have left you on the spot.

They deserve to come home to some good news.

You go out and pick up everyone’s favorites, plus a pie because you’re not stupid, and you lay everything out in the kitchen. You almost call Sam when you start getting impatient, but you settle for a text and he assures you they’re ten minutes out.

When your phone rings you don’t even think to look at the number. So wrapped up in your own excitement that you assume it’s one of them. Not thinking that they wouldn’t call you this close to home, they’d just show up.

“Hello?”

The line crackles for all of a second before a smooth voice you know trills at you, “Y/N Y/L/N? My, my it has taken me so long to get in contact with you.”

Your mouth flaps soundlessly for all of a second, “Toni?”

“Obviously. It’s good to hear your voice Y/N. Although I’m not sure the elders will agree when they find out you’re not as dead as they all believe.”

[supersleepygoat]

Better for Everyone: Part 11

Parings: Platonic Sam x Reader, Platonic John x Reader, Dean x Reader, Cat

Warnings: Angst. Language.

Word Count: 3,020

Summary: The Reader spent most of her life with the Winchesters. She loves them like family but doesn’t feel like the feeling is mutual. When she is essentially kicked out of the Winchester clan she is left physically and emotionally vulnerable to dangerous situations.

Series Masterlist

“Y/N,” a soft hand touches your shoulder and pulls you from your fitful sleep. You wipe away the tears that had fallen in your unconscious state. John is looking down at you with an unfamiliar concern. “I’ve got breakfast.”

There’s so much more he wanted to say. When he walked into the room and heard your quiet pleas for forgiveness, he felt the dull pang of regret. He rushed over to pull your shaking body from the nightmare you were trapped within. He hated that he forced his son break your heart. But, he knew your school girl crush and this momentary heartache would pass.

John also knew his son. Dean was chasing a new tail in every town they arrived in and you weren’t in the head space to deal with that. If Dean broke your heart, John knew he would lose you forever. You couldn’t handle another loss. It’s better to nip this in the bud before things get too complicated, before you fall in too deep. This is better for everyone. He would protect you this time.

When your bleary eyes focus on John you don’t even bother trying to return his small smile. You simply curl your body against the extra pillows, willing yourself back to sleep. You prefer your nightmares over this reality.

“Breakfast, kid,” John repeats as he once again interrupts your wallowing.

You glance over your shoulder and see John pulling out a container of pancakes. Your favourite. “Not hungry,” you say into your pillow as you hope the bed would swallow you whole.

John turns to see your dinner from the night before lying untouched in the trash. He lets out a slow breath through his nose. “Breakfast, Y/N. Get up.”

As if on instinct, your body complies with John’s insistence and you meet him over by the table. He watches you struggle to maintain interest in your food.

“Dean said-” when your shoulders visibly tense at the name, John quickly corrects himself, “I heard you don’t hunt anymore.”

“Yes, sir,” you say unable to meet his gaze. John raised you to be a warrior, a hunter. Hunters don’t quit. So, you know he is going to be disappointed in you.

“Is it just the hand-to-hand or do you not want to do research either?” John asks so casually that it kind of surprised you. He wasn’t mad at you?

“I don’t mind doing research… if I’m going to be here I might as well do something useful. But I – I can’t – I don’t think I could-”

“No one is going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. Why don’t you help Sam with the research today and then you can let me know if it’s still too much for you.”

There is an unfamiliar compassion that laces John’s words. It is so uncharacteristic, it makes you feel uneasy. There is a hint of guilt in his eyes but John Winchester is an unapologetic man. Whatever is bothering him, he will keep it to himself. So, you don’t push the issue.

John watches you intently, making sure you finish your breakfast. Normally, you would say he is treating you like a child but even when you were a kid he never cared this much about you.

After breakfast, you moved to go back to bed but John grasped your upper arm “Nuh uh, no more sleeping. Your helping Sam remember?”

“I can do research from here. I don’t need to be -”

“It’ll be easier if were all together,” John cut you off. The sooner everyone learns to be comfortable together, the better.

You and Cat trail behind John. The short walk across the parking lot to Dean and Sam’s room feels as though you’re walking to the gallows. Nothing good can come out of being locked in a room full of grumpy Winchesters.

“Dad, can I take a look at your journal again? I feel like were missing -” Sam stops abruptly when he sees you enter the room behind his father. Your tight clutch on your laptop and your downcast eyes informs Sam that you are not here on your own accord.

Dean comes storming out of the washroom but stops in his tracks when he sees that him and Sam are no longer alone. At Dean’s appearance, Cat leaves your side and runs over to rub herself against Deans ankles. She’s purring at her new friend but he makes no move to reciprocate the affection. His eyes are trained on you.

Cat’s trusting acceptance of Dean causes tears to sting your eyes. You turn to leave the room hoping to slip out before any of the men sees how pathetic you actually are. Unfortunately, John sensed your retreat. He places a hand on your shoulder and closes the motel door – trapping you inside.

The silence is deafening. You take a seat in the furthest corner of the room and open your laptop to distract yourself. The men resume hunter-mode and delve back into research. However, the words in Dean’s book morph into an indecipherable language. The only thing his mind can processes is how you are curling into yourself. You are attempting to rid your cheek of a fallen tear without anyone noticing. But he noticed.

Dean moves to get off the bed and rush over to your side. “Dean,” John’s stern voice stops his movements. John’s jaw tightens as he shakes his head.

Dean glares at his father. But, always the obedient son, he settles back down onto the bed. You had not noticed the exchange because you were too lost in your own thoughts.  

You don’t want kids; not right now anyway. You and Jonas talked about it but he’s gone now. That future you were building for yourself got swept away in one night. The Winchesters took that future from you. But when Dean came to find you, he wormed his way back into your heart. He gave you hope that things would be different this time around.

You don’t want kids, you keep telling yourself. You’re too messed up right now to care for another human being. So, it’s not the fact that Dean wanted to avoid getting you pregnant right now. It’s the fact he threw the pills at you like you were a problem to be fixed. Like you were a random fuck that he had to take care of before he moved on. You were his mistake. Nothing more. Nothing less.

You risk a glance upward at the green-eyed hunter. The lump in your throat erupts into a silent sob as you see Cat has made a bed for herself on Dean’s broad chest. He absentmindedly strokes her back as she nuzzles into his warmth.

The domestic scene displayed before you, makes you ache. You remember how Cat used to sleep on top of Jonas on lazy Sunday mornings. You forgot how much you craved that kind of domesticity. It was a simple sight that to anyone else would seem insignificant. But seeing Dean in that position, with your cherished feline, made you long for the comfort you once knew.

However, the scariest part is that you are starting to realize that you want that life with Dean. Images of Dean holding you on lazy Sunday mornings, instead of Jonas, clouded your mind. You hate every minute.

It would be easier if you wanted Jonas, and only Jonas. He was gone and you could learn to accept that you have to move on from that pipe dream. But wanting Dean is harder to accept. Now, you must live everyday knowing what you want is within your reach but it isn’t reaching back.

When a tear inadvertently splashes onto your keyboard, you are jerked back to reality. Now that John is nose deep in a lore book, your exit is clear. You make a break the door, ignoring John bellowing your name as you rush out into the fresh air.

The summer air is thick around you. But, it’s better than drowning in the unmistakable Winchester scent that plagues the motel room.  A firm hand rests on you shoulder and you roll your eyes. “Can’t I have just one minute, John!” you plead. But as you turn around, you recoil away from the secure hand when you realize it belongs to Dean and not John.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

The term of endearment makes you shudder. “Fine,” the stability in your voice surprises you.

“Dean!” John’s voice booms from the motel doorway.

Dean ignores his father and looks back at you. He raises his hand from your shoulder up to cup your cheek. “Y/N, I -”

John crossed the short distance between you and pulls Dean away. They have a silent confrontation. Their daggered eyes were a special language you did not understand.

Dean was ready to disobey his father – give into the aching in his chest. However, when Dean turns to face you, his eyes fall onto the long scars that radiate off of your exposed arms. Much like the marks he left on Baby, your marks are there to remind him of his failure. He failed you once but he can protect you now. His father was right, he cannot push you off that edge again.

Dean turns his back to you and walks toward the abandoned motel room.

“Dean?” you call after him. The sound of your voice makes his shoulders tense but he maintains his resolve and doesn’t look back.

John lets you return your room. You spend the rest of the day switching between research and being lost in your thoughts. As the sun started to set, your restlessness hit a breaking point.

The boys had left a couple hours ago to go back to the morgue and re-interview witnesses. This case was not as cut and dry as they assumed and it was making everyone irritable.

You threw on the cleanest thing in your duffle bag, which was a light-yellow sundress. You never used to like dresses growing up but Jonas had insisted on you wearing them. He said he liked the way dresses made you look like you were floating. You said, he just liked the easy access dresses allow for. You now found them comfortable and familiar. Giving up hunting has allowed you to explore your more feminine side. You like feeling pretty.

You left a note for John telling him you’d be at the bar that was only a couple blocks away. You didn’t bother calling him because you knew he would not let you go alone.

You were only two drinks in when the barroom door swings open. Three hulking Winchesters come barreling through. You guess they got your note.

“What the fuck, Y/N!” John berates as he approaches you with his sons in tow.

“Dad,” Sam interjects “she’s fine. Everyone’s fine.”

John checks you over for signs of harm. When you simply raise your glass at him and finish your drink, he decides to relent. “I guess…we could all use a break,” John says as he pulls a chair out to beside you. This case was taking a lot out of them. These supposed Djinn they were hunting, did not follow the typical pattern. They each needed to clear their head before they took another crack at the research.

Each Winchester was still adorned in their FBI suits – a sight that is seemingly irresistible to every female patron. You scoff to yourself. If these women had any sense they would stay as far away from these sharply dressed men as possible. It’s too late for you but they can still save themselves.

Many drinks were had. As a result, your reservations were lowered just enough to allow a light and easy conversation to flow between you. Without realizing it, you found yourself genuinely laughing and smiling. The usually stoic men’s behaviour became sloppy and more carefree. Even John doubled over laughing when you beat Sam at a game of darts and your reward was getting to braid his hair.

Dean and you still avoided direct contact. But having Sam and John there was a nice buffer that lifted a small weight off your chest. At least now you can stand to be in the same room as him. That’s progress.

The night wore on but you did not want it to end. It has been forever since you felt this free, this comfortable. You even felt yourself warming up to Dean. You were no longer too ashamed to look him in the eye.

As you waited for the next round, you leaned against the bar watching the rare spectacle of smiling Winchesters. Dean did one of his full body laughs and you instinctively giggled along with him from afar. You didn’t even know what was so funny but when Dean Winchester smiles it is a pure contagion.

“Which one’s yours?” the low voice from the man at the end of the bar asks. When you look at him with perplexity, he rephrases his question. “Which one has you smiling like a smitten school girl?” he asks with a warm smile.

You’re hesitant to answer. Your smile falters but you try to reply as casually as possible “None of the above,” you say with a painful shrug.

The stranger’s posture straightens as if he was ignited with a sense hope. His bright blue eyes trail down to your dress, “Is that so…”

You let out a small laugh and his obvious behaviour, “I wouldn’t get your hopes up though, they’re my family. My very protective and heavily armed family.” You offer him a wink to help him relax at your implicit threat. You gather your four beers and rejoin the Winchesters.

Your family. The words had just slipped out. They were your family.

You hand Sam his beer and he ruffles your hair in thanks. You attempt to playfully kick him in the shin for messing up your hair. Unfortunately, you are very tipsy and you lose your balance and tumble backwards. Before you can brace yourself for your inevitable fall, two strong hands and a wall of muscle keep you from hitting the floor.

You hear Sam in the distance laugh about how it serves you right for trying to kick him. But when you turn in the hold of your savior, all background noise falls away. Dean doesn’t release his hold on you. In fact, he squeezes you a little tighter.

“Jeez, what’s a damsel got to do to be save by you, huh Hero?” the familiar voice of your waitress breaks you out of the trance Dean’s eyes have captured you in. “I call next, if that’s alright with you, Hun?” the feminine voice continues.

Dean sets your body upright so you can now stand without his weight supporting you. He looks over to pretty girl who interrupted your moment. “Something tells me you can take care of yourself…Sherry,” he says as he leans over to read her name tag that is aptly placed along her plunging neckline.

“Oh… I’m very capable,” Sherry says as she cocks her head to the side and offers Dean a proud smirk.

“That I don’t doubt,” Dean acknowledges her with a wink while taking a beer from your stunned grasp.

“In fact, my shift just ended. I was just about to go take care of myself… but a girl could always use a helping hand – if you’re interested,” she says with a knowing smile and absolutely no shame. If you weren’t so annoyed with her interruption, you may have been impressed with her confidence.

Dean glances at you out of the corner of his eye. He knows this will seal the deal. He knows this is a surefire way to make you believe the painful lie he told you last night. If he leaves with this woman, it will be the final nail in the coffin that holds any hope for a future with you. If he does this, you will realize you deserve someone better than him.

Dean steps forward so you are no longer in his line of sight. He couldn’t go through with this if he saw the pain in your eyes. “You know me sweetheart… always ready and willing to be of service to a damsel in need.” His voice is low and thick as he moves even closer to the intruder.

A lump forms in your throat when you hear him call her ‘sweetheart��. You know it’s a common nickname. But over the years you have laid claim to that endearment. You thought it was only yours.

You slam the remaining bottles you were holding onto the table and rush toward the bar’s washroom. You bump into John on the way but don’t stop to apologize. You can’t stop.

The sound of your scurrying footsteps makes Dean’s stomach flip. Dean leaves his new date to find his jacket. Sam grabs him by the upper arm “Don’t do this,” it is a firm demand rather than a plea.

“She’s got to believe it, Sammy. I’ve got to make her believe it,” he says in a defeated tone.

“No, you don’t! Don’t let Dad – he’s not the boss of you, Dean – or her! He doesn’t know-” 

“Enough, Sam,” John growls from behind his son’s back.

“No!”

“Sam,” Dean begs, “Don’t make this worse. Just take care of her tonight, okay… please? I’m not actually going to do anything… I just need her to think I am.”

“Why? I mean, this is a stupid plan, even for us!”

“Yeah well… stupid is all I got right now.”

Sam relents and lets his brother leave. He levels his father with a glare that would scare any other person. But John simply shakes his head and takes one of the beers off the table.

Sam looks around the bar but when he cannot find you, he asks a woman if she can check the washroom for you. When the woman returns, she informs him the stalls are empty. Sam runs a frustrated hand through his hair and goes to find his father.

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[seenashwrite]

14.03 Round-Up

Well this was a nice one. Good seeds planted. We got some interesting rows to hoe, if they stick with ‘em. I am *extremely* happy with the choice of character they chose to slip in, and with that we get to...

First off, I am pleased to say the “where is everybody” exposition from multiple characters was, across the board, actually handled well, all conversationally and casually. Like, everyone and their mother got name-dropped and it truly wasn’t anvil-y. Well. Then came the load they had poor Jack drop on us *sigh*. #so close 

But hey, good lead-in to get the weak point of the ep out of the way upfront so I may fawn over the strongest part for the bulk of the round-up (I’ll restrain myself, or at least try to).

* Jack and the Sulk Stalk

Once again, we have Cas holding down the fort, and okay. I suppose. The reasoning last time was actually solid -----

And it got told. Again. When all they had to do was have Cas go, “Dean I would’ve been there, but---” - [Dean interrupts] - “It’s okay, Cas. Sam explained. We’re good.” I continue to expect tight scripting, I’ve no idea why. Wasn’t anvil-worthy, but it was clunky.

---- yet this time it was not-so-solid, because random subplot that was random.

We got to see a bunch of the Hunters We’re Supposed To Love And Care A Whole Lot About briefly, just long enough for one to call Sam “Chief-----

“I asked them to stop calling me that”.... welp, first time we’ve heard it, soooo...

-----and then an appearance by another one forthwith who has brought random chick in who was cursed by a witch who was

WHO CARES

We were supposed to, because Jack got all angsty teen and was gonna run away, complete with backpack and note left on the bed. Which, he could - I mean, he managed to get to East Who-Knows-Ville, USA and visit with his gramps and maw-maw, then get back to the bunker at the speed of light, so he could totes get to wherever he wants to, I’m sure. Hey, he should hook up with Nick. Nick’s doing fine without powers. 

*sighs*

But we go through all this stuff where obvious necklace answer is obvious, and Jack gets to show he can actually contribute, and saves the girl, and... and...

Here’s the thing: I like Jack. I like his sweetness, his innocence. I like that they nerfed Jack, no one wants there to be an ex machina, there’s gotta be stuff that’s hard or you don’t have a story. I like that he considers Cas his dad, and these two actors have great chemistry, match made in [ahem] heaven. I don’t mind him struggling with finding his place. I mind none of this.

Problem is, this is the second time they’ve shoehorned Jack into an episode with an out-of-the-blue random that’s not integrated smoothly. I said it in the other round-up, and I’ll say it again: the scene with him and the grandparents was great. Well done. Genuinely mean it. But it didn’t belong in the ep, it absolutely ground the momentum to a halt. Same here with witchypoo, though not as much of a full stop.

I get the whole ep can’t focus on what we’re getting to, but here’s what I’m saying: Have it tie in. Have it be relative to the main plot of the ep. And if it’s something to do with the major arc, something of which we are unaware? There should still be a trace of a hint of that, that there’s something more, something deeper going on, and there wasn’t in either of these two Jack subplot items. Yes, yes, the struggle to belong, but we got that. We got it. So can’t that be reinforced, maybe made a touch more interesting with a tie-in, versus “Hello random new people who just dropped out of the sky”?

Oh, and he’s got consumption.

I’m kidding. He is coughing up blood, though, so it could be TB. Lord knows what germs the bunker ventilation system is circulating.

It’s not TB.

* Dean Gets Clean

HAHAHAHA faked you out, it was a tease, they teased us with wet locker room Dean, and we got nothing. #insert knife #twist

* Dean’s Brain Farts

Supposedly Dean can’t remember all the deets - refers to the possession later as feeling like he was “under water”, good analogy - and the only reason I bring this up is because Cas did some brain diddlin’ and brought up the broad strokes, which might be a point in the Mikey’s Not Hiding In Dean’s Colon column. On the other hand, mighty archangel, and Cas still-----

STILL

------ain’t firing on all his cylinders.

And they covered why his attitude was “off”, for lack of a better word, and it made sense. On the other hand, we could also be looking at Mikey impersonating Dean to get back close to Kaia, which brings me to....

* KAIA!!!!!!

I knew this was a talented lil’ actress when she first was featured, though I was “eh” on the character, mainly because I thought we could have another Claire situation on our hands (excepting the talented part) because if you know me, you know I loathe Claire, both the character, and the way the actress plays her. I’ve done posts on that, I won’t bore you here.

But when I saw what happened at the end of the Wayward Sisters pilot? Nashie changed her tune *immediately*. It was what sold me on that (potential) show, because that would have been an excellent first season WAH-POW punch to start them off. And then no show, and then I assumed if we touched on her/them again, it would be a letdown.

Well fuck me sideways.

Following some real fine close-up and detail-revealing pans of fake severed heads that I can only presume were purchased at Party City about five minutes prior to “ACTION!” that day, we got a fine treat of a reveal of Kaia through a well-choreographed fight scene that made up for the lukewarm one we got later. Whatever her stunt double gymnast is getting paid is not enough, the stuntwork that woman is doing is *chef’s kiss*.

The scenes between this actress and JA were pure hotsauce, she held his eye and dished it right back, and the thing I love is that she’s not playing it all petulant teen (stares at Claire, gives slight side-eye to Jack), she’s not over-doing the tough guy false bravado thing, she’s just intense. No broody, no angst, no drama. INTENSE. Love it. Beautiful. I want this chick around more, hundred percent, this is gold. I’d rather her be an ally... or pseudo-ally... than a big bad, and I suspect they’ll do the former, but end of the day, she needs to be there.

* Weird shit

And only briefly:

- Fine, let’s go with “Mikey jumped ship” --> to *where*? Into *what*? Or *who*?

- The monster squad going after Kaia ---> Another fine, IF this was how it went: Mikey senses the presence of a badass, goes to recruit, Kaia refuses, game on.

But we have Sam saying “...finish what he started” and implying that the reason for the monster squad was to take out Kaia------

Which.... no? It’s his new army, instead of angels as it was in his home world, since he’s not got a ton of angels to use in this world

------because her weapon is the only thing that can hurt him, but the problem is, finish what? 

What had Mikey started? When? Where? Not in Alt World, because Kaia’s not from Alt World, she’s from the Bad Place world, and we established last season that Mikey & co. had yet to figure out how to world jump. So how did he know that some sort of metal from some rando world could take him out? 

- And, side note: if Kaia is an analog of our Kaia - i.e., a human with the dreamwalker “gift” - instead of some sort of mimic creature thing like I’d assumed at the time we first saw her, then Mikey couldn’t just cock an eyebrow and eviscerate her on the spot becaaaaaauuuuse......????? 

If I completely did a Dean and was underwater and brain farted something, feel free to let me know.

So that’s that, like I say, they planted some plot crops and didn’t leave what’s been established in the first two episodes in the dust, hopefully momentum picks up a touch from here on out. 

[elizabethrobertajones]

I totally agree with your opinion on Gabriel! I loved the character in canon because he was so over the top and evil in a really self serving way; but the way he gets treated in fanon has really soured my opinion of him.

I’m putting this in a separate ask just in case it stirs up too much fandom drama, but I find Sabriel especially off-putting. The amount of Sabriel in the fandom has really affected the way I feel about Gabriel.

I’m not too worried about drama so I don’t mind replying to both :D 

I don’t think Gabriel was *evil* per say but because he starts as the Trickster it’s clear he’s got a really different set of morality. I actually do see him as somewhat chaotic good but gone off the rails a bit, because the way he’s introduced to us he is punishing bad people, just really OTT with a disproportionate sense of judgement (and I’d put him in the “good” not “neutral” box BECAUSE he’s making these judgements about people according to a sense of morality). The only person he doesn’t kill is the frat boy who he’d obviously scar for life and basically if you collect up characters on the show who are rapists it’s RIGHT there in our introductory episode to him (plus the skeezy illusionary women he hangs out with/makes porn with :P). It does show us immediately how little concern archangels really have for humans once you look back on it with hindsight, even if of all of them Gabriel was the one on “our” side and had clearly assimilated and grown to love the parts of Earth that he interacted with and enjoyed (which was mostly terrible media and sweet food etc). They had to reconcile the Trickster into his character and I think he’s extremely well-characterised but it really fits to know he’s an angel and raining down disproportionate divine judgement. 

I mean I always like that about him but yeah. He definitely gets watered down into a jokey character rather than a dark one (which to me is the main reason to enjoy him - because he’s so dark) to be shippable… I mean I’m sure there’s dark Sabriel fic out there but every time I’ve bumped into it it’s been in the context of a side pairing to Destiel so for one thing Sam’s not the focus and then for another Gabriel’s just a fun side character, and plays the same role even if he’s not shipped with Sam, just teasing Dean and Cas or getting them together, being the annoying and sometimes manipulative but ultimately right big brother to Cas - which DOES fit his pattern but not his overall behaviour when you get to the deep dark depths of it. He REALLY torments them every time he meets them. Since I’m not really into reading dark Sam fic on its own and I think that’s a fairly common Destiel fandom approach to Sam in really broad strokes, I think we mostly see the fanon Gabriel depictions which make it reaaally hard to understand >.>

When I was new in fandom I read a really interesting Sabriel fic which is the one time I’ve ever read one through and thoroughly enjoyed it… it was out of curiosity and idk how I found it recced but clearly it must have had some sort of rec to convince you to read it regardless of your preconceptions, and it was really interesting, about a younger Sam hitchhiking and getting picked up by Gabriel, and they have a sort of road trip and there’s a ton of angst and some tension and an optional get together chapter at the end… I suppose it’s a classic in that fandom or else criminally underrated (and if anyone knows what it is I’ll happily signal boost it :P). It was a great AU using their characters well without making Gabriel cute, but the AU circumstances made it work and also the complete lack of history between them that I think in canonverse I’ve only ever stumbled on fics where Gabriel is just hanging around alive and bothering the Winchesters with nothing better to do, and either he and Sam are already background dating or he’s apparently worn Sam down enough that they end up background dating without any major focus to it, and I always skim these parts anyway but… Eh. 

I would need to read the mother of all canonverse Sabriel fics to reconcile everything Gabriel put him through and so on, and at least from the Destiel fics POV it’s not something that gets handled in the stories I’ve stumbled over, so I would rather Sam just gets shipped with the characters who haven’t caused him disproportionate hellish torture :P I would need a similar “just read this, trust the author,” kind of rec to ever read a canonverse one, especially since I just feel *bad* reading sad Sam stuff because he gets put through so much already and he is not a character whose angst I wallow in, unlike Cas and Dean >.> 

I think the problem is that for some of us our first expose to the ship is through being a side bit to Destiel fics, which reaaally doesn’t sell it well when it’s like bam here’s fanon Gabriel and he’s with Sam, and that’s that, whereas if you kind of set out to ship it you’d probably find the good fics and be interested in reading any darker stuff all the time and actually get a taste for it, but it’s not a good advert in the Destiel fics… I don’t have anything AGAINST fanon Gabriel but it’s really a separate character to me :P Specifically, Metatron’s version of him in 9x18, which is such a headache that he came back behaving just off enough to clearly be influenced by the fanon… I think it works in that episode but it does take a few more steps to lay out all the stuff like well yeah he’s behaving like this because Metatron is writing him and they’re all in a story together and he’s OOC because it’s a really meta commentary on Gabriel and Metatron as a writer misunderstanding him and blah blah blah. Which my 9x18 tag has loads in :P 

But yeah I joined fandom AFTER 9x18 (because of it) so I didn’t really know about fanon Gabriel at all so it was only something I retroactively realised later once I saw how often he played a friendly support character because he was fan beloved and people writing him didn’t always bring him in to torment the main characters, but to be friends with them. I’m very much on the team that he should stay dead because his arc is done, and I think if they brought him back he would reeeally dangerously fall into the same trap of Lucifer being written one way, coming back as Hallucifer, who was characterised specifically to torment Sam, and then coming back for real and still being written like Hallucifer to some extent… I pretty much have to headcanon the theory that it was Lucifer’s grace in Sam (per 9x11 and the way Gadreel’s was left behind but way more malignant), and that retroactively the hallucinations were behaving like Lucifer kind of would have because they were more sentient than Sam tormenting himself… But bleh, leg work. :P I can make most things in the show make sense to me but I’d rather not have to. I’m always glad when an episode comes out which has the patch notes for my headcanons :D

[angelblade67]

Wrath | Seven Deadly Sins Series

Lust - Part One | Envy - Part Two

Dean x Reader

This is a 7 part series with each part related to a one of the seven deadly sins.

A/N: Thanks for showing this new miniseries some love! You are all amazing and I love all your faces. Tag list is at the bottom <3

Summary: Dean’s hurting and wants you to hurt just as much, he isn’t considering what it might do to Sam. You talk him out of saying anything to him but Dean’s still angry and things take an interesting turn.

Warning: Smut ← dom!dean // dirty talk // rough sex

“You’re not mad at me Dean, you’re jealous.” now your eyes are narrowed “you’re jealous that Sam has been apart of my life this whole time.” Dean lets out a dark chuckle “Maybe I am a little jealous. Maybe I envy what you and Sam share.” he admits “but I wonder how envious Sam will be of me when he finds out I got it first” Dean’s grin is almost as dark as his laugh as he scans your body “I think I should just go tell him right now” he begins to turn away but you grab his arm. “You wouldn’t do that to him” your eyes pleading Dean to calm down.

“Watch me” Dean yanks his arm free from your grasp and heads towards the door to the bunker.

You quickly run after him. You have to walk twice as fast as him to catch up, his strides are so long and the anger boiling beneath his surface adding fuel to the fire. You can’t believe he’d do this to his brother, just to hurt you. He didn’t even want to listen to reason. He just saw what he saw and that’s it in his eyes. He knows what he needs to and now he’s going to ruin his relationship with Sam, your relationship with Sam and your relationship with him.

“Dean, Dean.” you’re just on his tail, almost caught up to him when you reached out and almost missed his arm but your fingertips curled in and latched onto his sleeve “DEAN!” you shout at him as you yank on the flannel fabric of his sleeve “Dean please” you’re voice much more quiet now, not wanting to tip off Sam that anything might be wrong.

“Stop Y/N” He finally turned around and froze in place. You’re so close to him that his sudden paused made you run directly into his broad chest, his stubble scratching against your forehead as you run into him.

You stumble backwards a few steps and look at him. His nostrils flaring with every deep breath he takes in through his nose. His face red, knuckles white as his fingernails dig into the palms of his hands he’s balling his fist so tight.

“Don’t do this” you pled with him.

“He’s gonna find out anyways, why not now?” the skin around his jaw tight, his teeth clenched together.

You pull Dean into your room and shut the door, so not to accidentally give Sam an opportunity to overhear you.

You reach out to touch Dean’s arm again but Dean grabs your wrist in an effort to stop you but he doesn’t let it go, he just holds onto it “Not like this Dean” you put simply.

“Would you really do that to Sam?” you asked him.

“Oh, I’m full of surprises” he claims.

“This isn’t how he should find out. This isn’t something you did” you pause, choosing your words carefully “we did” you correct yourself “to rub in his face.” you continue “don’t turn what we had into something it wasn’t.”

Dean’s nostrils are still flaring and his grip on your wrist grows tighter.

“If you’re going to take it out on someone” you look him square in the eyes “take it out on me.”

Dean searches your eyes for a moment, wondering how serious you are and if you’re thinking about the same thing he’s thinking about. He grips onto your wrist even tighter and yanks you towards him, your small frame knocking into his broad chest again.

“Dean I’m sor-” but he cuts you off, his lips crashing into yours. His free hand wraps around the back of your neck and tangles in your hair, gripping your hair almost as tight as he’s gripping your wrist.

His kiss is hard, bruising almost. He doesn’t even bother being gentle but insteads pulls your hair, causing a moan to escape your lips, your mouth parting as he bites your bottom lip between his teeth so hard it almost draws blood.

“You’re making me fucking crazy” he mumbles onto your lips as he continues his passionate assault.

Dean backs you into the wall,and untangles his hand from your hair, wrapping his hand around your neck, squeezing gently while holding you against the wall. All while still kissing you.

He detaches his lips from yours “I don’t think you can handle me like this Y/n” Dean’ whispers in your ear, squeezing your neck just a little tighter, your breathing is starting to become shallow. His voice is much rougher than before, more raw.

“I’m a big girl Dean” your response is more breathy than you intended.

“Mhmm” Dean takes a deep breath “You sure you want to do this?” he nibs at your ear before lowering his voice so low you almost couldn’t hear him “I’m gonna show you who you belong to.”

A shiver travels up your spine at his soft but anger fueled words. You never pictured yourself being into this kind of thing angry, rough sex but with Dean it’s different.

Dean releases your wrist and neck and leans onto the wall behind you, resting his hands flat against the wall on either side of your head, leaning into your ear once again “who do you belong to?” he whispered.

“You” you answer him, your voice small and low. Excitement building up in your stomach.

“Damn right” you can feel his teeth against your ear as he smiles to himself.

Without any warning Dean presses his body into yours, pushing you against the wall behind you. You can feel his growing erection that’s being restricted by his thick denim. He begins kissing and biting at your neck, his one hand wrapping itself back into your hair as his other works to unbutton your jeans.

“Dean” you moan out

“Shhh” Dean hushes you as he pulls away from your neck and returns his attention to your ear “you’ll speak when you’re spoken to, okay?” Dean whispers, his tone still rough but clearly caring.

“Yes” you answer him, your voice much softer than his.

“Good girl” he growls into your ear at the same time he dips his hand into the waistband of your jeans, running his index and middle finger through your moist folds.

You let out a soft moan, unsure if moaning counted as speaking. You didn’t want to risk it ruining this or Dean stopping because you couldn’t follow his rules.

“Fuck, you’re so wet” Dean dips his middle finger into your opening and you instinctively rock into his touch “Mhmm” he hums “is all this for me?” he ask, looking to you for your answer.

“Yes” you almost cry out.

Dean pumps his finger in and out of you a few more times before stopping, his finger as deep as he can get it just barely hitting that sweet spot.

“Ride it” he demands, his eyes staring into yours.

You start rocking your hips faster, your head falling back against the wall and your one hand massaging your breast through your shirt the other holding Dean’s hand against your core.

“What do you want Y/N?” Dean’s voice sounds wrecked but rough.

“I want you Dean” you moan out, still riding his finger.

“Tell me what you want from me” he demands “I want to hear you say it.”

“I want you to fuck me Dean!” you cry out, his finger now curling inside of you, creating a new sensation “Take me!” you yell.

Dean puts his free hand against your chest to stop you as he pulls his finger out of you and brings it up to his lips, sucking your juices off.

“Bed” he points and you quickly climb up on the bed.

He turns around to face you, his eyes are almost black they’re so blown out with lust. He starts to take off his flannel, then the white undershirt. You’re not sure what to do so you start to take off your own clothes until Dean stops you.

“Don’t” his voice stern “I’m going to do that” he continues to remove all his clothes until he’s completely naked.

You take in every scar, every muscle, every mark. You take in all of Dean. His large erection standing tall.

“Come here” Dean begins stroking himself as you make your way to the edge of the bed, sitting over the edge, your feet planted on the ground “We know you’re good at kissing but I wonder what else that mouth is go at.”

Dean lined his cock up with your mouth “slow” he instructs.

You use your hand to replace his, stroking him slowly as precum leaks from his tip. You look up at him one last time through your lashes before you take all of him into your mouth “Shit” Dean moans out as his head falls back.

Your mouth and your hand work in sync with each other as you draw out more moans from Dean. He looks down at you, examining your work. He fist your hand and starts thrusting into your mouth, his dick hitting the back of your throat making your eyes water. You use your free hand to start massaging his balls as he continues to fuck your mouth.

“Damn baby” Dean groans “Shit you’re gonna make me cum” he’s all breathy now, his cock stiffens in his mouth as a loud “fuck” escapes his lips and a hot stream of semen slides down your throat.

His chest rises and falls as he takes in deep breaths trying to bring himself back down from his high.

Dean pulls his half hard cock from your mouth “I’m going to fuck you so hard” he insist “you’re going to feel this night for days”

With that Dean gets onto his knees and starts taking off your jeans and your soaked through panties and tosses them into the corner of the room. His eyes grow wide when he sees your juices dripping from your opening as he spreads your legs apart.

Dean presses his finger against your clit and your body twitches, your core aching with need.

“Damn, your so fucking sexy right now” Dean spoke before licking a long stripe from your opening to your clit earning a loud, low moan from you. Your hands going straight into his hair, gripping at his short locks as your body falls back against the bed.

“Fuck baby, talk to me” Dean request as he laps at your wet folds dipping his tongue into your entrance.

“Dean” you cry out “Shit that feels so good” you praise him “fuck Dean! That’s it right there”

Dean inserts a finger into, pumping in and out at a fast pace while sucking your clit between his teeth “I’m gonna fucking cum Dean!” your moan.

He inserts a second finger and begins pumping into you even fast, his fingers curling with each pump, the tip of his tongue now making circles around your sensitive ball of nerves.

“Cum for me sweetheart” he mumbles into pussy.

The vibration of his voice mixed with the pumping of his fingers and the pressure of his tongue against your clit brings you to your orgasim. Your walls tighten around Dean’s digits as your body trembles and your vision goes white.

Dean works you through your orgasim, slowly bring you back down. Kissing you up and down your thighs “God you’re so sweet” he moans out, sucking little red marks into your inner thighs.

He begins to stand up “Sit up” he instructs. You use all your strength to push yourself up and he’s once again standing, towering over you. His cock standing tall once again. Dean leans down and pulls your tank top over your head and unhooks your bra, your breast falling free.

Dean leans down even more and takes one of your nipples into his mouth, gently sucking until it hardens, doing the same to the other nipple as he slowly crawls onto you.

You move back and lay down completely, letting the weight of Dean’s body hold up in place, as his mouth and hands search your body, sucking, biting and kissing everywhere he can find.

“Ready?” Dean asks.

“Fuck me already Winchester” you cry out. Your body aching with need.

With that Dean  lines himself up with your center and pushes into you “Oh fuck” Dean moans out, still feeling his orgasm from earlier.

You moan out as he begins to pound into you harder “Dean!” you cry out his name as he hands grip into your waist. Dean’s nails digging deliciously into your flesh, sure to leave bruises but you didn’t care, you’d wear them proudly.

“Turn around” Dean demands as he pulls out and quickly helps you turn around, getting on your hands and knees waiting for him to take you once again.

Without any warning Dean drives into you, grabbing a handful of your hair, his other hand gripping onto your hip again, pulling you onto him as he pushes himself into you “Shit baby” Dean groans out “who do you belong to?”’ he manages to get out, breathy and raw.

“You” you cry, the pleasure taking over your body, it’s so hard to think.

Dean releases your hair, bring his hand to your ass giving it a good smack. The pain mixed with the pleasure sends a wave of heat to your core and you can’t help the loud almost pornagraphic sounds that escape you.

“You like that?” Dean asks, giving your ass another lick before you get a chance to answer.

Another moan falls from your lips “God yes” you whine “fuck me harder Dean!”

Dean brings his one hand around you and starts rubbing your clit hard, putting more than enough pressure on it. His other hand gripping your ass, molding it and giving you the occasional smack all while his cock is still pounding into you at a record breaking pace.

“Fuck” Dean’s thrust are getting more erratic and his moans are getting quieter “I’m about to cum” he’s starting to sweat now “shit, cum with me” Dean presses into your clit even harder.

That familiar feeling begins to coil up in your abdomen and you can feel your body about to burst and with one final thrust, you feel Dean become stiff inside of you and a stream of hot cum filling you. Dean’s orgasm pushing your over that edge and you contract around Dean. Your vision going dark and your body completely falling over onto your elbows.

Dean lays against your back for a few moments before pulling himself out of you and rolling over to his side. You fall onto your stomach.

“That was hot” Dean exclaims, out of breath.

You blink slowly, turn your head to face him, you’re still on your stomach “yeah it was” you smile at Dean. The high still lingering in you.

Tag List: @mogaruke @strawberryjuiceboxxx @deangirl28 @yellowdempsey @upon-a-girl  @aint-no-losechester @isapapertime @smalltowndivaj @breakmwango

[bloodandcream]

Title: Sugar Rainbows and Bad Ideas

Pairing: Wincest

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 3,538

Notes:  rainbow dust sex pollen, somewhere between crack and angst, set it early season 1, bottom sam

-

Sometimes, Sam wonders why more monsters don’t hang out in big cities. He’s only gotten back to hunting with his brother for a few months now, and he misses a lot of the things it was easy to take for granted in Palo Alto. Well, maybe it wasn’t a big city, but the cluster of downtown businesses had all the amenities you could need. Sam’s tired of the huge stretches of nothing that make up middle America and the monsters that call creepy backwoods home.

Of course, big cities present their own challenges to hunting. Nosy people getting in the way. And the monsters that hunt urban tend to be smarter, they’ve figured out how to live around people, like parasites.

Maybe, traipsing through the woods with a heavy duffel full of different weapons because they don’t know what kind of monster they’re up against isn’t such a bad thing.

Also, the view is nice.

“Are you sure we aren’t hunting a leprechaun here, Sammy?”

His obnoxious, loud brother says from several feet in front of him. Sam has kind of zoned out watching Dean’s ass. Not like he makes a habit of zoning out during a hunt, but it’s broad daylight and they’re following a freaking rainbow.

“I mean, we’re following a fucking rainbow.”

Sam rolls his eyes, turns his head up to the bright, glimmering swath of color cutting through the sky that they’re following.

“Leprechauns aren’t real.” He states.

“We hunt plenty of things that people think are make-believe.”

“Well some of them aren’t real. Like leprechauns.”

The rainbow thing is kind of weird. There’s not a cloud in the sky, and the earth is dry. There hasn’t been rain for weeks. But there’s been a rainbow hovering over this backwaters town of a couple thousand, and people have been striking luck all over. Winning money. Eloping. Someone’s dead dog came back to life.

And all of the people that got lucky have reported seeing funny things in the woods under the rainbow.

It can not be a leprechaun.

It just can’t.

But, even good luck comes with a price and there’s no such thing as coincidence, so here they are.

Following the rainbow.

“I don’t know man, if it really is a wish granting leprechaun, maybe he can give you a sense of humor. And better hair.”

-

There was no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, which actually did curved down into a patch of earth at a clearing in the woods, the grass around it verdant and sparkling. Seriously unnatural. Sam had still doubted that this was the work of a leprechaun - witch, maybe, or some supernatural creature playing pranks.

But then a little, vicious, knee-height humanoid with pointy ears and needle-sharp teeth latched onto Sam’s leg and he’s pretty sure it’s a freaking leprechaun.

Iron’s probably the safest bet, but it’s hard to dig out the right knife when something is snarling and trying to climb up you and your brother is being absolutely useless just standing there staring at the freaking rainbow.

“A little help here Dean!”

Dean waves him off, back turned, like Sam’s a pesky kid asking for a backride or help learning to pack salt rounds.

Sam reaches across his shoulder where teeth and nails and fury are digging through his coat, gets a hand on something scraggly and tears, flinging the leprechaun across the clearing into the mossy trunk of an old tree.

The sun’s just as bright as ever, and the rainbow is kind of glimmering so radiant it’s starting to hurt his eyes. Sam barely gets a hand closed around the handle of an iron crowbar when the foaming mad creature bowls into him, weight slamming against the backs of his knees and Sam goes down.

The grass is fragrant and sweet crushed underneath him - and this thing that’s trying to chew his leg off. A fine iridescent dust that catches the sunlight and pulls it apart into colorful fractures, poofs up around them and Sam gets distracted by a coughing fit.

“It tastes so sweet….”

Rolling over to try to pin down the leprechaun, or whatever - that’s seriously way stronger than it looks - Sam whips his head up and sees Dean with a hand out, waving through the shimmery light. It’s like he’s trying to catch the rainbow in his hand, weapons dropped to the grass, and there’s a look of wonder on his face, big eyes and big smile, as he licks his fingers.

“Dean, do Not eat that rainbow!”

Sam has no idea what rainbow dust does to a person, but it’s probably not good.

His jacket is pretty tattered and his jeans are grass-stained grimy by the time he wrangles the leprechaun to submission, beating it with the crowbar a few times and then digging out iron chains to wrap it up when that barely seemed to slow the thing down. He’s got it locked and bound and it’s still rolling around in the grass growling at him when Sam can finally pull his brother away from the rainbow that he’s trying to eat.

“What the hell man?”

Dean gasps, shakes his head and blinks at Sam.

“I…. wait, is that a fucking leprechaun?”

-

Dean’s pacing. He’s been jittery and amped up since they made their way out of the forest and back to the hotel. Sam watches him closely. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are too dilated even for the weak motel light.

“I say we just stab him until we find something that kills him.”

Waving an arm wide at the thing still bound in iron chains now propped on a chair in the corner of their room, Dean makes a move for the duffel bag at the foot of a bed.

Sam crosses in front of him. “Dean, just calm down. We should figure out what he is first.”

“Dead is what he is. Good enough?”

“No,” Sam folds both arms over his chest and stands his ground in front of the weapons. “Look, leprechaun or whatever, it’s done some pretty serious magic, and that doesn’t come without a price. We should figure out what it is and how to undo whatever’s been done first.”

Turning and pacing more, Dean shrugs out of his leather jacket, drapes it across a chair that’s still at the table. He stalks to the fridge and pulls out a single beer, sitting at the table with a sulky ‘you never let me do fun things’ look. Half the bottle is drained in a single gulp.

“Dude, are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine. I just really wanna kill -” Dean points towards the bundle of chains and seething anger “-whatever that is.”

The creature growls around the gag in his mouth, sounding like a broken wall a/c unit. It had rolled around in the trunk and made nasty hissing noises for the whole ride back to the hotel, and had toppled off the chair a few times, but for the moment it’s settled down. And now Dean’s pissing it off again. Great.

“I don’t know if getting close to the rainbow was such a good idea.” Or trying to eat it, but hey, what does Sam know.

Come to think of it, his skin has felt a little itchy and warm around his hands, face and neck, a few spots on his body near the nicks where the creature has bit or clawed through his clothes. Maybe the rainbow dust really was dangerous.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Sam tells his brother, “Just, please don’t do anything stupid ok?”

“I don’t need you to babysit me.”

Sam digs through his duffel bag for a change of clothes, and the neosporin, before shutting himself in the bathroom.

-

There are a couple of nasty gashes but for the most part Sam’s just scraped up. His head is a bit woozy and warm, so the nagging sense of ‘something is wrong with Dean’ only gets worse during his tepid shower. Pulling on his boxers and combing his fingers through his long hair, Sam leaves it at that. It feels like a fever is setting in.  

Something is definitely not right.

In the span of a ten minute shower, Dean has kicked off his shoes, taken off his socks, and gotten down to a soft gray undershirt. He’s sitting at the table, empty beer by an elbow, glaring at the thing in the corner like he could kill it with the force of his eyes alone, and the skin of his forearms is pinkened where he’s rubbing his hands over them repetitiously.

Sam places a hand on his shoulder and Dean jolts. “Hey, seriously man, what’s going on?”

Dean stands and turns, toe to toe, his pupils so dilated there’s hardly any green. His hands are burning where he places them on Sam’s waist, leaning in with a drunken sway.

“I don’t know.”

Shivering, suddenly cold next to his brother’s heat, Sam’s mouth goes dry. “Why don’t we, I could pick up some food and we’ll get some research in. Yeah. We should... research.”

Humming, Dean strokes his thumbs over the line of Sam’s hipbones, thicker with muscle now, but lean-lean and it’s such an achingly familiar gesture that Sam’s yanked back years, feeling so small.

Only, this time, Dean is shorter and he has to lean up. That can’t be right. Sam had just made it to eye level the last time -

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.” Placing a hand weakly on Dean’s chest, Sam makes a token effort to push him away.

“It’s the best idea I’ve ever had.”

Dean leans in, and Sam tilts away, turning his head to the side as soft lips brush across his jaw, hands slipping around his waist to the small of his back and oh Dean has the perfect height just like this to nose under his jaw and kiss that spot below his ear that makes Sam quiver down to his toes.

The last person he’d touched, like this, had sun-golden hair and smelled like vanilla. Her absence is an ache so sharp Sam still keeps awake from it at night, curled under the bedsheets in a different bed from his brother, slowing his breathing to pretend he’s asleep when all he can do is cry uselessly into his pillow with her name and the memory of her body still on his lips.

There’s an older ache layered under that one. The big brother Sam’d left at a bus stop years ago. There’s that person Dean used to be, and Sam remembers him keenly, remembers how easy his smile was with the windows down and the music loud, how Dean used to touch Sam like he owned him, and he did.

Sometimes, Sam still sees familiar things, but Dean’s so different after four years apart. After Jessica. There are so many afters and things he thought he’d left behind and this is a bad, dangerous idea because Sam doesn’t know if they can be that again or if they’ll be something new. He doesn’t know if he can.

All the craters of loss in his chest keep filling patchwork like slapping asphalt over a pothole but it cracks again with time and age and he’s not whole.  

The hot mouth moving down his neck sweeps over his shoulder, pressing kisses to his skin gently, like Sam’s still a knobby-kneed and colt shy boy confused by the things he wants from his brother’s mouth.

Dean’s calloused hands drag up his back and down, fingers teasing under the waistband of his boxers. Stepped closer, one foot outside one foot between Sam’s, Dean presses against him and he’s so hot through his clothes, dick hard and straining.

This is familiar and comfortable, and strange and unknown. Sam is distantly aware that something happened to them but he can’t think of what, all he wants is to kiss Dean back but -

“The leprechaun's watching.”

Dean pulls back, blinks dazedly, and laughs. Taking a step away, he pulls his shirt off and flings it into the corner, covering the head of the thing that starts hissing underneath it, but hey. At least it’s not watching anymore.

Cupping Dean’s jaw in both his hands, Sam kisses him. Sweet and shy, uncertain if he really is welcome, if he really is allowed to have this, after he left, after he fucked up. But Dean reaches for it, cranes upward and throws his arms over Sam’s shoulder, licks into him and Sam whimpers.

Stumbling, pushing Dean backward and following, lips to his cheek, his chin, his mouth, teeth scraping his tongue in that rough way that still makes Dean’s hips buck, Sam backs him against the bed and Dean falls onto it.

Heaving a deep breath, Sam can’t think straight with Dean sprawled, shirtless, skin pale past the tan line and the burnished gleam of the amulet Sam gave him ages ago sits right under the notch of his collarbone on black twine.

He kept it. Sam’s seen it, on the outsides of shirts, swaying when Dean leans over the trunk of the Impala, wet from a shower because he never takes it off - never - but it hits Sam. It’s just a childish trinket, and Bobby had given it to Sam to give to their Dad, but Dean’s always been more of a father-figure to him and god, isn’t that fucked up.

“You just going to stare?”

Dean grumbles, pushes his jeans down, dick slapping against his belly as he kicks them off, plush of his hips a little softer and he’s definitely lapsed into worse eating habits since Sam hasn’t been around to shove salads in his face.

There really is no going back. Sam’s not going to go back to college, he’s not going to go back to a normal life. He’s going to fuck his brother and they’re going to kill a leprachaun, then they’ll move on to another hunt and another motel bed and eventually they’ll find Dad, and Sam thinks that maybe he can get used to it again.

Tripping over his boxers as he pushes them down, Sam throws shirts out of Dean’s duffel bag looking for the lube that he knows is in there, Dean’s hands on his hips pulling him into the bed, mouth against his side, his arm. Rolling, Sam finds Dean staring up at him, flushed and beautiful and needy.

“Baby boy.”

His voice stutters and shivers into Sam.

“M’right here.”

Sam swears there’s still a shimmer on Dean’s skin, teasingly shifting colors in the light, streaked around his mouth.

“Hey,” Dean says, hands drifting to Sam’s hips, “D’you think the rainbow’s luck gives you what you want the most?”

“I’m not what you want most,” Sam says. Because he shouldn’t be. Because it hurts.

So he lowers his forehead to Dean’s, breaths against him and drops his hips to rut against the solid heat of his brother.

“You’re all I want.”

Dean angles his head, slots their mouths together for a melting hot kiss, legs bracketing Sam squeeze tighter and Dean flips them. Sam sprawls underneath him, limbs reaching the edges of the bed and he remembers when Dean could blanket him wholly. His feet peek out the end now but it’s still like being wrapped up warm and safe from the world.

There’s an itch under the skin of his hands crawling up his arms into his core, but it soothes when he lifts them to Dean’s chest, the wide span of his hands covering side to side and slipping around to pull Dean closer. Chest to chest, Dean folds up one of Sam’s legs and makes himself at home between them, heat of his cock dragging over Sam’s erection, precome slick and Dean groans.

“God, I’m burning up,” Dean tells the corner of Sam’s mouth.

Sam hums his agreement, soothing the itch in his hands roaming over Dean’s body, muscle shifting firm and steady under the soft swathes of skin between slivered old scars.

“I gotta get in you, baby.”

“Yeah.”

Sam gasps, arches his back as Dean bends another leg up and holds him open, sits up taking all the warmth with him. The lube Sam’d gotten out sits in the folds of the sheets where he’d dropped it. Dean stares. Strokes his hands down the insides of Sam’s thighs and up the crease of his hips. Sam’s cheeks burn hot, must be as bright as the flush lighting Dean up, and his body has the muscle memory of this but the dimensions are all off.

“Grew up big,” Dean bites his lip and ghosts his fingers over the living twitch of Sam’s cock, looks at him like he’s burning it into the backs of his eyes.

“Dean,” Sam puts as much pleading in his voice as he can, practically slaps Dean on the arm with the bottle of lube, braces his feet on the hard muscle of Dean’s thighs and flexes his toes, curling, pushing his hips up, begging.

Dean’s groan rattles out guttural, hands fumbling for the lube, one pushing Sam’s leg wide again while he slicks and slides a finger in, head dipping down and getting his mouth around Sam’s cock and Sam could fucking cry. It’s making him frantic, this clutching inside his chest, razor wire tied to Dean.

Fingers brushing through the short spikes of Dean’s hair, hardened with product and gritty from the hunt, there’s shimmery rainbow dust falling out that powders over Sam’s face and he licks his lips because he can taste Dean on them and it’s so, fucking, sweet.

Toes curling with a shock of arousal sharp enough to hurt, Dean’s mouth working a miracle on his cock while he’s stretched wide on fingers and he can’t stop the way his body seizes, drawing them in, Sam pushes at Dean’s head, scoots out from under him.

Dean hasn’t much to say other than a confused whine, but once Sam gets turned over onto his hands and knees, pushes up, Dean’s hands are back on him. Holding him steady. Mouth tracing wet up his spine and there’s the blunt head of a cock at his hole and Sam’s burning from the inside.

This is what he wants the most.

For now and forever.

There’s no going back to what they were, and there’s no erasing the in between. Sam realizes Dean isn’t the only one who’s changed during the separation. But he’s more certain now, more certain than dizzying teen adulation, of what he needs.

Bright hot pleasure lances through him and Sam rolls his hips back, squeezes his hands in the sheets and buries his face in the unchanged sour sweat and shaving cream smell of Dean’s pillow.

Dean is fast and he’s desperate too, clutching onto Sam’s hips bruise-tight, teeth dragging over his shoulder and Sam leans his head aside so Dean can find the right spot, clamp down harshly on that lifeline through his heart down his spine into the heat between his legs that swells and expands, pulses erratic adrenaline-high and Sam screams into the pillow, ass up, legs spread for his brother.

That’s what he’s always wanted.

-

The leprechaun is gone in the morning.

The insides of Sam’s thighs are sticky and his neck is throbbing sore. Tapping fingers gently, he finds the tender spot and when the lightest touch makes it sting he knows there’ll be a wicked bruise there.

The lights are still on.

Actually, it’s not quite morning. Little after five, the glow of the clock askew on the side table says. The curtains are wide open, jesus, anyone could of walked past last night, and the sky is turning inky with pre-dawn.

Dean is drooling on his pillow, mouth open, snoring a little.

The iron chains are piled on the floor between the corner and the door, and the leprechaun is gone.

Sam smacks his brother.

“Dean, wake up!”

Sam leans back when he realizes he’s startling Dean awake, his brother reaching for a weapon under the pillow, and Dean’s cheeks still look a little splotchy when he sits up knife in hand, sputtering and looking around the room.

“What?”

“The leprechaun is gone.”

Dean glances to the corner.

“Son of a bitch!”

Sam winces at the tone of his brother’s voice, stands up and winces again for a different reason.

He’s not sure where his boxers are, so he pulls on his jeans.

“Told you we should of just stabbed it until it died!”

“Yeah, fine. But I’m still worried about the after-effects of it’s magic.”

Dean starts tearing the room apart. Sam, curious, pulls a dirty shirt over his head and wanders outside into the parking lot, cracked pavement cold under his feet, dew on the scraggly weeds separating the lot from the street. Over the tops of the small mainstreet buildings the sun starts coming up, and the sky is a clear, uninterrupted blue.

“No rainbow.”

“Huh?”

Dean pokes his head out of the motel door, jeans on and not even buttoned.

“The rainbow’s gone.”

“Huh.”

Shirtless, leaning around the door, Dean makes a grabby hand at Sam.

“Come back inside, it’s cold out.”