#¶l sam winchester

[super-marvel-dc]

Y/N: *Walks into The Avengers compound, and greets them* hello, who called about the demon problem?

Tony: That would be me, Tony Stark *shakes Y/N's hand*

Y/N: Nice to meet you, Mr. Stark.

Dean, from the corner of the room: And I'm Dean Winchester, and this is my brother Sammy.

Sam: It's just Sam...

Y/N, to Tony: Are they apart of your team?

Tony: No.

Steve: We called them in because they're supposed to be the best of the best when it comes to demons.

Dean: We are the best of the best, but these demons are something else.

Sam: We've never encountered something like them before.

Y/N: Can you describe them to me?

Dean: Well, normally the demons we fight look human and have black eyes.

Sam: Yeah, there are different, though... They looked like actual monsters you see on TV and had different colored eyes...

Dean: Yeah. And they had some kind writing in their eyes, couldn't tell what, though.

Y/N: Uh oh...

Everyone: Uh oh, what?

Y/N: I'll be right back, I'm going to call my friends... I know exactly what we're dealing with, and it's not good.

Y/N: *On the phone call* Yeah, and tell Rengoku to tell the others we'll need their help, too.

Y/N: *Hangs up, and looks at everyone*

Tony: Who's Rengoku, and what's going on?

Y/N: *Sighs* OK, I'll explain everything to you, but you're gonna have to sit down for this because it's a long story.

Dean: Firstly, start off with who the hell you are.

Y/N: My name is Y/N Y/L/N, my friends and I deal with these demons you told me about...

Y/N: I'm a Hashira.

[flowersintheimpala69]

I loveee abusive john but john beats dean for being gay is probably the most boring basic (and dare i saw ooc) way we could go about it

[iliveinyou]

Erlkönig, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Translation by iphisesque

[jayjay-plus]

Yall are misunderstanding somthing, the top sam/bottom dean appeal aint just about sam being bigger physically or the whole how hes more aggressive in bed canonically (those are fun points too tho)

Its about toppy, confident, no chick flick moments, ladies man, masculinity so in your face it comes across as a performance, i must protect my brother at all costs Dean Winchester getting dicked down real good, having him let go and let himself get taken care of and held yunno? Or put in his place, that works too😗 (also putting down the strong man mask behind closed doors)

S1 sammy? bratty for sure, and bratty bottom sam is very tasty, but bratty TOP sam fucking his older brother is a friggin delicacy to me ok😤

ANYWAYS im just sayin

im a sucker for characters like dean getting fucked in the ass and rimmed till they cry what can i say

[veskoshitassprofile]

Same vibe

[jarpadandjensens]

Beautiful Winchester bros Series 8 / 50

[1-800-local-slut]

If your requests are open could you write more on Dean loving his black goth gf leaving kiss stains on his abs (and dick)

-🕷️

*This takes place on their first night sleeping together, I would honestly like to keep writing about Dean and his goth gf. Like different one shots and pieces about them, I just think it would be fun.

Kisses

Warnings: Smut lol

Likes and reblogs appreciated

Requests are open!

When I saw this request I got so excited. Thank you so much for this <3. Sorry it took me so long. I’ve been really down in the dumps, but I hope you like this! <3

Dean Winchester x Black! Goth! Reader

The walls spun around Dean, as he laid on his back. His sheets did nothing to cool his hot skin, as his girlfriend's braids swung over his skin. The gloss of her lips felt cold against his v-line, and his hips trembled. She was teasing him, and had been for the past 15 minutes. Ignoring his dick, even though it was hard as a rock. The tip was red and leaking, the clear liquid teasing him. Black kisses were all over him, his abs, his chest, his neck. The thing he most enjoyed were the kisses she left on his dick. He was never so eager to be kissed. He glanced at the black markings all over the twitching member and whimpered. All he wanted right now was a blowjob.

His hips stuttered  as she placed another kiss on his chest and he jumped up to meet her lips. He felt her lips and he kept his hands glued to her sides, with a tight grip on her hips. He squeezed and she smirked against his lips. She pulled away with a satisfied moan. 

He felt the cold silver of her rings wrap around his dick, and he let out a whiney moan.

“Jesus…” He moaned, his head jerked backwards and he bit his lip. Everything about her was overstimulating him. Her smell, her looks, everything. He felt the velvet of her stockings, around his hips. Her waist was lifted, she was making sure she didn’t touch him where he needed it most on purpose. He moaned, her hand sliding up and down.

It was the slowest, most mind melting handjob he'd had his entire life, and that’s saying something. Her hand went faster, and then slower, just as he was about to finish.

“You like that?” He whined and his eyes met her lidded ones. There was an evil glint in her eyes, that almost had Dean cumming on the spot. His eyes fluttered shut and he let out a soft moan.

“I asked you something handsome.” She stopped and his eyes shot open.

“I do! Don’t stop.” He whined and they kissed again, as her hand continued moving. The room spun and Dean felt like he was floating off the mattress. She stopped once more.

“No more games, I swear.” She climbed off him, and began to peel off her minidress. Dean’s eyes were glued to her body, her black nails were basically teasing him. A set of black lingerie waited for him underneath. Did he even deserve to look at a woman so beautiful? Dean didn’t know, nor did he care. He would look as long as she wanted, and the way she slowly slipped off her clothes said she wanted his eyes on her.

“You gonna be able to handle this darling?” The best Dean could muster was a stunned ‘uh-huh’. Her smooth voice pulled him deeper and deeper into the lust he was drowning in. She giggled and crawled back over him.

🕷️🕷️🕷️

“Dude.”

“What?” Dean turned, his mouth full of cereal.

“Really?” Sam continued as he put his spoon down in the sink.

“What?” 

“You’re covered in lipstick, if you’re gonna come down for breakfast at least rinse off first. I don’t need to know what you do at night.” Sam scoffed with a knowing smirk and sipped his coffee.

“I’m sure you heard us anyway. Good morning handsome.” The woman responsible floated down the steps, dressed in one of Dean's tee-shirts and hopefully nothing else. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, on her tippy toes. A sharp slap on the ass made Dean jump. She let out a knowing giggle with a mischievous smirk.

Dean felt the markings from last night burning under his pajamas and shivered. His dick got hard just remembering. Maybe he was a bit hopeful, but maybe he’d get some more kisses tonight.

[goest-and-fuckest-thyself]

Okay, I’m ready to run away now

[the--blackdahlia]

Commissions are open!

I'm doing moodboards and edits for commission! Need a title card for a story you're writing? Or a gift for a friend? Look no further!

Moodboards are $10 a piece.

Edits start at $18 for shorter and simpler ones.

I will mainly do wrestling (AEW, WWE, NJPW, etc) supernatural, disney, and marvel. However, I could possibly be able to do special requests.

I can accept PayPal, venmo, cash app, zelle, and I do have Ko-fi. Help me out and let me make something for you!

[nevereclipse]

you wanna know what kills me?

young!sams face in season 7, ep 3 when he's talking about John and says "you don't wanna see him when he's drunk."

that. that kills me.

[m4yasnotthatcool]

New fandoms🎀

sowwy guys(with a cherry on top)

skins------------------------------------

•Sid

•Freddie

death note-------------------------------

•L

•Mello

•Matt

•Misa

•Near

orange is the new black------------------

•Alex Vause

•Nicky Nichols

creepypasta------------------------------

•Eyeless Jack

•Ticci Toby

boyfriend to death-----------------------

the 100----------------------------------

•Ren Hana;

•bellamy blake;

•jasper;

•monty;

blue eye samurai----------------------------------

•mizu;

supernatural-----------------------------

•sammy;

•dean; (I'm on s2 rn tough so uh... yk; imma uptake this when u get on another season)

ahs--------------------------------------

(I'm on s2 so.... asylum is the farthest I can go rn, sowwy)

•tate langdon;

•kit walker;

•grace;(from asylum)

•violet;(from murder house)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

girl imma update this if i extend my horisons anytime soon, okay? cool

rules btw:

[quietwingsinthesky]

Wishing u much good food and killing michael buble with ur teeth 🫡

May I request arranged marriage for the ask game 👀👀

hello lee :3 i shall provide. this is, quite unashamedly, inspired by your thoughts on king!lucifer (with some of my own spin on things, lol) I really hope you like it.

Sam isn’t given the dignity of a proper marriage. The agreement is in writing before he’s ever even seen his new husband’s face, and after that, he’s carted up north like a prize of war. His retinue of king’s men from the south dwindles the more miles they travel. He’s sure some of that is planned, a man or two to travel so far and then hand him off to northern soldiers, a few more who agreed to go further and turn back, but more than a few times, Sam is sure they’re just deserters, terrified of what will happen to them outside the safety of the south. The wind blows frigid over the growing hills, and the north speaks a different, hostile tongue. Sam hates every single one of the soldiers who leaves, not for abandoning him, because they were never here for his protection, but for escaping when he can’t.

It’s easy to tell the difference simply by how they’re dressed, and by the time Sam is left with only northern soldiers, he sticks out like a flower in the snow on one of these barren fields. The men around him dress in thick furs, garb so heavy that it obscures their entire figure and the weapons beneath their cloaks but never slows them down. Sam is left with his thinner summer wardrobe and the absent gift of a blanket at night to keep him from freezing to death.

The king of Hel will be crueler, Sam tells himself, and he will have to survive that. He wishes he spoke their language. The one benefit of being a hostage in the south was that he understood how he was being humiliated. Though, as he shivers in the carriage he’s locked up in, his muscles aching from the cramped space, he probably wouldn’t need that many tries to guess.

They’re only stopped once. A very bold messenger catches up to them on horseback and demands Sam’s hasty return. Not out of mercy, Sam learns as he keeps close to the door of the carriage and eavesdrops, but necessity. Sam exhales in relief as the messenger grits out that Dean Winchester, the first son of their late father, has gone missing before he could marry the True King.

Sam huffs a laugh at how little weight that title carries now that they’re within Hel’s lands. The messenger must feel it, too.

The soldiers tell him, in no uncertain turns, to turn around and go back to his king empty-handed, or else go back with no hands at all. The deal, they say, was done, and the king of Hel does not renege on deals.

Sam is taken further north with only the hope that his brother is alive and safe and free to keep him warm.

The king doesn’t meet Sam at the gates or in the hall or even in his own bedroom, after Sam is ungracefully herded in there. Not by the soldiers who brought him. Very few of them even entered the walls of the castle and even fewer accompanied him into the keep. No, Sam’s guard from then on was minuscule, only a pair of women. He might have taken them for maids if not for the flashes of steel he caught as they walked beside him and the dangerous looks in their eyes. (Neither of them feel safe, but he keeps his eyes on the red-haired one more than the dark-haired one. When she smiles, Sam keeps expecting to see a wolf’s fangs beneath her lips.)

It’s the dark-haired one who tells him what to do. She isn’t very subtle. “Wait on your back for the king to come fuck you. When he’s not busy with anything more important.” The red-haired one laughs, bright and cruel like fire, and she shuts the door behind Sam once he’s inside. He waits, holding his breath, to hear their footsteps. They shuffle briefly, but they don’t move away from the door.

Sam does not wait for him on the bed. Surely a king has to keep some kind of weapon in his own chambers. Sam searches every nook and cranny, lowering his standards from a real weapon to anything remotely sharp enough to do damage. If Dean escaped, then Sam at least has to try.

The solid stone walls don’t do as much to keep the cold out as he would like. Sam’s fingers are tingling with numbness when he finally closes them around the only appropriate thing he can find: a letter-opener, sharpened crisply. It isn’t as fancy as he’s expecting. It seems more fitted for use than for decoration, no encrusted jewels or intricate flourishes on the blade. Nothing but a snake engraved into the handle. Sam keeps it tucked close.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

The sun is below the horizon by the time he hears a new pair of footsteps outside. A new voice, speaking too soft for Sam to understand, even if he knew his language. The door drags open.

Sam lays his eyes on his husband for the first time.

For a few seconds, in a delusion born from how freezing cold Sam is and how scared he feels, he thinks the king might be some sort of monster. The face of a bear stares him down. Sam’s frozen under its dead glare until he realizes its only another layer of clothing. Sam looks down as the king divests himself of his bear’s hood. He rubs his jaw, a few days of stubble to match the dark circles under his eyes.

Sam tightens his grip on his letter-opener, feeling naked in comparison to the king.

The first thing the man says is, “Why aren’t you asleep?” The woman who spoke to Sam earlier had a thicker accent than him, as did the soldiers. Sam can still hear it clearly, but his pronunciation is much clearer than theirs. Sam doesn’t answer, and the king’s eyes drift up and down his body. Even more confused, he asks, “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“I am,” Sam says, though he doesn’t feel it. “Your highness,” he forces himself to add. The king takes a single step towards him before stopping, eyeing Sam as he tenses up. The king says something in his own language, but Sam can recognize the sound of a curse in any. Sam watches the king remove his cloak. The king of Hel is broad-shouldered, thick-bellied, and without his cloak, he doesn’t look any smaller.

“How about a trade?” he says. “Wear this. It’s as warm as it looks”—Sam shivers.—“and in return, you hand over that blade you’re hiding.”

Sam feels his heart stop. His breath catches. The king tilts his head, but there’s no anger in his eyes. There’s… He looks sad, as though he understands why Sam needs the letter-opener to feel safe.

“Please, Sam,” he says, and Sam can’t be comfortable with how easily the king says Sam’s name when Sam doesn’t even know his. He offers the cloak, and he waits.

Sam shivers again, worse than before. It’s been a fight to not crawl under the blankets in that comfortable looking bed, but the cloak is an impossible temptation to resist. He can’t be thinking straight with how cold he is. He reaches for it. It’s heavier than he’s expecting. The king sees him struggling to take it with one hand and moves, bringing the cloak around Sam’s shoulders. There’s body heat cradled beneath the pelt, and it sinks into Sam’s skin.

The king is standing there, without armor, within reach of Sam’s small blade. He adjusts the cloak silently around Sam’s shoulders.

Sam doesn’t strike.

The king touches Sam’s wrist. He gently takes the letter-opener out of Sam’s hand. The way his palms, more callused than most lords Sam’s ever known, cradle his hand lingers in Sam’s mind long after the king has finally let go. The king turns the letter-opener over, running his thumb along the snake like he’s reminiscing about something. He shuts his eyes, grimaces, and lays the letter-opener back on the small table Sam had found it. There’s nothing stopping Sam from snatching it up again when the king turns his back.

He eyes it, but his gaze soon goes back to the king as he kneels beside the dark fireplace. He sweeps the ashes aside, getting his clothes dirty. He hauls another log into the hearth. He starts the fire himself, holding his hand above the flames as they grow and threaten to lick his skin before he stands. The room seems less like a jail cell when it’s more lit up.

The king gestures at the fire and tells Sam, “Wait here,” as if Sam could leave if he wanted to. He leaves Sam wrapped in his cloak and warming his extremities by the fire, arguing back and forth with himself about picking the letter-opener back up.

When the king returns, he brings food with him, steaming fresh. He hands a bowl of stew to Sam. Sam’s mouth immediately starts watering. He hasn’t had anything close to a good meal in nearly a month, granted only the same rations as the soldiers who were leading him here. There’s fresh meat in the broth before him bobbing between vegetables. Sam spears a chopped potato on the end of a fork and hurries to swallow it.

“I’m not going to take it away from you,” the king says, as though he can read Sam’s thoughts.

“Why are you feeding me?” Sam asks between spoonfuls, not completely trusting that this food isn’t a luxury he’ll lose if he says the wrong thing. The king joins him by the fire. Sam noticed the way he kneeled earlier, stiffly, and he wonders if that’s exhaustion alone making him move slower or the twinges of an old injury. He sits and relaxes.

“You’re hungry,” he answers, “you’re cold,”—He glances down at Sam’s stomach.—“and you’re skinny. I’m killing three birds with a single stone.”

“Skinny?” Sam scoffs. It’s not how he’d describe himself.

“You have muscle,” the king says, an amused tone entering his voice. “Muscle’s good, makes you warm, but fat will keep you that way.”

“And I thought you were a man, not a bear,” Sam says. It’s… strange to hear the king chuckle, to know that he’s the reason why. Sam puts another spoonful in his mouth and chews some tender meat. It’s delicious. He’d thought food up here would be tough and flavorless, but it’s rich and savory instead.

“I learn from what I hunt,” the king says. “Sam-“ He pauses. Sam is busy drinking the broth, and he’s caught off-guard when the king says, “You don’t know my name.” It’s like some sort of revelation to him, and Sam just frowns. He wasn’t special. No one knew the name of the king of Hel. “You’ll have to forgive me, Sam. I made certain… choices during the beginning of my reign. I created an image I still have to uphold, even though it has long outlived its usefulness.” The king sighs. “My name is Lucifer.”

He says it like it’s supposed to mean anything to Sam. It doesn’t. He watches Sam’s expression, and his brow furrows.

“What is it?” Sam asks.

“It was Michael’s seal on our marriage, and if he’s still alive, I thought-” Whatever it is troubles him so badly that he falls silent, leaving Sam to have to fill in the gaps himself.

“You know him?” For Sam knows him well. He’s not half as kind (if Lucifer is kind, if this is not all an act) as the king of Hel.

“As children,” Lucifer says, his voice soft, “but I doubt he’d know me now.”

“You were born in the south,” Sam deduces, and Lucifer nods.

“That letter-opener has already tasted blood, Sam,” he says. He doesn’t carry a hint of Sam’s home in him anymore, if he had once. He looks exactly like what a king of the frozen fields should.

“Do I have to use it?” Sam grips the spoon hard between his fingers. His voice goes flat. “Are you going to force me-”

“No,” Lucifer cuts through his words with sharp finality. “No.”

“If you don’t consummate-” Lucifer leans back on one hand, exhaling in frustration.

“And what will they look for? You can sleep in tomorrow to pretend you’re recovering, no one is outside the door listening for your screams, and if they want blood-” Lucifer stands. Sam watches him take up the letter-opener himself and spread flat one of the furs on top of the others on the bed. He cuts his own hand and smears it down the fur. He removes it from the bed afterwards, laying it across the windowsill where Sam can see Lucifer’s blood drying on it. “There. It’s done. You are mine.” He turns to look at Sam, and his voice softens out of the frustration he’d been holding onto. “And I am yours.”

Sam doesn’t know what to say. Lucifer’s shoulders sag as he yawns.

“I’m going to bed,” he tells Sam, “and you’re safe to join me whenever you want. The bed is large, and I won’t touch you.”

More than anything, Sam wants to ask why Lucifer agreed to this at all if he doesn’t even want Sam. It’s not as though Sam can give him heirs, or, it seems, like Lucifer even wants to make them.

He averts his gaze as Lucifer undresses further. (Or tries to. His eyes keep flicking back to catch Lucifer rolling his shoulders beneath his thick white underclothes or pushing his shirt up to scratch his nails through the thick trail of hair beneath his belly button.) He focuses on finishing his meal, and when he’s done, his stomach is filled with hot stew and the rest of his body, still draped in Lucifer’s cloak, hasn’t felt cold at all since Lucifer started the fire.

One last time as Sam passes it, he looks at the letter-opener, now covered with Lucifer’s blood.

He leaves it. Lucifer is snoring steadily from his side of the bed, the covers rising and falling with his breath. Sam removes his cloak carefully, and unsure of where to put it, folds it and lays it across a chair. The bear’s head doesn’t seem to be growling at him anymore.

Sam slides under the bedcovers. He sucks in a breath. He’s never been more comfortable in his life. The weight of the furs presses him down into the mattress, but they’re all soft to the touch. He stretches his body down the bed, covered chest to toes. The pillow beneath his head is firm but pliable, giving way to a comfortable shape. He turns to look at Lucifer.

Lucifer frowns in his sleep. His cheek is wet, and Sam feels the urge to reach out and wipe it dry. It rises, he resists, and it fades again. Sam turns over. He shuts his eyes and sleeps better than he has in years.

[almostcolorfulcolor]

Death Note, meet Supernatural- CHAPTER 8

Relationships: L (Death Note)/Reader, L (Death Note)/Original Female Character(s)

Summary: What if Death Note existed in a world with Winchesters in it? Would L finally have the evidence he needs to prove Light is Kira? How will L fare in a world where monsters are real and not every case is solvable by him? Lucky for him, there's a hunter here to work side-by-side with him.

A/N: Um...hey! Sooooooooooooo sorry for being so late. Since the last time I uploaded, somebody hacked my work email and I've been swamped with work. But as an apology, enjoy a special feature and a 3400+ words chapter! Hurray!

Chapter Summary: A trip down memory lane...or should I say a haunting? Surprise visitor in this one!

CHAPTER 7

Chapter 8: The Boy with the Demon Blood

The warmth on my face feels too nice with the breeze coming in from the sea. With every passing moment, a thought leaves my mind- decimating my todo one task at a time. When the panic attacks came and there was no one and nothing to help me, distract me- I took it upon myself to silence my mind forcefully. Close my eyes and will my muscles unlock. Banish every thought as soon as it came. Lose awareness of the weight on my shoulders and the pain in my chest. Between my stubbornness to make this work and the tiredness in my body, it became…possible after a while. After the shitty month we’d been having, this detour feels surreal. There is a pit forming in my stomach because surely, something is about to go wrong. Peace is not easily found, not for people like us. How things can get worse than they currently are, I am not certain. But they will.

One thing in particular. Ruby.

The demon who’s convincing my friend to drink demon blood to enhance his psychic abilities to kill the mother of demons, Lilith, and rescue his brother from Hell where he was dragged by hellhounds a little over a month ago.

Definitely wrong. I’d been doing everything to stop that from happening but I wasn’t sure how long I could make him see sense. Sam loved Dean, and the fact that Dean had gone to hell because he made a demon deal to bring back Sam from the dead was definitely increasing the guilt factor. Wrong is wrong though, and drinking demon blood is a solid no-no. Even Dean would agree with that. Not that I thought much about what Dean would agree with, or about him in general. My sanity was hanging by a thread, and any prolonged thought on Dean would make me completely lose it. I want him here, beside me, drinking beer and chasing after skirts. And I will make that happen. But not by losing Sam in the process. 

A beer is placed in front of me. Silently accepting it, I bring it to my mouth. Now, there’s warmth beside me too. A very comforting warmth, one I’d recognize in my sleep, one that I never want to go away, one I crave too much. I’m not relaxed now. I’m using every ounce of strength I have to stay as I am and not lean into him. Those arms that have helped me for nights while I cried, those that look so strong, and inviting, are calling my name. But I resist. Comfort is something he doesn’t want now.  

He only wants Dean.

I want him. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The red liquid in a bottle isn’t wine. 

She finally convinced him.  

I drop the groceries, sprinting, knocking the bottle from his hands. The walls are painted red.

My vision blurs as a sharp pain registers in my skull. “What the fuck, you bitch? That was my blood”, snarls Ruby as she presses me against the motel wall.

“Hands off, Ruby. Now.”

Good, atleast he cares this much.

Dropping me and whirling on him, she starts shouting. “I’m not your minion, Sam. I’ve been tailing you for months to convince you to use your powers for good and she is constantly against me. Get her in line. I won’t keep coming here to get insulted. You don’t need her. You come with me now and we can start with your training. Lilith isn’t going to kill herself.”

Sam’s expression is easier to read in his distress. He doesn’t want to leave me like this but he is set on getting revenge, getting Dean back. If he leaves now, my chances of getting him back are next to zero.

Getting onto my feet shakily, I make my way to Sam. The time for caution is gone. Stretching on tip-toes, I cup his face and bring it closer to mine. Sam’s shaky inhale gives me hope.

“Sam, look at me. Can you see what you mean to me? How much I care for you? Can you remember how much I care for Dean? I love him, and I want him back. But I also love you, and I don’t want to lose you. Please, Sam. This is demon blood. What if something happens to you? What if after drinking enough demon blood you turn into one too? It scares me, Sam. I’m so, so scared.”

My eyes close at this point, tears leaking out. I hold his face tighter, wanting to feel him after staying away for so long.

“Sam, please. We’ll start slow. We’ll develop your psychic abilities without the blood. It’s safer, right? And possible too. Please say yes, Sam. Stay with me. Dean is gone now, and until we get him back, we only have each other. Please be with me, Sam. Look at me. I need you, Sam. So much. Hold me, Sam. ”

He isn’t moving. My hands leave his face to find his hands. I place them on my waist and cup his neck. Stroke his chin. Touch his forehead to mine. “This isn’t bad, Sam, right? Please stay with me. I’m begging you.”

Cicadas are buzzing, curtains ruffling. Somewhere near, a dog barks. My heart gives a jolt.

Finally, he gives a jerky nod. Finally, I sob heaving in relief. Finally, the bitch leaves.

That’s the first night we sleep in each other’s arms.

Morning comes, and we’re both still holding onto one another.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The days after that are filled with hunting demons and Sam trying to kill them with his psychic abilities. Few he manages, rest we exorcise after interrogating about Lilith's whereabouts. Every demon that proves useless makes Sam resent me more. Those are the nights he sleeps in his bed turned away from me. We still don’t talk. Barely perfunctory words are spoken, nods given, grocery lists written. I’ve taken to calling Bobby every time I’m alone, which is often. Sam needs his space and every second he’s out of my sight, I imagine Ruby cornering him again and Sam accepting her help. Bobby shares my fear but there’s not much he can do as Sam refuses to see him or any other hunter. The cases we stumble on, he ignores. I note them and ask Bobby to get some hunter on it, wishing I was on it. The thrill of the hunt would make me feel better. It’d feel wrong, without Dean. But those brief moments where nothing matters except you and the kill- I want that oblivion. The only time I get it now is in Sam’s arms at nights his highness does deign to grace my bed. Settled between his arms and chest, the world feels liveable. Like I didn’t see my best friend ripped to shreds and dragged to hell in front of me. Like there’s still warmth in the world. Like I can relax and close my eyes. 

Sometimes, my growing feelings for him worry me. Because my feelings are mostly of love and worry while his eyes show nothing when he looks at me. It’s like he’s only doing this because I begged him to hold me. A duty he has to perform because someone who’s hurting asked him of it. These thoughts always make me feel guilty, and make me want to tell him to stop, lie that I don’t need it. But I never say this because what if my need is the only thing keeping him here and away from Ruby?

While trying to save Dean, I knew my biggest job would be to get him back once he got taken. I never thought it would be to save Sam from getting himself taken as well.

He shuts the TV off. In 3 steps, he’s on my bed. Lights are turned off, and I’m tugged down.

He’s spooning me today.

I allow myself a brief smile and pull his arm tighter around me.

Don’t let go, Sam .

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sipping my glass of sake, which was the only thing I could identify and pronounce in this bar, I glance around from my darkened corner at the other patrons of “Kariudo no Tsuki”, also called Hunter’s Moon. It must be popular cause I scored a ride on the app. A taxi would’ve been cheaper but my Japanese isn’t that good and I didn’t want to get lost. Currently, it’s 6 PM and people are starting to come in. I imagined it’d be like back home- mostly a hunter break stop but suits and lovebirds are also coming in. The interior looks rough but in a classy way. There is no one I can walk up to and just start talking. The hunter who gave me this address showed me a picture of a guy called Haru. He was short with a shorter mustache that reminded me of Hitler. Haru knew anything that happened here, but when I asked the bartender about him (thanks to Google translate), he just shot me a blank stare with “Haru no here”.

45 minutes later of people watching, my suspect walked in, headed straight to me and plopped down on the seat next to me after giving the bartender a meaningful look. There goes his 18%. He said nothing, just stared at me. People have been staring a lot here in Japan. Dean would stare back even longer, refusing to give in but I’m tired of this shit and want to get some work done. Plastering on my best smile, I start in English, “Mr. Haru, pleased to meet you. This is Anne. Could we please talk?” Seeing his nod, I’m inwardly relieved. Thank God he atleast understands English. 

“You can guess what I do and why I’m here, correct?”

A nod.

“So can you please let me know your thoughts on how is Kira doing this murder? What have you found so far?”

Nothing this time. 

I feel a headache coming. 

“Mr. Haru, I understand you’re a hunter. I know you understand me. I need answers. There are mass murders happening and it’s our responsibility to stop them. Can you be of assistance?”

Nada. 

My fingers tighten on the now-empty glass. I look away and count to ten. What a dick.

When I turn to him again, he’s gesturing to a girl. She comes and stands next to him and then he gestures to me.

Looking at me, she flinches a bit and I rearrange my expression into something softer bringing a tentative smile on her face.

“I’m Umi. What can I do for you?”, her sweet voice fills my ears.

Thank fucking God.

“Are you a hunter?”

She’s taken aback at this blunt question and stammers out a response. “N-no, I’m still being trained. But I know things.”

“Good. Please tell me your theories about the Kira case. Now please.”

“Well, there isn’t anything to tell. He’s been sent by God.”

Huh?

“Could you repeat that sweetheart?”

Umi’s answer is full of admiration. “Kira is only killing criminals, and he has decreased the crime rate dramatically. People feel safer with him. We believe God has sent him to deliver his divine justice. ”

Psycho alert. 

“Kira is killing people, wielding a supernatural power we haven’t heard of before and you’re not concerned? What kind of hunters are you?”

Umi is quick to correct me. Me . “Not people, just criminals. And we haven’t heard of it before because that power belongs to God and we do not hunt God.”

God. of Death. Shinigami?

“So you know which God is doing it?”, wanting her to confirm my suspicions.

“That isn’t for us to know. But whoever it is has our thanks.” Her eyes have gone mad; she totally believes this crap.

Dropping my nice act, I scoff. “Are you fucking crazy? Kira murders . He is wrong. Anything, any God, helping him is wrong.”

For the first time, Haru speaks something. I don’t understand the work but his words are angry and eyes accusing. 

Umi speaks up, “Haru says we know what you’ve been doing. You are just like the monsters you kill in America. We are holy people- we kill evil and respect the divine.”

“And Kira is DIVINE???”

All hints of a smile are gone from her face when she speaks next. “Keep your voice down. We won’t help you catch Kira. We don’t even want to find Kira. Let him rid the world of evil and then we can kill monsters in peace like us hunters are meant to.”

Haru speaks again and the girl nods furiously. “Seeing as you’re an American hunter, we have something of yours that we’re anxious to get rid of. Wait here.”

She disappears behind the back door. In the 15 minutes it takes her to get back, I realize I’m fucked. Being on a different continent, I have no idea how Japanese hunters work. I have no contacts. No one to turn to in case things get fucked up. I’ve told L that I’m working on a lead but this bar is a bust. Only thing I’ve left is the library now- and even then, killing a Shinigami would take weapons. Where and how to get them? L could take care of the police if there are bodies but I’d have to tell him why there are bodies. Including him in this supernatural angle could prove disastrous. Should I call Garth? Jody? Have someone come here to help me? 

When Umi returns, I realize I don’t need to call another hunter from home. 

Seems like they’re already here. 

The girl accompanying Umi is a 15-year-old teenager looking furious and relieved at the sight of me.

Krissy.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once Krissy finished her tale (with 3 burgers, 2 large fries and cokes), I marvel for the millionth time how we, who save the world, are constantly being fucked over. Her dad got her to investigate Kira, same as me but without the FBI’s help, and got eaten by a vampire. Krissy’s been stuck here since they came on a fake passport, she had no money, oh and yeah- that she’s a minor. She couldn’t contact anyone at home because who needs numbers when you have phones? But what happens when blood-crazy monsters trash your house and break all your shit? The hunters at the bar let her stay in exchange for doing some chores. I thank a God I don’t believe in or count on that it was not worse. 

“So I have some yen saved from what they paid me. But if you get me back home- I have an aunt- I’ll pay you back,” Krissy says once she’s done eating.

“I’m getting you back sweetie, and don’t worry about the money. Humanity still exists no matter what you’ve seen.”

Her fingers start tapping on the table. “No matter what, huh? I’ve seen my father ignore me and go crazy to prove his worth by catching this psycho. What kind of person does that?”

Well, atleast he didn’t force Krissy to hunt. “Look sweetheart, I don’t know why your father did what he did. This life, it changes something fundamental inside people. We stop being regular people and become someone else. Just remember the good moments with him and leave it at that. Nothing’s your fault, so no need to look for answers that aren’t coming. Okay?”

Her nod is quick and shaky. The girl doesn’t cry, I respect her. “Your aunt, she reliable?”

“Um, I don’t really know. Dad only talked about her sometimes but she’s lived at the same house for 20 years. I remember the way.”

Not good.

My plan is made- atleast for her. I call my contact at FBI and tell him to have a fake US passport brought over to me with Krissy's face and a fake name. Earliest she can leave will be the day after tomorrow, six in the morning. Haneda to O’Hare, then to Sioux Falls Regional Airport. Jody will be there to pick her up and handle the rest.

Taking her back to the headquarters is a definite no. I pick the nearest motel to the airport and get ourselves a room. While Krissy’s enjoying a long-awaited bath (evident by her off-tune humming), my mind is reeling- I have 0 leads on Kira with just a hunch about Shinigami, and now a kid to take care of for 2 days. Meanwhile, L is there with Light and Misa who could very well be the murderers. What a mess.

Pulling up Watari’s number, I inform him that some personal business has come up requiring me to stay out of the headquarters until the morning of the day after tomorrow. “Your request for leave will have to be approved by Ryuzaki; please stay on the line while I confirm this with him.” Staring at the phone in disbelief, I contemplate chucking it out along with the tracker he placed on my belt.

“I thought your commitment to catching Kira would have you here with us day and night. What is so important that you must stay away?”, comes the bored drawl of the detective.

“As I told Watari, it’s personal.”

“What of the lead?”

I pinch my eyes shit remembering that shit show. “Terrible. Waste of time.”

“I could’ve told you that before and saved you a trip to Hunter’s Moon. ”

I sit up straight from where I had been lounging on the bed. Hearing hunter in L’s voice is like I’ve been in a dream and then suddenly falling in a dead drop. 

God. Oh god.

“Anne? Anne?”

“Yes Ryuzaki?” I gasp. “Are you alright?” No. “Yes.”

“What happened at the bar?”, L prods. “Nothing. My lead turned out to be a Kira supporter. They don’t know who Kira is but they certainly won’t be helping us.” I wonder if the defeat in my voice is apparent to him or not. “Hm. Unsurprising. You should get back to the headquarters so you may actually prove useful.” Picking at my cuticles, I’m planning my trip to the local library to show him how useful I am. “Shut up, Ryuzaki. I told you, I have a personal thing to take care of.”

“Are you planning to engage in intercourse with a stranger?”

What. What.

My voice is a squeak. “Ryu- what the hell dude?”

“Well, you were at a bar, your location is at a motel now and asking for leave for personal reasons when you possibly can’t have any in a foreign country you’ve been in for less than 48 hours with no contacts. It’s a highly probable guess that you met a stranger at a bar and now want to have sex with him.”

His whole explanation- wow. “No, Ryuzaki. I’m not at the motel to have sex. Something really important and unrelated to the case has come up. I wasn’t expecting it. Real coincidence. But I have to take care of this. And as for being useful, I’ll do my research from the local library tomorrow and be back at the headquarters the next morning.”

“If you do anything stupid, the taskforce will not rescue you. Do not screw up the investigation. Do not draw attention to yourself during your library trip.”

Duh. “There goes the plan of wearing my big bird costume tomorrow. I was really looking forward to it.”

The robot does not laugh. I decide to get some answers for a change. “How are things at your end? Lovebirds acting usual?"

L enunciates like he’s talking to a 2 year old. “We cannot talk about that on the phone. It’s not secure.”

Rolling my eyes, I huff out a reply. “Like you haven’t got the most secure phones on the planet. Thanks for giving me one, btw. Definitely going to get up to all sorts of nefarious things on this one.”

A long-suffering sigh is my only answer.

I want more. I don’t want to hang up. I don’t want to face the surly, traumatized teenager about to get out of the bath. I don’t want to go back to planning my next move when I have nothing. I want Sam and Dean. And Cas and Bobby. And my mom and dad. And a hug. And someone to make me feel warm. And to keep talking to L- the only person I’ve allowed myself to trust one percent.

The wall I’ve been staring at goes blurry. I want a hug, now. NOW. I swallow- sharp, hot glass shards going down my throat. The call is still on. No one speaks. I disconnect. 

I’ve let go.

A/N:

What do you think? First real scene of Anne with a Winchester. Sorry that the bar was a bust but I've always imagined that hunters from different countries don't collab and Team Free Will has messed up (with good intentions) so many times that I don't think they'd be too welcome.

Anyway, I've got the outline for the next chapter ready so it should be posted in a week. It's still a WIP so if anyone has got any scene request, just let me know!

Likes, comments and reblogs fuel me, don't forget to leave some :)

XOXO

[icecream-and-gadreel]

Ten Minutes

Summary: Since your dad is always ready to throttle Kevin for even looking at you, sex has to be quick and discreet. After bringing him food (and stealing most of it), you can’t keep your hands off of him. After all, this is the RARE opportunity when you have more than fifteen minutes! But when he learns you forgot his dessert, his mind switches to a challenge of sorts. He’s a perfectionist, after all.

Pairing: Kevinxplussize!reader, Dad!Rufus, Uncle!Bobby

Rating: NSFW

Warnings: Language, face riding, unprotected sex(I don’t care if you ARE a prophet, use condoms!), getting caught, overstimulation, um..use of panties as a gag

Word count: 2300+

A/N: Thank @mrswhozeewhatsis for the idea, I was lost but now I see how much potential my cinnamon roll has. &_& Also, Rufus is the best dad in the universe ok? Ok.

Future A/N: This is a story recovered from my old blog! It's been repolished, enjoy!

“I don’t like ‘em,” Rufus grumbles, drumming his hands on the steering wheel. You chuckle, staring out of the window at the trees whipping by. 

“You don’t like anybody,” you say.

“I like you –”

“I don’t count.”

“Yes you do,” he grumbles, frowning and pulling up in front of the bunker. His lips puff out in a pout, his eyes locking on you. “You’re not staying.”

“Dad,” you groan, picking up the bag of food sitting on the center console. “I’ll be fine.”

“Mhm, I know how he thinks. You got MY genes! Trust me, he’s lookin’.”

“DAD!” you squeak, shoving him playfully. He stares at you blankly, shrugging.

“What? It’s true. My devilish good looks are irresistible.”

“Who told you that?” You cock an eyebrow, bursting out laughing when he squints. “We’re just hanging out,” you chuckle, shaking your head and climbing out of the car.

“I’ll be back in an hour or two --” He pauses, leaning his head out the window -- “If you’re naked I’m knocking his head off!” he yells. You wave at him over your shoulder, dialing Kevin’s number.

He answers with a rasping grunt, shifting on the other line. 

“Hi,” you clear your throat, frowning when he hangs up. Seconds later the door is flying open and he’s searching you wildly.

“Food?” he whispers.

“Food,” you concur, shaking the bag at Kevin. He gives you a starry-eyed gaze, and you giggle, hooking a finger underneath his chin. He pecks you on the lips before taking the bag, flinching back when Rufus honks his horn, waving at your dad with a tight-lipped smile. You shoot Rufus a glare as he skids off, circling back around and squinting at Kevin as he slowly passes.

“Is this…” his voice trails off and he licks his lips, raising the grease-soaked bag to eye level. 

“I went to a hole in the wall. Baby back ribs, greens, potatoes, the good stuff.”

“You’re amazing,” he breathes, stepping aside as you walk in. He closes the door behind him, taking in a deep breath. “Holy shit this smells good.” Kevin pulls a chair up for you, setting aside the tablets. You plop down next to him and watch as he tears through the bag. He pulls out his box of ribs, turning to you with a grin.

“Seriously, you’re the best,” he coos, pulling a rib out and sinking his teeth into it. He lets out a long sigh, pulling you into a half hug. Frowning, you sniff his shirt, pulling away with a crinkled nose.

“Babe.”

“Yeah?” he doesn’t look up from the food, only searches it wildly with his eyes.

“When's the last time you showered?”

“Uh…what day is it?”

“Tuesday,” you say. He nods, shoving a piece of cornbread in his mouth.

“Monday.”

“Yesterday?”

“Two Mondays ago,” he says. Your eyebrows shoot up at the words. “I don’t have time for breaks” he adds. You purse your lips, running your fingers through his hair, flinching your hand back as it’s coated in oil. God, he needed to be hosed down.

“I love you.” You lean forward, resting a hand on Kevin’s shoulder, gaining a perplexed look from him. “So much,” you add. He takes a bite out of his rib and licks the barbecue sauce from his lips.

“Is this the breakup talk?” he asks. You giggle, shaking your head.

“This is an 'If you don’t take a shower I’m going to attack you with soap’ talk,” you say as you steal his rib. He squints at you as you clean the bone, reaching his hand to swipe sauce from your cheek.

“I gotta get to work, no time for showers.”

“You can spare an hour –”

“I’m not taking an hour-long shower,” he says dryly. Kevin digs into the bag and pulls out the greens. “Hot sauce?”

“Yeah – you’re taking a shower, whether you like it or not.”

“Nope,” he says, watching as you grab a second rib. “You gonna eat all my food?” he asks, snatching the rib from your hands, “Did you even bring me dessert?” he grumbles in faux irritation, smiling when you shove him.

“Depends, are you gonna take a shower?”

“Are you gonna get in with me?” he asks. You shrug, scooting closer to him and kissing him on the neck. “I was joking, your dad is nuts.”

“He said two hours,” you say, moving your hand up his thigh. “That’s the most time we’ve had to ourselves – ever.”

“It is – So that’s a no on dessert?” Kevin asks, digging in his bag again.

“Seriously?” you ask, chuckling and raising your eyebrows. “Fine, take a shower and I'll get you dessert,” you say. He groans, standing from his seat and heading toward his room. When he’s out of sight, you dial your dad’s number, pausing when Bobby’s voice comes through.

“Did Kevin try somethin’?” he snaps. 

“No Uncle Bobby, put Dad on the phone –”

“You can tell me, your dad ain't as nice as me,” Bobby uses his stern voice, making you roll your eyes.

“He’s my boyfriend – you’re nice?”

“Damn right I am!”

“Seriously, who are you nice to, ever?”

“I…shut up – you shut up too, ya idjit!” he growls at who you assume is your dad. You sigh as they go back and forth, staring up the stairs as the shower turns on. You can imagine the look on his face as he steps underneath the hot water. The content sighs and moans escaping him as the water works away the tension in his shoulders. With enough stealth, you could sneak into the bathroom and join him. Yes, his stubborn self would try to reason against having sex within the short time frame you have together, but knowing Kevin he'd be making the first move anyways. “What’d you need babydoll?” Bobby snaps you from your thoughts, and you squeak, adjusting in your seat. 

“I was seeing if he could bring me something sweet,” you say, chewing your lip.

“Kevin ain’t ask for nothin’ 'sweet’ did he?”

“Jesus Christ, bye Bobby.” You end the call, heading up the stairs and walking into Kevin’s room. You knock on the bathroom door, taking in a breath. “Hey, no dessert,” you say.

“What?” he screams back. You roll your eyes and repeat yourself. “What?” he screams again. You push open the door, drawing back the curtain. You open your mouth to talk, inadvertently training your eyes on his length. He sighs, snapping his fingers.

“I’m up here. Didn’t we have sex last week?” he chuckles.

“You say that like it’s a good thing,” you groan, tearing your eyes from his crotch. “I’m horny,” you say, pouting and crossing your arms. Kevin studies you silently, leaning forward and pressing a wet kiss against your lips. He smells faintly of Irish Spring. You slide your fingers over his growing cock, and it twitches in response. Without thinking, you lean into him, squeaking as water pours over your head. Kevin bursts out in laughter as he gently urges you away, turning off the water and stepping out of the shower. Grabbing a towel, he makes his way to his room. 

“Dessert first, then sex.”

“About that...” You shift your feet, rubbing the back of your neck.

“No dessert?”

“I am your dessert,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows. “I’m sweet as hell,” you add. He chuckles, shrugging and making his way to his dresser. Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you pull it out, rolling your eyes.

Dad: U ever feel like “somebodies watching me?”

Dad: Because I’m watching U O__O

You sigh, shoving your phone back into your pocket. Your phone vibrates in your pocket once more and as you reach for it, Kevin pulls you closer by your waist.

“Hold still,” he says as he leans forward. You whimper as Kevin’s tongue glides over your skin, resting your hands on his shoulders. “You’re right, you are sweet,” he whispers against your neck, swiping his tongue once more.

“Kev?” you squeak as his hands grip your ass, his mouth suctioning over your neck.

“Nice and thick, I just wanna eat you up,” he breathes, kneading your flesh between his fingers.

“That’s borderline creepy,” you giggle, moaning as he lightly swats your ass.

“Wanna try something fun?” he asks. Before you can respond properly he’s tearing your clothes off and leading you to the bed. You watch as he pulls out a timer, setting it on the dresser before turning back to you. “Ten minutes, five through ten, pick a number.”

“What?”

“Five through ten,” he repeats.

“Uh…six?” you say. Kevin chuckles, laying on the bed and setting his timer. He wordlessly pulls you up to your knees, leading you over his face.

“Six in ten, tell me when that hits ten minutes.”

“Six WHAT in ten?” you ask.

“Every time we fail, we’ll start over, ok?”

“Fail what – it hit ten minutes – oh shit,” you hunch forward as his tongue drags over your slit, pressing your hands against the wall. He suckles at your folds and rubs his hands over your thighs, moaning as your flavor hits his tongue. You shiver when he grips your ass in his hand, zips of electricity racing up your spine. Smacking his lips, Kevin tilts his head up, humming under his breath.

“Oh, right, you like when I…” He smacks your ass, smiling when you moan. “I think a week was too long, how could I forget?” he goes back to your sex, swirling his tongue around your clit. You stare at the timer, shivering above him.

“Five minutes down,” you breathe. He nods, dragging his tongue over your entrance before pushing it inside. He darts his tongue a few times before dragging it over your folds, leaving soft nibbles over your skin. With two minutes left, your thighs are wobbling, your chest is heaving, and you're damn near ready to melt. You struggle to keep from resting your weight on him, moaning when he drags his tongue over your clit once more. Kevin moans as it twitches against his tongue, moving back to your folds and sucking them into his mouth. You rock your hips, moving quicker as the buzzer goes off. He pushes you up, smiling when you whine. “I was so close,” you whine. He bats his eyes innocently as he reaches for the timer.

“Oh wow, I guess I got caught up,” he says, resetting the clock to eleven minutes. “Don’t distract me this time, stay quiet.”

“Why –”

“Thumbs up when it hits ten minutes,” he says. You stare at the timer, giving him a thumbs up. Kevin immediately goes for your clit, dragging his tongue in rough strokes. You cry out as you reach your first orgasm, resting your head against the wall in an attempt to keep from falling on his face. He pushes his tongue against your clit again, pressing his lips over it.

“W-wait a second,” you groan in a shaky breath, sighing when he moves away. He wordlessly grabs the timer, setting it to twelve minutes. “What’re –”

“No talking,” he says, guiding you from over him. He rushes to grab your panties, balling them up and wagging his finger. You frown, crossing your arms. “We don’t have much time,” he says in a sing-song voice. You sigh, opening your mouth and allowing him to stuff your panties in. Kevin pushes you down, propping your thighs on his shoulders and watching the timer. “By the way, no touching this time,” he smiles, pushing two fingers into your sex, curling them up with his eyes on the timer. When it hits ten minutes, he pushes his tongue against your clit, pumping his fingers in short motions, pushing you over the edge within a minute. He suctions over your clit, suckling harshly and pushing his fingers against your G-spot. Within two minutes, you're shaking into a second orgasm, your moans being trapped behind your panties. You clench the sheets in your fists as he continues dragging his tongue over your sex, panting moans escaping you as his skilled tongue swivels along your overstimulated clit. You groan, raising your hips away in an attempt to relieve the pressure He pushes his fingers against your G-spot once more and your hand instinctively flies over his head. Kevin sighs, raising up and wiping his mouth.

“What did I just say?” he turns off the timer, drumming his fingers on your thigh. “We’ll never meet our goal,” he adds, reaching his hand to pull the panties from your mouth. You whimper, shifting your thighs. He frowns in thought, absentmindedly pumping his cock in his hand. He slides your legs from his shoulders, urging them around his waist. “Let’s try something else,” he says, holding a hand up to you. “Stay still,” he pushes the head of his cock between your folds, slowly easing his length into you inch by inch. You groan at his tortuously slow pace, fighting the urge to push down against him. When his hips finally meet yours, he draws back, beginning the process again.

“What the hell Kev!” You groan, chewing your lip.

“You kept ruining my challenge,” he grunts, lowering down and pressing his lips against yours. “So I need some time to think,” he mumbles against you. You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck. He snaps his hips forward roughly before going back to his slow pace. You squeeze your thighs around him, smiling when he quickens his pace. “You make it hard to concentrate,” he breathes, batting his eyes shut. You whimper his name, yelping when the door flies open. Dean points his gun, his eyes darting around the room.

“Oh shit,” he turns away from you both, colliding with Sam as he rushes in. Sam stares wide-eyed, only turning his eyes away when he meets your gaze. “Sorry uh..we were callin’ but..no answer and we heard – Rufus is – oh my god.”

“OUT!” you squeak. Dean and Sam fumble to leave the room, Sam stealing one more glance before slamming the door shut. “Wait,” you pause wide-eyed. “Did he say my dad?” you push Kevin away, shuffling to get your clothes on. He does the same, sprinting to the bathroom as the door flies open. You try to pose naturally but you end up sprawled across the bed. Smooth.

“Got done early,” Rufus looks around the room, squinting his eyes. “Where’s the boyfriend?”

“'The boyfriend’ is…somewhere else,” you say. You clear your throat, scratching your head.

“If I find out that little –”

“Dad,” you chuckle, rolling your eyes. 

“Yeah yeah, get your shit.” He shoots you another suspicious look before closing the door. You wait a few moments, crossing your arms when he opens it again. He chuckles, closing it once more. You rush to the bathroom, flinging open the door and pulling Kevin into a kiss.

“See ya.”

“Next time we’ll get it,” he whispers back, pecking your lips again. “I think you need to be tied down, though.”

[sui-sleepingcatk2y]

I'm not bitter about that Sam wasn't one who killed Lucifer. I'm bitter about Lucifer's coming back itself.