#Dean Trust issues Winchester

[lambmotifz]

re: looking for examples of sam being manipulative and controlling over dean.

i think most people who have this interpretation focus a lot on sams resistance and anger directed towards johns refusal of his independence. sam is a complex and well rounded character. i think people are used to applying how a character reacts to one character as how they will react towards all characters, so they made up domsam. dean and john are both paternal figures to sam who have control over his autonomy, but sam GIVES that to dean whereas he fights john. the difference is the codependency.

in the first season sam argued with dean over him going back to stanford so i can see where they think the overlap is. sam will put up a fight but ultimately he submits to dean pretty much all of the time.

also i think they think sam telling dean that he needs him in his life is emotional manipulation. (whether it is or isnt kind of doesnt matter when you compare it to dean) sam is more in touch with his emotions so they take that as sam purposely guilting dean into doing what sam wants. and then they just ignore how actually abusive dean is towards sam. physically AND emotionally.

overall i think its selective blindness towards the characters they prefer. and i think there are a lot of people who only watched the first couple of seasons and rely too much of their interpretation on those early episodes.

YES. 100% all of this. i’ve noticed that people who think sam has more power than dean usually only care about their early seasons dynamic and apparently don’t consider anything past it as canon. sam was more independent in s1 but it doesn’t erase the fact that their dynamic changed with time and became more nuanced and power imbalanced. you can enjoy their s1 relationship without caring much about other seasons, but saying “they’re equal” or “sam is dominating” when most of your examples are from s1 is just wrong. because their post s1 relationship is very different from what they had in early s1. their post s1 (and especially s4-5) dynamic blatantly mirrors dean and john’s, with dean becoming more like john, needing more & more power/control over sam, and sam preferring to submit more & more often

[manwiththemagic]

Some of my favorite spn episodes are were it's from someone else's prospective.

Like the ghost faces ep or s8 EP4 bitten with those nerdy camera kids!!!

Because not only is the editing fun, like it's some rando docu series from the 2000's made by kids in a basement (super underground, literally), but it is that! Like it's just a bunch of kids/young adults doing stuff and learning about the supernatural for the first time!!

So of course that's very interesting and new because when spn starts off Sam and Dean already know about the world, they grew up in it. Which is good because, well the narrative, but I love seeing fresh meat.

It's like all those other books and TV shows. The nativity of watching them try and figure out a crime? Amazing. 10/10.

But also it's the outside perspective on Sam and Dean that I love. Like duh these guys show up and are all tall and intimidating, weather they're pretending to be FBI agents or just fighting ghosts. Would you trust them?? No.

Like in the episode bitten where a guy gets, well yk, his GF and best friend gotta figure out what to do. The nerdy best friend wants to be all super powered up like the guy which is important for later, but not in the perspective of Sam and dean.

These collage kids, high, get a knock on the door from the FBI agents who were investigating the dead guy that popped up and asked if someone was bitten?? One weird question, two someone WAS bitten, and three the men walk off talking about killing a Mayan god. So obviously the kids keep it to themselves and investigate these 'cops'.

Find out they *aren't* cops and are instead some kinda hunters? Who are after the thing that turned the guy. So obviously they aren't gonna trust em??

Anyways I love those episodes, it's like watching a old YouTube video put online in 2010 by a couple of dweebs who somehow found some shit. Like it reminds me of the lame older brother in 90's movies.

[batcavescolony]

S5 E5 Supernatural

I'm sorry guest star Paris Hilton?

Sam and Dean's faces at the local cops stupidity 💀💀💀. Dean geeking out over James Dean's car (but it's a fake rip). They travel around the country and didn't think to learn Spanish? I feel like that'd be helpful. Don't meet your heros I guess? I feel bad for Sam, he feels bad for releasing Lucifer. Did they have Paris Hilton make fun of celebrities? Finally some reconciliation! We're moving forward, progress!

[quietwingsinthesky]

i just loved that the writers were like mark of cain dean slowly becomes more and more barbaric and inhuman as he can’t control this primordial, gaping wound in the form of an already healed over scar that has been borne by the devil himself and is in fact what made him the devil and therefore will make dean long and lust after maiming and ultimately murdering people with an urge stronger than any love or passion or resolution he’s ever experienced in his life And Also He’s A Huge Misogynist

well. TO BE FAIR. you have just kind of described dean when he is normal also.

[wormieapple]

the one thing i will never forgive sam for is the fact that he lied through his teeth to dead kevin’s gosht that he’d get over his shit. to kevin???? poor dead kevin???? ur gunna lie to???????

[inkandpaperqwerty]

I am vibrating with excitement about posting Lay Your Bets and Pay the Price on 10/30. VIBRATING. For once, the Winchesters are not going to regain someone’s trust with one great act of heroics. I thrive on realistic consequences, and I cannot express in words how much I am enjoying writing this. Sidenote, I also want to rub my face all over the fanart my cousin did of Xal, so there’s that.

I’m almost done with that oneshot I told you guys I was working on for a fandom I haven’t written for in years. I’m hoping to post it sometime next week, and I normally do Wednesdays (so it would be 11/6) but that’s my cousin’s birthday, and we’re gonna be going nuts, so that might not happen.

Then, on 11/13, we get the debut of Rehearsing Tragedies! I am so excited about this. I cannot express in words how much fun I’ve been having writing a completely feral Slave!Castiel who just wants to rip out Sam and Dean’s jugulars with his teeth. In this universe, Hell got Lucifer out while the angels remained entirely uninvolved, but Lucifer cast the angels out of Heaven before the Winchesters took care of him. This would be around Season 3, with Hell freeing Lucifer without the methods used in the show (Sam, demon blood, Lilith), and unlike the angels who fell in Season 9, these angels still retain supernatural abilities, they are just very weakened. I hope you check it out!

Also… hitting a milestone at work tomorrow… kinda nervous… kinda stoked… fingers crossed, guys…

[hexedwinchester]

isn't this the episode right after he killed Amy? and Sam doesn't find out until 7th episode about this i believe? so Dean is literally lying through his teeth (no surprise, that's what he does) by telling him that he trusts him? Wow, Dean, aren't you the poster boy of deceit!

the way he basically just confessed he never trusted sam right to his face

[fatecantstopme]

Not Good Enough

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus size!reader

Summary: You overhear Dean say some hurtful things about you to Sam and decide you need to change, much to Dean's dismay.

Warnings: cursing, mutual pining, mentions of violence, body issues/esteem issues, past trauma, illusions to eating disorders and sexual assault. SMUT, oral (M and F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), dom/sub vibes, dirty talk.

You didn't like to think about your life before the Winchesters. Most of the time, it was easier to pretend you didn't have a past--no dark and morbid history to share, no pain and trauma still lingering deep within you.

Sam and Dean were the only ones you'd felt comfortable opening up to, and even that took years. Life had not been kind to you, and the scars on your body and in your mind were the proof.

Eight years ago, your hellish life took a turn for the better, but only after you almost lost it. You'd been walking home after a late night filled with bad decisions, when you were attacked. The man was fast, vicious, and cruel--taking what he wanted from you and leaving you for dead.

As fate would have it, the Winchester brothers were in town hunting a nest of vampires, and had been prowling around downtown waiting for one to make an appearance.

It was Dean who heard your screams, your cries for help, your sobs. It was Dean who came running into the dark alleyway without a thought for his own well-being. It was Dean who dropped to his knees beside your beaten and broken body...who took his jacket off and draped it over you to cover your mostly exposed form. It was Dean who gently scooped you into his arms and carried you to his car...and it was Dean that stood beside your hospital bed until you opened your eyes again.

Sam had eventually tracked down the man who had attacked you. It turned out, he had attacked several other women in the downtown area over the previous few months. Dean had been surprised to discover the man was just that--a man. Not a shapeshifter, a ghoul, a demon...not a vampire or a werewolf...just a man. His status as a human did not, however, make him any more safe from your avenging savior.

You'd never asked Dean exactly what had happened to your attacker, and he'd never talked about it. All you knew was he would never hurt anyone ever again.

It was unlike Dean to trust a stranger, and certainly out of character for him to confide in one, but there was something about you that seemed to draw him in. He felt as if he'd found a kindred spirit in you, someone who could understand him in a way even his brother couldn't.

Once you were on the mend, Dean made you an offer--one you were thankful you didn't refuse. You joined the brothers on their adventures--saving people, hunting things, the whole nine yards.

Overtime, you had become an integral part of their small family unit. Either brother would have died for you and you for them. There had been more than one close call for each of you over the past eight years, and more than one monster brutally slain to protect you.

You were closer in age to Sam, only a year younger than him, but Dean had always been the one you were closer to. Just as Dean had seen a kindred spirit in you, you had seen one in him. He understood you, he respected you, and he cared about you more deeply than anyone in your life ever had.

In the long years you'd spent in their constant company, you'd begun to change. The darkness that lived inside you seemed to fade, as if being near the Winchesters brought a light into your life you didn't know you needed. The mental scars you'd carried began to heal, even if the ones on your skin would always be visible.

There were still days where the darkness would rise within you, dark thoughts rolling through your mind, bringing you to your knees with a pain you could never describe. There were days when you would look in the mirror and hate the reflection gazing back at you--seeing the girl you had once been instead of the woman you now were.

There were moments when you'd forget all the progress you'd made, mind focusing instead on all of your flaws, all of your failures. The worst part was many of them lived only in your mind--you knew no one but you could see them, but that didn't make them any less real to you.

Lately, you had been struggling with self-esteem issues you'd long since buried. You'd thought you'd come to terms with who you were and what you looked like--accepted the body you had. Weight had been a struggle for you your entire life, and for a long time, you turned to terrible habits in order to lose weight and attempt to keep it off.

Those habits had ended eight years ago, but the issues they'd covered did not. Today was one of the bad days. One of the days you stared in the mirror and hated the image you saw--the softness, the curves, the fat. That was the word that kept repeating in your mind, fat, fat, fat.

You tried desperately to block it out, to remember why you loved your body just as it was, but those thoughts wouldn't leave you alone. The darkness inside you was too much to battle, the pain of hating yourself too much to cope with.

You'd been thankful for the bunker the day the three of you had discovered it, but you were even more grateful on days like today. Days you wanted to spend holed up in your room, refusing to face the outside world.

As much as you wanted to lay in bed for the entire day, your grumbling stomach soon became too much to ignore. You knew you needed to eat--there could be no more starving yourself, no more binging and purging--you needed to eat.

You dragged yourself out of bed and tugged on a pair of sweatpants before cautiously opening your bedroom door. You listened for the sounds of either brother moving around. Upon hearing none, you made your way slowly towards the kitchen, intent on making yourself a sandwich and retreating to the safety of your room.

Just before you rounded the corner to head into the kitchen, you heard Dean's low voice rumbling from inside. You froze in place, pressing yourself against the wall, not wanting to be seen or heard. You fully intended to creep back to your room--you really did--but the sound of your name leaving Dean's lips held you in place.

"(Y/N)'s not strong enough," Dean hissed. You could tell by the tone of his voice he was angry, very angry.

"Oh come on," Sam snapped. "She's been doing this for eight years. She's more than capable."

"Are you insane? I mean, really and truly crazy? She'll get herself killed!" Dean's voice had risen in volume and you heard Sam shush him quietly.

"Don't wake her up," Sam chided.

You heard Dean's annoyed sigh and your eyes fluttered closed for a moment. You knew what they were fighting about. You and Sam had a conversation a couple days ago about you hunting on your own. You'd asked for his thoughts and Sam had been honest and supportive. He said you were more than capable of hunting on your own, should he or Dean not be available to go with you. Your hunting skills were certainly not on their level, but if the case was simple enough, you would be fine.

Clearly Dean did not agree with his brother's assessment of your abilities. "She's not strong enough, or fast enough, or physically prepared to hunt on her own. She's just not, okay? She's different from us...she's not built like we are."

"Do you even hear yourself?" Sam asked incredulously.

You bit your lip to keep from whimpering aloud, Dean's words having cut straight through you like a hot knife. You blinked back your tears as you moved as quickly as possible back to your room without making noise.

Dean's words repeated on a loop inside your head, echoing your own darkest thoughts about yourself. Even Dean thought you were too fat, too weak, too useless to do anything on your own. You realized he likely only allowed you to hunt with him because he felt sorry for you--a pitying friendship you didn't ask for.

Despite the irrationality of your thoughts, you could not escape them. You couldn't fight them off, either because you didn't have the strength or because you were afraid they were right. Your mind once again played tricks on you, dragging you down into the darkness--but this time you succumbed, allowing your own tears to drag you into a nightmare fueled sleep.

Unbeknownst to you, Sam and Dean's conversation had continued in the kitchen. Neither of them had noticed your presence, both too upset with the other to focus on anything else.

"Look, (Y/N) is my best friend. Other than you, she's my favorite person...hell, I like her more than you sometimes," Dean confessed. "I just--I don't want to lose her. If we let her go out there without backup and something happens to her, I'll never forgive myself. I'd rather her never hunt at all, but I think she'd kill me if I told her to sit out on a fight just because I'm terrified of her dying."

Sam was quiet for a moment as he regarded his brother. Dean was not known for his vulnerability, nor for sharing any of his deeper emotions, but Sam could see something simmering just beneath the surface--some emotion beyond rage and fear lurked in his brother's green eyes.

"What are you really saying, Dean?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean looked at the floor for a long moment before answering. "When we met (Y/N), I was instantly drawn to her--like a moth to flame. I don't know what it was, but I felt connected to her in a way I'd never felt before. That feeling has only grown in the past eight years and now I can't imagine living life without her. I don't want to imagine it. A world without (Y/N) in it isn't a world I want to exist in."

Sam exhaled slowly, realization crossing his features. It was rare for Dean to care for someone so deeply, but when he did, he became irrationally protective. Sam was painfully familiar with that particular side of his brother's nature. He also knew what it meant, what Dean was really saying--even if he wasn't ready to admit it.

"You should talk to (Y/N)," Sam urged. "Both about how you feel, and about why you don't want her to hunt alone."

"What do you mean, 'how I feel'?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You know exactly what I mean." He didn't give his brother a chance to respond. He grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and walked out the door, claiming a need to workout.

Dean watched Sam walk away, and a feeling of mild terror settled into his bones. He'd come very close to admitting how he really felt about you and it scared him. Hell, his feelings scared him. The fact that he was foolish enough to fall in love was bad enough, but the fact that you were the one who'd stolen his heart made it so much worse.

He'd told himself he would never fall in love, never get married, never settle down--this life wasn't conducive to any sort of domestic bliss. Part of him didn't think he deserved that kind of happiness, but the main issue was the danger of loving you so deeply. He knew the risks, knew how it would turn out--bloody, like it always did.

In his mind, the only way he could keep you safe was to pretend all he felt for you was platonic friendship. He could protect you on hunts and his guard would never be down around you, so he could protect you in every way. He'd seen how far you'd come, how strong you now were, and there was no way he would be the reason the world lost your beautiful soul.

No one could ever know the truth, not even Sam. The only way this didn't end bloody was if you never even suspected Dean loved you. No monster would be able to use his love for you against you, no monster would ever hurt you just to get to him. For you, for your safety, he was willing to break his own heart.

**********

It had been three days since you'd overheard the conversation between Sam and Dean. The first two days, you'd remained secluded in your room, claiming a migraine any time either of the boys came to check on you.

This morning, however, you'd woken up with a goal. You showered, got dressed, and made your way to the kitchen. As you were fixing yourself some breakfast, you heard someone enter the room.

"You're up early," Sam said warmly.

You turned to glance at him with a soft smile. "I wanted to get a head start on the day."

Sam raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. "You're feeling better, I take it."

You nodded. "Yeah, that headache was brutal." You felt bad for lying, but it was easier to fein a migraine than it was to admit what you'd overheard and the dark thoughts you'd been plagued with.

"Well, I'm gonna go for a run," Sam said cheerfully. "Any chance I could entice you to come with me?"

You laughed and rolled your eyes. "Not unless someone's chasing me."

He chuckled and ducked out of the kitchen, taking a bottle of water with him. Sam always asked if you wanted to join him on his morning runs, but he knew you were unlikely to ever agree. You hated running almost as much as Dean did.

You ate your breakfast quietly, contemplating your plans for the day. You had decided to start a new routine today, a routine you intended to continue until you felt better about yourself or until you could get Dean's words out of your head, whichever came first.

After breakfast, you went into the library to do some reading, intending to allow your stomach time to digest your food. You weren't sure exactly how much time had passed, but Sam had returned from his run, showered, and was now eating his breakfast at the table while scrolling through the latest news stories on his computer.

Dean, unsurprisingly, was still not awake, despite the fact that it was 10am.

You closed your book and stood up. "I'll be down in the gym if you need me," you said to Sam as you crossed the room towards the door.

"You'll--what?"

You gestured towards the hall behind you. "I'll be in the gym."

He looked perplexed, but didn't comment on your sudden desire to workout. He could tell something was a little off with you, but he had the feeling you wouldn't want to talk about it, so he decided to let it go. After all, it's not like going to the gym was something he needed to worry about--it wouldn't kill you (unlike some of your previous bad choices).

When you reached the gym, you looked around and sighed. You'd always hated working out. It was a reminder how out of shape you were and how imperfect your body was. Sure, hunting kept you relatively healthy--you had surprising stamina and endurance, but the weight just never seemed to fall off. You'd begun to feel like your fat was holding some kind of grudge against you, intent on making your life miserable for some perceived slight.

You sighed again and walked over to the treadmill in the corner. You stared at it for a few minutes, deciding whether you really wanted to use it. You'd always hated the treadmill, but you needed to start somewhere, so you hopped on and started to walk at a brisk pace.

Thirty minutes later, you switched to the stationary bike, wanting a change from the monotony of walking. Twenty minutes after that, you were bored out of your mind. You decided to try something else. Maybe lifting weights would do the trick.

About two reps in, your headphones died and you groaned in annoyance. You tugged them out of your ears and tossed them to the floor, opting instead to blast your music loudly through the bluetooth speaker Sam kept down there.

Alanis Morissette's voice now carried down the hall, but you couldn't be bothered to care. She was your go-to when you were feeling angry or upset, her music always making you feel better, especially when you scream-sang along.

After a few more reps, you decided to work on your boxing skills. Sam had taught you years ago, mostly as a way to teach you some fighting skills. You wrapped your hands to protect your knuckles, settled into your stance, and began hitting the punching bag. The release of frustration you felt was almost immediate and you realized you should have just done this from the start.

Upstairs, Dean was just returning from running an errand. He'd woken up and been distressed to find they were out of bacon and beer--his two main food groups. He'd gone to the grocery store to restock and was now happily cooking an excessive amount of bacon for his breakfast.

"You know you should eat something besides bacon, right?" Sam teased him.

"Nothing is better than bacon, Sammy. Nothing." Dean scooped the rest of the bacon onto his plate with a look of glee.

"Heart attack on a plate," Sam muttered.

"Oh shut it," Dean grumbled as he bit into his first piece. He moaned obnoxiously, causing his brother to roll his eyes dramatically. "Where's (Y/N)?" He asked, words garbled by the bacon he was still chewing.

"What?"

Dean swallowed. "Where's (Y/N)? I stopped by her room before I went out and she was gone."

"She's in the gym."

"I'm sorry, she's what?"

Sam shrugged. "She's in the gym. She went down after breakfast."

"Why?"

"I assume to work out," Sam said lightly.

Dean groaned. "Obviously, smartass, but why was she gonna work out?"

"I don't know, dude. Why don't you ask her?"

Dean looked down at his plate. "I will once I finish my bacon."

Sam rolled his eyes, but didn't comment further.

Once Dean had finished his breakfast, he made his way down to the gym, a feeling of dread settling into his stomach. He couldn't really put a finger on why, only that he didn't like the feeling.

As he neared the gym, he heard 'You Oughta Know' blasting down the hallway. He didn't hear your voice over the lyrics until he actually entered the room. He would have smiled at the sight if he wasn't so worried about you.

Your back was to him as you continued to pummel the absolute shit out of the punching bag. Dean had to admire both your form and the power you exuded. But as he watched you, that feeling of dread began to creep higher into his chest, wrapping itself around his heart.

He called out your name, but you couldn't hear him over the music. He spotted the speaker and walked over to turn it off, plunging the room into a shocking silence.

You spun around, surprised to see Dean standing beside the speaker. "I, uhh, I called your name," he muttered sheepishly.

"Oh, sorry. I was kinda in the zone."

He nodded. "Yeah, I noticed. So, uh, whatcha doin'?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Working out...as one does in a gym."

He winced, feeling like an idiot. "I know that, but what I don't know is why."

"Why what?"

"Why are you suddenly working out in the gym for two straight hours? You hate the gym."

You stared at him with an unreadable expression. Your eyes were dark and your jaw was set as you regarded him. "You can't think of any reason?"

Dean thought about it for a moment. "No...hence why I'm asking."

You gestured to your body. "Because I'm not strong enough or fast enough or physically fit enough to hunt...sound familiar?"

Dean winced, eyes widening with realization. "(Y/N), I--"

You held up your hand. "No need to apologize, Dean. I realized you were right. I am weaker than you and Sam, I am slower and heavier and fatter--I am completely less physically capable than either of you. So obviously, I need to do something about that. Hence the gym."

Dean stared at her, anger darkening his features. "None of that is true."

"Of course it is, Dean. You said it yourself. I'm just agreeing with you."

"Of course you're not the same as us, (Y/N), but that has nothing to do with your body or your weight or your ability. We're men, and large ones at that. We're physically built different than you, but that doesn't mean you need to change anything about yourself to be more like us."

"Well clearly I do, or you wouldn't have found my body so unacceptable--you wouldn't have told Sam I'm not capable of hunting on my own."

Whatever thread was keeping Dean from yelling finally snapped. "Your body isn't unacceptable! You aren't weak! There is nothing wrong with you--nothing!"

You were stunned into silence by the intensity of his words. You didn't know how to react or what to say.

Dean sighed deeply, feeling the anger drain out of him at last. "You didn't hear the rest of our conversation, did you?" His voice was barely a whisper, but you could hear the raw emotion in it.

You shook your head.

"You should have stayed...you may have learned something."

"What would I have learned?" you asked quietly.

"You would have realized that your interpretation of my words wasn't at all how I meant them. You would have heard me tell Sam how terrified I am of losing you, how that fear makes me want to keep you out of this life--away from hunting entirely. You would have seen that I love you just the way you are--that I don't want you to change a single thing about yourself. You would know that I am the problem, not you...it was never you."

"Dean..." you whispered, unsure of what to say. "You...you don't need to try and make me feel better."

He stared at you, green eyes full of fire. "I'm not trying to make you feel better. I'm trying to be honest about my feelings--to make you see you the way I see you."

"Why now?"

He was taken aback by your question, and it took him several moments to respond. "You know how I feel about romantic attachments...I worry about losing the person I love most, simply because they were unlucky enough to be loved by me. The fear of losing another person I love or have them be used against me is a pain I'm not sure I can bear. But you--you deserve better than my fears. You are the light to my darkness, my reason for living. I can't stand the thought of you believing I think less of you, not when I would burn the world down to keep you safe."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" you whispered, a glimmer of hope sparkling in your voice.

Dean took a step towards you. "If you think I'm telling you that I've been in love with you for years, that I love every single part of you inside and out, that I don't want you to change a single thing, that I think you're perfect...then yes."

You exhaled sharply, breathing ragged as you stared into his soulful green eyes.

He crossed the short distance between you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his body, not caring about the sweat staining your body.

He practically crushed you against him, holding on more tightly than you'd ever imagined he would. After several moments, he loosened his grip on you so he could gaze down into your eyes. A small, lopsided smile graced his lips and his eyes fluttered shut. As his lips grazed against yours, you sighed softly, causing him to immediately deepen the kiss.

His hands dug into your soft flesh, seemingly reveling in the feeling of your body in his arms. His kiss was everything you'd imagined it would be and so much more--you felt safe, loved, and cherished. You didn't know you could have those feelings from a single kiss, but here you were, drowning in emotion, his love the life raft saving you from darkness.

When you finally parted, Dean rested his forehead against yours. "Do you believe me, (Y/N)? Can you see how much I love you? How badly I need you?"

"Yes," you breathed. "I believe you."

He sighed happily, breath mingling with yours. "Will you let me show you?"

You pulled away from him slightly so you could see his face better.

His eyes were dark with hunger, his gaze almost predatory. If you didn't know him, you would be frightened.

"Let me show you, sweetheart," he begged softly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "Let me show you how much I love your body--how badly I've wanted to touch it, mark it, make it mine. Let me touch every curve, kiss every scar--bite and lick and suck every pleasure point until you're a moaning mess in my arms. Let me make love to you the way you deserve."

No man had ever spoken to you like that, and you felt your toes curl at his words. If he could spark your body alive with nothing but words, you wondered what he was capable of doing with his body.

Your breathing was labored and your voice husky as you murmured, "How could I ever say no?"

Dean smirked and he tugged you to him again, lips crashing against yours. You felt his hands all over your body, clutching any part of you he could reach. His mouth left yours, lips trailing down your neck, nipping and sucking gently against the sensitive skin. He licked the column of your throat and groaned softly, muttering "salty" in a devilishly sexy voice.

You pulled away, suddenly remembering what you'd been doing when Dean interrupted you. "Wait--I-I need to shower first."

Dean groaned in annoyance. "No you don't."

You started to peel him off you with a light chuckle. "Yes, I do. I feel gross."

He pouted adorably. "For the record, I would make love to you on the sparing mat, right here, right now."

You laughed. "As hot as that might be, I really want to shower...I'll even let you join me." You shot him a wink and ran toward the door.

He realized what you'd said and turned to run after you, chasing you all the way to the showers. You giggled when he caught you, tugging you to him to kiss at your exposed neck and shoulders.

"Shower!" you squealed.

He groaned. "Fine, fine."

He practically dragged you into the bathroom, turning away from you to turn on the water before tugging you into the shower with him.

"Dean, our clothes--"

"They'll dry," he grumbled, fingers tugging on your shirt to lift it over your head.

You allowed him to remove it, neither of you paying attention to where it landed as he tossed it out of the shower. He did the same with his own shirt and jeans, followed by your leggings.

He spun you around, so your back was pressed against the cold tile, water spraying across your chest. He unzipped your sports bra and you allowed it to fall to the ground, revealing your heavy breasts to his wanton eyes.

"Fuuuuck," he groaned, lips attaching to your pert nipple.

You ran your hands through his hair as he continued his gentle assault on your breasts. His lips didn't leave your chest, even as his hands trailed down to slowly peel off your underwear.

He slipped two fingers between your folds, collecting your slick and pressing firmly against your clit. You moaned softly at the sensation, head falling back against the tile.

He removed his fingers, slipping them between his lips and sucking them dry. "I need more," he murmured hungrily.

He dropped to his knees and grabbed your right leg, slinging it over his shoulder before you could utter a word. You started to complain that you needed to wash the sweat off first, but he ignored you, tongue sweeping between your folds without a care.

Any protests you may have had were lost as he worked his magic on your pussy. Your fingers twisted into his short hair, head back, mouth open, drowning in the pleasure he was giving you. You were thankful for the tile you leaned against and his strong arms holding you in place as he feasted on you.

Your legs began to shake and you cried out his name seconds before your orgasm hit you, sending you spiraling into bliss. Dean didn't want to stop, but your hands weakly tugged on his hair and your legs began to buckle, so he pulled himself up to keep you from falling.

"Delicious," he whispered against your mouth as he pressed another kiss to your lips.

You wrapped your arms around his neck to hold him closer to you and he shifted to press his body tightly against yours. You gasped as his still clothed member brushed against your thigh and your hands instantly slid down his body to rid him of the annoying fabric.

"Wanna touch you," you begged softly.

He groaned, but pulled away from your reach.

"Dean," you whined.

"Shh, let me wash you first," he insisted.

"But--"

He cut you off with a kiss. "Let me worship you before you touch me--I wanna make this about you."

Your expression softened and you leaned into him. "I love you, Dean."

Your voice was a low whisper, but he heard it all the same. You hadn't said the words earlier, a fact he had been trying to ignore. Hearing you say them now nearly had him throwing all his plans for the next week out the window--wanting to do nothing more than worship you from dusk to dawn for the foreseeable future.

"Dean?" you whispered warily, concern filling your eyes.

He used all his self-control to push his own needs and wants aside. "I heard you, baby," he assured you. "I heard you."

His kiss was gentler this time, sweeter even, and it warmed your body from the inside out. He broke away, panting, a whispered "I love you" pressed into your skin as he made his way down your body and back up again.

After what felt like an eternity, he grabbed the shower gel and loofa and slowly began to lather you up, washing your body in a surprisingly sensual way. When he finally decided you were clean, he helped you under the spray and made sure all the suds were rinsed off.

"Can I touch you now?" you begged.

He smiled warmly. "I suppose I can allow it." He forced his voice to be steady and calm, despite the desire screaming inside of him--begging him to take you well and properly.

You sunk to your knees, gaze lifting to meet his. You gave him a shy smile before taking his cock in your soft hands. He was larger than average, but you weren't afraid of the pain. Instead, you focused on giving him the same intense pleasure he had given you.

When you wrapped your lips around his cock, his head fell back and a groan escaped his parted lips. His fingers danced across your scalp, gathering your hair to one side so he could see you properly.

"Shit, sweetheart," he mumbled. "You're taking me so well."

You moaned around him, pleased with the praise he offered you. You continued to work him, using your tongue to caress and tease him in ways he'd never experienced before.

He wasn't at all surprised by your skill, but he was surprised by how damn good it felt. Sure, it had been a while for him, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a blow job that made his knees weak--if ever.

"Shit, baby," he whispered. "I'm so close--gonna cum for you."

His fingers raked through your wet hair and he used his other hand to lean against the tiles behind you. His hips jutted forward slightly as you relaxed your throat, taking him as far back as you could.

You flattened your tongue against his cock and flexed it, repeating the motion a few times before Dean's grip on your hair became painful and he exploded into your throat with a cry of your name.

You swallowed everything he had to give you, not releasing him from your lips until he pulled away, forcing the two of you to separate.

Dean leaned back against the shower wall and pulled you towards him, trying to support his weak legs while also helping you up. Once you were on your feet, he tugged you into him and placed a feverish kiss to your lips.

He panted heavily when he finally released you from his tight grip, allowing you to suck in some much needed air.

"Where did you learn how to do that thing with your tongue?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

You smirked. "It's a natural talent."

He grinned. "Well I fucking love it."

You laughed and leaned back into him, capturing his lips in a sweeter kiss. "So what are your thoughts on continuing this elsewhere?"

"Well my plan was to make you moan my name for the next several hours...I don't care where we go, as long as you're willing to let me ruin you."

Your thighs clenched together involuntarily and you moaned softly, biting into your bottom lip to keep the sound from being too loud. "My room?"

"My room is closer," he murmured into your shoulder.

You smiled and backed away from him, causing him to pout. You turned the water off and continued to back out of the shower. You grabbed a towel and wrapped it around yourself, which only served to upset Dean.

"What do you think you're doing?" he growled.

Your eyes widened. "Putting on a towel so we can go to your room..."

"Did I say you could hide your body from me?" His tone was shockingly dominant and a spark of need went straight to your core.

"No," you whispered.

"I didn't think so." He stepped forward, dominance oozing from every pore in his body. "Drop the towel. Now."

You gasped softly, but heeded his command. The towel fell to the floor and he took yet another predatory step in your direction.

"Don't you ever hide yourself from me again. I wanna see every inch of your body." His hands grabbed at your hips roughly, tugging you towards him forcefully. "You're mine, do you understand me? Mine."

While the idea of someone owning you would normally piss you off, in this context it was a shocking turn-on. You swallowed thickly as you stared up into his heated gaze, suddenly unable to move, or even breathe.

He leaned down to kiss along your jaw towards your ear. He breathed slowly against your skin, causing you to shiver and clutch his arms for support. "Is this okay?" he whispered, voice still gruff, but much more loving.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to form actual words.

"Baby, I need you to tell me with your words. I need you to say whether this is okay or not. I don't wanna do something you're not into."

You turned your head a little so you could see his bright green eyes. The look in his eyes was reflected in your own and there was no doubt or fear in your voice when you answered him. "I'm very into it."

Your reassurance was all he needed to fall back into the dominant role. "Then you'd better get your ass into my bed before we have a problem."

You turned to open the door, yelping slightly when his hand smacked your ass. You shot him a surprised look and he looked slightly sheepish.

"Sorry, baby...I couldn't resist. You've got a great ass."

You smirked at the compliment and gave him a little wiggle before rushing into the hallway and making a beeline for his bedroom door.

He was surprised by your teasing action, but it only made him smile. He chased after you, mumbling, "Oh you're in for it now, princess."

You giggled as you landed on his bed, crawling up towards the headboard as he came through the doorway. He shut the door behind him and stalked to the edge of the bed, fiery gaze locked on you.

"It's unfair how sexy you look right now," he growled. "Makes me wanna fuck you senseless--make you scream my name until your voice is hoarse."

You gulped, trying to hide behind false bravado. "Are you going to do that from the other side of the room?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Don't be a brat."

"Why don't you come here and do something about it."

Dean practically jumped onto the bed, climbing on top of you and caging you beneath him in seconds. His cock was hard again, pressing against your thigh--a reminder of how badly he wanted you.

"Not so mouthy now are you?"

"Dean, I--"

"Hush," he murmured as he leaned down to kiss you. He shifted just enough so his cock brushed against your core, and you gasped into his mouth.

"How badly do you want me right now, (Y/N)?" he asked, voice rough with need.

"I've never wanted you more," you answered honestly.

He groaned lowly. "How do you want it? You want me to fuck you into this mattress or take it nice and slow?"

"Fuck me into the mattress," you begged softly. "Please."

"Jesus--I love when you beg for me," he growled.

"Fuck me, Dean," you pleaded. You weren't above begging, especially when it came to him.

Dean gripped his cock in his right hand and lined himself up with your entrance. He started to push in, trying to move slowly to avoid hurting you as much. "You're so fucking tight, baby," he whispered against your lips.

You gripped his biceps harshly, nails digging into his skin. The stretch was unbelievable, both painful and pleasurable all at once.

"You okay?" he whispered softly.

You nodded.

"Babe," he said in a warning tone.

"I'm okay--keep going."

He continued to push into you and your back arched as his cock brushed against your cervix. You whimpered at the feeling of fullness, and Dean struggled to remain motionless until you told him it was okay to move.

"I need you to move, Dean--please."

He pulled himself up slightly and started a very gentle pace, still allowing you time to adjust. The last thing he wanted was to make this painful or uncomfortable for you. He didn't give a damn about his enjoyment--all he wanted was to watch you fall apart over and over again.

"Your pussy feels incredible, baby," he groaned. "I could stay here forever."

He began to move more quickly and your breathing became more erratic as you reveled in the pleasure of the moment. Your moans were like music to his ears, spurring him on as he slid into you again.

"I love the sounds you're making, sweetheart. I wanna hear you."

He picked up his pace and shifted you into a new position so he could get even deeper inside you. You cried out as he hit your g-spot, pussy clamping down on his cock in response.

"Shit--" he groaned. "You're squeezing me so tight--taking my cock so fucking well, gorgeous."

Your back arched again and your head was tossed back, pressing into the pillows at the head of the bed. Your hands twisted in the sheets, unable to reach his arms or his back as he slammed into you repeatedly.

He knew you were close, but he wasn't ready to feel you cum yet. "Look at me, baby."

He waited until your hazy eyes met his.

"Don't cum until I tell you to, understand?"

Your eyes widened. "But, Dean--"

"Not until I give you permission," he said firmly.

You nodded rapidly, not wanting to risk your orgasm altogether.

"Good girl."

You moaned loudly and your pussy clenched tightly around his cock, causing him to echo the sound.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned. "You like it when I praise you, huh? You wanna hear about how much I love this pussy? How I've been thinking about fucking you for years? How I've craved your body?"

You were practically breathless beneath him, unable to formulate a response or even acknowledge his words.

"Your pussy is fucking perfect," he continued. "Made for me. And this body? Gorgeous and soft and fucking delicious. Can't believe I get to touch you like this--make you feel so good."

"Dean, please," you begged breathlessly.

"Not yet, sweetheart."

You whimpered, but continued to focus on staving off your impending orgasm.

"Who owns this pussy, baby?"

You didn't answer--too focused on not cumming until he gave you permission.

His grip on your legs tightened, bringing your attention back to him. "That's it, pretty girl, look at me. Tell me who owns this pussy."

"You," you gasped out.

"That's right. This pussy is mine. I'm the only one who gets to touch you like this--make you moan and whimper and scream. No one else."

"Only you," you cried.

"Fuck--" His breathing had become ragged and he had begun to struggle to keep himself from orgasming.

"Please," you whimpered.

"Please what, baby?"

"Let me cum!" you begged.

Dean decided to take pity on you. "Cum for me, baby."

"Dean!" you screamed as your orgasm ripped through you. The pleasure so white hot and blinding you nearly blacked out.

Dean helped you ride out the waves of pleasure before lowering himself back down to hover over you. He placed soft kisses to your heated skin and whispered, "You're so damn beautiful when you cum."

You were gulping down mouthfuls of air, but you heard his whispered words. "I love you," you murmured.

He groaned softly. "Love you more."

He picked his pace back up, intent on giving you another orgasm before allowing himself to cum.

It didn't take long for him to work you back up, letting you hang on the precipice of blissful pleasure once more.

"You feel so good beneath me, baby. I love watching your pretty face as you fall apart. I just can't get enough of you," he admitted.

Your nails dug into his back, indicating you also couldn't get enough of him. "Dean, I need more," you pleaded.

"Touch yourself for me, baby. I want you to cum before I fill you up."

You lowered your hand down and slipped it between your bodies. You found your clit with ease and began to gently toy with it, sending pulses of toe curling pleasure up your spine.

"Fuck, yes. That's it baby. God, this pussy is addicting...don't ever wanna stop."

"So close," you whimpered.

"Yeah, sweetheart? You wanna cum?"

"Please, Dean."

"How badly?"

"Dean," you whined.

"Be a good girl and tell me how badly you wanna cum for me and maybe I'll let you."

"Please-please-please," you begged. "I wanna cum so bad. I need to cum, Dean, please!"

As much as he loved prolonging your orgasm, he couldn't bear saying no to you. "Cum for me, sweetness," he whispered into your ear.

Your body began to shake as the dam broke once again. You cried out as the pleasure invaded all of your senses, overwhelming you completely.

Dean began to chase his own high, desperately needing to fill you up with his seed. "You're the only woman who makes me lose control," he whispered into your skin.

You were surprised by his words, but they warmed your heart. Dean wasn't the kind of man to lose control often, so the fact that you made him do so was a massive ego boost.

"I wanna feel you fill me up, Dean," you murmured. "Need your cum inside me."

"Fuck," he growled, teeth grazing your pulse point.

His hips began to stutter as he reached his peak. Your nails scraped along his back, giving him the last push he needed to fall over the edge. He came with a guttural growl of your name, ropes of hot cum filling your pussy.

His arms started to feel weak as his orgasm came to an end, and he collapsed on top of you, crushing you beneath his larger frame. You couldn't have been bothered to care if he'd literally smothered you--you were too fucked out to form coherent thoughts.

After a while, Dean managed to pull himself off of you, only to collapse on the bed beside you. He reached for you, strong arms wrapping around your waist to tug you into his chest.

"You're so damn incredible, (Y/N/N)," he whispered into your shoulder, lips pressing soft kisses there. "I don't think I've ever cum that hard--and you managed to do it twice."

"I can't feel my legs and my head is fuzzy," you mumbled. "So I second all of that."

Dean chuckled softly and held you even tighter. "I love you," he murmured. "More than you'll ever know."

"I think I have some idea," you whispered back. "And I love you just as much."

Dean smiled, feeling truly happy for the first time in as long as he could remember. He knew he should get up, help you clean up and all that, but he couldn't get himself to move and you weren't complaining. In fact, your breathing had evened out and he had a feeling you'd be asleep soon.

He kissed your shoulder one more time before resting his head comfortably on the pillow, feeling more relaxed than he had in a while. Just as sleep threatened to claim him, he heard his brother's voice from the other side of the closed door.

"While I'm super happy for you both, I have one request. Next time the two of you decide to fuck each other's brains out, could you at least have the decency to wait until I'm gone? I can't un-hear any of that!"

You laughed lightly and you could feel Dean's laughter rumbling in his chest from behind you.

"We'll do our best," Dean called back. "But no promises! She's simply too hot to resist--you never know when I'll get the urge to ravish her."

You laughed even harder, but you reached behind you to lovingly smack his hip.

"Ohh gross, dude!" Sam grumbled before walking away, leaving the two of you alone again.

"You're so bad, Dean Winchester."

"I didn't hear you complaining when I was making your legs shake ten minutes ago."

You tossed him a grin over your shoulder. "I didn't say it was a bad thing."

He matched your grin. "Touché, my love. Touché."

[weirdfangirly]

—No Pure Blood—PART TWO

Part 1 / Part 2

Dark Fiction ©️entral

Dark!Dad!Joel / Dark!Uncle!Tommy x Reader

Chapter Summery: uncle Tommy brings you home 15 minutes too late. (Read part one before reading this chapter.)

⚠️ : Age-Gap (Joel 53, Tommy 45, Reader not a Minor), mention of Rape, rape, Dub-con, blackmailing, Dark!Joel, father/daughter relationship dynamics (everyone knows Reader to be Joel’s “adoptive daughter”), Reader calls Joel dad, confused Reader (Stockholm-Syndrom), father-figure Joel but messed up, manhandling, Daddy-issues, overprotective/obsessive Joel, manipulation, degradation-kink, throat-fuck/face-fuck, blow-jobs, rim-job, pussy torture, cum-eating, misogynistic-views/behaviour, name-calling, Uncle!Tommy (yes, it’s a warning from now on)

A/n: I finally managed to write part 2 lol 🫠 it’s a lot of new lore which I love tbh. It’s pretty nasty and wild and omg tell me if I fucked it up. Pls like, share and comment!!!! It means a LOT to me and keeps me motivated.

It was a cold winter evening, snow was falling quietly.

Joel had lit the fireplace and was busy keeping it burning. He had chopped the firewood himself. Occasionally, he glanced at the wall clock. It was just before nine…

He gave you another five minutes; if you weren't home by then, he and his gun would come looking for you.

For Joel, there was absolutely no reason for you to meet with friends to such late hours and waste yourself at parties. Your place was right here, with him.

He glanced at the wall clock again. Now it was already fifteen minutes past nine, and you were still not home. He stood up and grabbed his gun. If he had to be honest with himself he was glad that you disregarded his agreement— because now he had a good reason to revoke your privilege of ever going out again.

Joel yanked the front door open, ready to storm the party and drag you home. But just as he was about to step outside, there you stood, wide-eyed and trembling.

His expression hardened. Joel was a big, strong man, and despite his age, he was not to be underestimated. You had seen what he was capable of, had felt it firsthand.

His steely gaze shifted to Tommy, standing a few feet away. Tommy gave him a nod. Joel’s eyes returned to you, his adoptive daughter, tears welling up in your eyes.

“You're late," Joel said, his voice cold, uncertain how to read the situation. He could tell something had happened, but he didn't know what.

"I'm sorry, Dad," you whispered, your voice breaking.

"That's probably my fault," Tommy interjected. "I was having a smoke and held her up on her way home. She told me what happened at the party..."

Joel's ears perked up at Tommy's words. "And what happened?" Joel asked, his gaze shifting to you.

You looked down, too scared to lie to Joel any longer.

You hadn't been at any party. You had met up with Dean Winchester and were caught by your uncle, who coerced you into sex with him.

But Joel could never know that.

"Calm down, brother. It was just a little fight between girls. They're teenagers, you know how they are," Tommy said smoothly.

Joel's skeptical gaze shifted from Tommy to you. He trusted Tommy. Joel's body language relaxed a bit, and he only now realized how tightly he had been gripping his gun, ready to fire at any moment.

"I told you that Anna is a bitch," Joel said to you and stepped away from the doorframe so that you could step in.

You rushed inside.

“Where are your manners?” Joel said and stopped you in your tracks.

You glanced at Joel, then at Tommy, sensing the weight of Joel’s expectations pressing down on you. Joel had drilled it into you: girls must have good manners, always be polite and respectful. For Joel, respect was very important, especially from women.

Joel’s cold eyes bore into you, expecting nothing less than complete submission.

“Good night, uncle Tommy.”, you whispered. “Thanks for bringing me home.”

"You're welcome, sweetheart," Tommy replied politely.

Tommy watched with a mixture of fascination and pity. To him, it was a cruel spectacle, watching you submit so completely. Joel had molded you into his perfect vision of a compliant, obedient girl, and it was both disturbing and impressive.

Well, Tommy knew you weren’t that obedient…after all you still had the guts to lie to Joel and kiss other boys behind his back.

Joel nodded, satisfied for the moment. "Good. Now go to your room. We’ll discuss your punishment later."

You rushed inside but stopped at the stairs, hidden behind the corner, so to be able to hear their conversation.

Joel set his gun aside. "Thanks for looking out for her, Tommy."

"She's family," Tommy said with a smile, though Joel didn't suspect the secret hidden behind that smile.

"Just do me a favor, brother," Tommy began. "Don't be too hard on the girl. If I hadn't held her up, she would've made it home on time."

Joel nodded, his expression stern. "You know how they are. Without consequences, they never learn from their mistakes."

Tommy's smile remained, but there was a glint in his eye that Joel missed. "True, but she's just a kid. Give her a chance to prove herself."

Joel grunted, dismissing the plea with a wave of his hand. "Girls need discipline. Without it, they get ideas. And ideas lead to trouble."

Even before the apocalypse, Joel had been an old-fashioned man. He firmly believed that "women are meant to be seen, not heard." The chaos of the apocalypse had only cemented his convictions, hardening his already rigid views.

„Night, Brother.“

„Good night, Tommy.“

As you stood there, listening to their exchange, you couldn't help but feel a pang of dread. You rushed up the stairs.

———

You were frantically wiping the lipstick off your trembling lips. Joel could never find out what had really happened that night. Never.

You heard the heavy thud of his boots walk up the stairs. You quickly started stripping off your clothes, knowing that this was what Joel would’ve expected from you. Jacket first, then your top, and finally your skirt. Now, completely naked, you sprawled across the bed, your upper body pressed against the sheets, legs dangling off the edge, and your bare backside exposed. Your heart pounded with adrenaline, each beat echoing in your ears. Desperation mixed with fear as you clasped your hands together, beginning to pray to god for mercy just as your biological father had taught you.

You remembered Joel’s cruel words the first time he’d caught you pray: “I am your god now.”

The door creaked open, and the first thing Joel saw was your exposed ass. The room seemed to hold its breath as he stepped in. The air was thick with the scent of your sweat and fear.

You could feel his gaze burning into your skin.

Your mind raced, searching for a way to make him go easy on you.

“I’m sorry for being late, dad.”, you pressed out. “It will never happen again.”

"Oh, I know," Joel finally said, his voice low, it made your skin crawl. "Ya will not leave ma house after sunset. Ya can't handle yourself out there."

"What? No! That's totally unfair!" you wanted to shout, but a sense of self-preservation clamped your lips shut. You knew arguing with Joel was pointless. Once he made up his mind, there was no changing it.

Silence hung heavily between you.

Joel's footsteps were deliberate as he crossed the room. You could feel his dominating presence behind you. His shadow swallowing the dim light of the room. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against your ass with a possessive familiarity that sent a shiver down your spine. It was sick how much he enjoyed this. And no matter what he did to you he could tell you were not completely broken yet, there was still fire behind those scared eyes.

"Ya know I still need to punish ya?”, Joel said knowing damn well that he didn’t need to—but he wanted to punish you.

"Lie on your back on the bed," he commanded, and you complied without a word of protest.

Your heart raced as you lay flat on the bed, eyes widening when you saw the straps in Joel's hand. They could only mean one thing: he intended to bind you to the bed…

Your breath hitched as he took your wrists, securing them to the bedframe with practiced ease. Memories of the past flooded back—times when you had fought him fiercely, screaming and thrashing, trying to push him away. But you hadn't done that in a long time. Confusion grew inside you.

"I won't fight you," you pleaded softly, hoping to avoid the restraints. "You don't need to tie me up, dad."

Joel's eyes met yours, a flicker of something—doubt, maybe?—crossing his gaze. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual stoic determination. He finished his task methodically, only stepping back once he was satisfied with his work.

The thing he had planned to do to you was something he’d never done before. He had only seen a raider do it to a female prisoner once…

Your wrists ached slightly from the tightness of the straps.

"Do’ya know why I'm going to punish ya?" Joel's words were dripping with the promise of pain.

You nodded, tears welling up from your eyes. "You will punish me for coming home late. I'm sorry, Dad."

"Ya need to understand your place," he growled, his eyes boring into yours. "Since we got to Jackson, you've been acting up. Thinkin ya free to do whatever. Thinkin ya don't need me no more."

"No, I need you, Dad. I need you. I love you, Daddy," you sniffled. The last thing you wanted was for Joel to think so bad of you.

Joel's expression softened for a brief moment, but then his eyes hardened again. "Let me tell ya somethin," he said, his voice carrying the weight of bitter experience. "I've seen safe zones and camps fall that were much bigger than Jackson. This place is a goddamn joke. The people here are soft. Once this place burns to the ground, who do ya think will take care of ya ass?"

"You will, Dad."

"Damn right," he muttered, his voice a mix of anger and possessiveness. He leaned in closer, his face inches from yours. "You think these people can protect ya? They can't. They're weak. I'm the only one who can keep you safe."

His words cut deep. You felt a fresh wave of tears spill over, your body trembling with the weight of his expectations and the fear of his anger. If coming home late made Joel this angry, what would he do if he ever found out what you really did tonight?

"I'm sorry, Daddy," you whispered again, hoping to appease him. "I won't disobey you ever again.”

Joel's big rough hand cupped your chin, lifting your face so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. "Ya better not," he said, his voice softening just a fraction. "You're my responsibility. And I won't let anything happen to ya. But ya have to follow my rules. Understand?"

You nodded, the fear and love you felt for him mingling into a confusing mess of emotions. You needed to hate him but loving him was much easier.

Joel released your chin and stepped back.

"Good," he said finally. "Now, remember this. Without me, you're nothing. Don't ever forget that."

“Without you I’m nothing.”, you repeated.

Joel rummaged through his pocket and pulled out a small jar. In his large hands, the tiny container looked almost comical. Inside was a homemade, gray paste.

"What is that?" you asked, your voice trembling.

"Your punishment, Joel murmured, unscrewing the lid. He sniffed the contents, the sharp and bitter scent filling the room.

You had no idea what it was, but dread coiled in your stomach.

"Show me your cunt“ he ordered.

Skepticism flickered in your eyes, but you knew better than to disobey. Slowly, you parted your legs, exposing yourself to whatever he had planned.

You’d the most perfect little cunt he’d ever seen. Even after everything he’d put it through, it was still artwork. For a moment he thought about fucking your cunt first before punishing you—a thought he quickly dismissed. He was already tired and needed to wake up early in the morning for patrol.

He dipped his fingers into the paste, and a chill ran down your spine as he approached your exposed vagina. The substance glistened ominously in the dim light.

He knelt between your legs, the air thick with tension. He loved the smell of your cunt. "This is to remind ya of your place," he said, his voice a low growl.

The first touch of the paste on your skin burned, and you bit back a scream, tears springing to your eyes.

But the pain spread like a wildfire, a relentless fire that seemed to pierce through your very being.

„OUCH!! Ah!! No stop!“, You writhed against the restraints.

"Stay still, he commanded, his voice cold and devoid of mercy. "You brought this on yourself."

„P-please, ahhhh!!! Make it stop, dad, please!“, you screamed your lungs out. It was unlike anything you’ve ever felt in your life.

"Let this be a lesson," he said finally, standing up and wiping his hands. "Next time, think twice before breaking any of my rules."

Joel stepped back to admire his handiwork.

You lay there, naked and bound to the bed, your cunt completely smeared with the thick, gray paste. You were sobbing and screaming in agony, the sound of your desperate cries echoing off the walls.

For a brief moment, Joel worried someone might hear your tortured pleas, but the nearest house was Tommy's.

You thrashed against the restraints, tears streaming down your face as you begged for mercy. "Please, Dad, please help me! It hurts so much!"

"The pain will fade soon," Joel said, his voice unnervingly calm. He watched you struggle. The sight of you in such distress brought a flicker of doubt to his mind, but he quickly pushed it aside. This was for your own good, he told himself. You needed to learn. He was also hard as a fucking brick but he knew better than to bring his cock anywhere near the paste.

Tomorrow, he told himself.

„Good night.“, he said and left you there, bound and suffering. He closed the door behind him.

„Noo, daddy please don’t leave me daddy!“, you screamed but the door had already fallen shut.

Now you lay there in excruciating pain, and all you could think about was how much you hated Tommy. This was all his fault. If Tommy hadn't caught you fooling around with Dean, you wouldn't have come home late, and Joel wouldn't have punished you. The anger towards Tommy burned almost as intensely as the paste on your cunt.

Each breath was a struggle, each movement a reminder of your helplessness.

Eventually, exhaustion began to overtake the pain. Your body, pushed to its limits, sought refuge in sleep. Your eyelids grew heavy, the room around you blurring into darkness. Your mind started to drift, the need for rest overpowering the torment.

In your final moments of consciousness, a single tear slipped down your cheek. As sleep claimed you, you felt sad, hurt, and furious at your uncle for betraying you like this. You had always thought Tommy was a kind man, but now you knew the truth.

———

The next day, you jolted awake, the horrors of the previous night still fresh in your mind.

Despite the hours of sleep, exhaustion clung to your bones. You noticed your hands were no longer bound to the bed, and the grey paste had been cleaned off your swollen, raw skin.

Joel must have come into your room early in the morning and taken care of it.

Your intimate area was still red, swollen, and throbbing with pain, but you knew you had to push through it.

Joel didn’t just expect from you to be his little sex puppy. There was also a list of chores you had to do while he was at work, patrolling or working on construction aides around Jacksonville. A few of your chores were: laundry, dusting, and preparing dinner.

After his shift, he would be tired and hungry, and he demanded a hot meal ready.

You were peeling potatoes in the kitchen when a sudden knock at the door startled you. A glance at the clock told you it was too early for Joel to be home.

Wiping your hands on your t-shirt, you hobbled to the door, each step sending waves of pain through your body. You had tried icing your cunt with snow all morning, but nothing seemed to help.

Unaware of what awaited, you opened the door, and your blood ran cold as you saw who stood on the other side.

Uncle Tommy.

Fear and anger surged through you, and you instinctively tried to slam the door shut. But Tommy was faster, jamming his foot in the doorframe to stop it from closing.

He laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. "Now, is that any way to greet your uncle? What would Joel say if he saw this?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, rage and terror battling for dominance. Tommy's presence was a cruel reminder of who was to blame for the previous night's punishment.

"Joel isn’t at home." you said, trying to keep your voice steady, hoping that this information was enough to make the man leave.

Tommy's grin widened, and he leaned closer, his dark brown eyes gleaming with amusement. "I just came to check on my favorite niece. Heard you had a rough night."

Your stomach churned, and you fought the urge to scream. "I’m fine. Now leave me alone, please.”

Tommy's expression darkened, you’d never spoken this dismissively with him. He pushed the door open wider, forcing you to step back. "You better watch your tone, girl. Remember, I know all your little secrets. My brother wouldn’t like hearing about what you were up to last night."

The threat hung heavy in the air, and you knew he was right. One word from Tommy and Joel would unleash his fury all over again. You swallowed hard, the taste of fear bitter on your tongue. "What do you want?" you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

Tommy stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "Just a little chat," he said, his tone deceptively casual. "We need to make sure you understand how things work around here."

He casually walked into the living room, glancing around as if he owned the place, before collapsing onto the couch.

He threw a look towards the kitchen. "see you're preparing dinner," Tommy said. "Hope I'm not interrupting. What's on the menu?"

"Mashed potatoes and chicken," you replied, feeling foolish for answering such a mundane question. M

Tommy's grin widened with amusement. "What a good little cook you are for my brother. He's lucky to have found such a talented little thing like you."

"What do you want here?" you demanded, trying to keep your voice steady.

Tommy leaned back and spread his legs, making himself comfortable. "Oh, I'm just curious. Tell me how my brother punished you last night," he said, eyes gleaming with a mixture of interest and malice. He had obviously noticed your limping and could only imagine what twisted punishment Joel had come up with.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over. "He burned me," you finally whispered, voice cracking. "And it's all your fault!”

Confusion flickered across Tommy's face.

Mutilation just for being 15 minutes late? That seemed too extreme, even for Joel.

You walked over to the small table behind the dining area and grabbed the jar of gray paste. "He smeared this on me," you said, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and pain. "It burned like fire!”

Tommy took the jar from you and sniffed it, recognition flashing in his eyes. "Chili and ginger," he chuckled darkly. "That twisted bastard…”

You stared at him, confusion mingling with your anger. "How…how do you know that?"

Tommy leaned back, holding the jar up. "Years ago, me and Joel ran with a pretty nasty raider gang….They had a particular method for breaking captives—female captives. This paste was one of their favorites.”

"That sounds…that sounds horrible," you whispered, horrified of the thought.

Tommy nodded, his expression serious for once. "Yeah, it was. Can't believe Joel would use this method on ya to be honest.”

You felt a wave of shame and anger. "And now you're here, rubbing it in my face?", you sniffed and looked down biting your tongue.

Tommy shrugged, his grin returning. "You've been acting up since we got here. Joel's only doing what he thinks is best.”

"That’s not true!" you snapped, tears finally spilling over. "I am not acting up. I got home late because of you-“

“No? So I didn’t caught you in a lie last night?”, he interrupted you. “You lied to Joel to make out with that Dean kid, like a little slut. And you are fucking his brother…Sounds pretty much like acting up to me., Tommy's eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and cruelty.

Your hands trembled, anger bubbling up inside you. "I…I’m not…I’m not fucking you. You blackmailed me into having sex with you.”

Tommy scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Come on, I know what rape looks like. I fucked you good—nice and hard—you enjoyed yourself, didn't ya? ‘Came like a fucking bitch around my cock."

You shook your head vehemently, tears streaming down your face. "I-I-I didn't! It was…it was against my will."

Tommy's smirk grew. "Oh, don't cry, sweetheart. Ya just a little slut that needs cock, and Joel knows that. Why do you think he treats you like his personal whore, mh?“

"'m not his plaything!" you shouted, desperation in your voice. "I'm his...I’m his daughter.”

Now Tommy let out a loud deep genuine laugh. He was quiet impressed with how naive you were. “Because you call him daddy?”

“I-I…”

"Do you know who Sarah is?" Tommy suddenly asked. "Did Joel ever tell you about her?"

You froze, caught off guard by the question. "I once went through Joel's bag and found a picture of a girl with 'Sarah' written on the back," you admitted. You had no idea who the girl was or why Joel kept the photo, and you had never dared to ask him about it.

"She was his daughter," Tommy said, his tone uncharacteristically somber. "She was killed right at the start of all this. Her death changed Joel."

The weight of Tommy’s words hung heavy in the air. You had always sensed there was a darkness in Joel, a wound that had never healed. You also understood what Tommy was trying to tell you with this information: you could never replace Sarah.

Tommy leaned in closer, his voice a low whisper. "Face it, sweetheart, you're nothing more than a toy for him to use and abuse."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless and shaking.

“He showed you last night how easy it is for him to hurt you. Ya think he would do that to his daughter?”, Tommy laughed once again. “Do you want my advice?”

You nodded, totally defeated still thinking about Sarah.

"Don't piss him off, or the flesh on your bones will be his next meal," Tommy said, his voice dripping with menace.

Your eyes widened in shock. Was he being literally…? Would Joel really…?

"And do you know what would really piss Joel off?" Tommy continued, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Hearing about watcha did last night. Kissing boys and screwing his brother—Sure, he'd be mad at me too, but you wouldn't be the first bitch we've shared."

You felt a chill run down your spine. The implications of Tommy's words were terrifying.

Tommy leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You think Joel's been rough on you? You have no idea what he's capable of when he's truly angry. And if he finds out about last night... well, let's just say you'll wish you'd never been born.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, the fear and humiliation overwhelming. You could barely breathe as Tommy stood up, towering over you, his grin widening. "S’okey, sweetheart. He won’t find out, my lips are sealed. But you know what I want from you in return?”

You nodded looking down. This felt like an inescapable nightmare. You were trapped.

“You do what I say and my brother will never know about your little shenanigans. Alright?”

You nodded.

“Nah, sweetheart. Words.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

Tommy smiled. “No, you like playing house so much with Joel, so let’s keep playing pretend. I’m ya uncle, am I not?”

You nodded. “Yes. Uncle Tommy.”

“Good little girl. So go down on your knees. Don’t worry I’ll not touch your little burned cunt. But I’m going to use that mouth of yours.”

You went down on your knees.

"We've got plenty of time before Joel gets home," Tommy said, his voice low and menacing as he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans. He stepped out of his pants and sat back down on the couch, spreading his legs wide and propping one foot up on the table. With a rough grip, he grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked you closer to his balls.

"Let's see how well you can follow orders," he sneered, pulling your face towards his balls. The look in his eyes was predatory, a twisted mix of dominance and cruel amusement.

Your heart pounded in your chest.

“Start by eating my ass and work yourself up. A nice wet blowjob s’all I want. Surely my brother trained your mouth well enough for you to not fuck this up?”

You blinked in confusion. “Eating…eating your ass?”

Tommy laughed at your confused face. He understood immediately. “What? You never rimmed Joel’s ass? Seriously? Oh how nasty of me? Well, kiddo, it’s not rocket science. All ya have to do is to poke your little tongue in and out my asshole n give it a few nice licks.”

You twisted your face in disgust, making Tommy laugh again. His dick was rock hard. “Don’t act all virgin, babygirl. The clock is ticking, Joel be home in an hour, let’s make this quick.”

Realizing there was no escaping this nightmare, you closed your eyes. The feeling of helplessness was overwhelming, and you could feel the tears streaming down your face, hot and relentless. With a shuddering breath, you leaned in, spreading Tommy's ass-cheeks with both your hands as he smirked down at you.

"That's it, be a good girl," he taunted, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. His hand remained tangled in your hair, guiding you with an iron grip.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to comply. You stick your tongue out and gave his asshole a lick. The taste was repugnant, and every fiber of your being screamed to pull away, to fight back, but you knew it was useless. You pushed your tongue as deep as you could, trying to numb your mind to the horror of it all. The musky taste mingled with your tears, each second feeling like an eternity. Your tongue was too small to reach very deep but Tommy pressed you face down as much as he could, making you hiccup while crying and trying to perform.

Tommy's laugh echoed above you, a sound that sent chills down your spine. "You're doing so well. Maybe I just tell Joel to make you rim him too?”

You shook your head, no. Much to Tommys amusement.

Your tongue could feel every hair that grew around your his asshole and the thought alone of what you were doing to this man was enough to make you gag.

“Keep the gagging for when I fuck your mouth, sweetheart.”

“Tell me how much you like eating your uncles ass, babygirl.”, he said and yanked your face away from his ass.

You took a breath and murmured in between cries “I love eating my uncles ass so much!”

“Good job, keep going then put that tongue to work.”

After he was satisfied with your work on his ass, he grabbed your face and led his cock in between your lips. He fucked your mouth, quick and fast.

You were like a lifeless puppet under his grip. Your head bobbling back and forth, back and forth to the rhythm he was leading. Seeing you struggling to eat his ass had made Tommy nearly cum by itself, so it didn’t take him long to leave a big load in your throat.

He finally released his grip on your hair, and you collapsed to the floor, your body trembling. Gasping for breath, you could taste the remnants of your ordeal on your lips, the salt of your tears mixed with the nasty taste of shame. Tommy leaned back into the couch, a satisfied smirk on his face as he casually put his pants back up.

You lay there on the cold, hard floor, feeling utterly broken. The room was spinning. Every breath felt like it took immense effort, each one punctuated by a sob you tried to stifle.

"Good girl," Tommy drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. "You really are something special. Joel's lucky to have you."

The casual cruelty in his words cut deep. You wanted to scream, to lash out, but your body was too exhausted to move.

Tommy stretched, his demeanor completely relaxed, as if what just happened was the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll be back for more, sweetheart. ," he said, standing up and looking down at you with a twisted sense of satisfaction.

The weight of his words pressed down on you, suffocating.

Tommy paused at the doorway, glancing back one last time. "Clean yourself up before Joel gets back. Wouldn't want him to see you like this, would we?"

A new wave of fear washed over you. What if Joel came home and saw you like this? What if he blamed you for what happened?

With that, he was gone, leaving you alone in the oppressive silence. You forced yourself to sit up.

You stumbled to the bathroom, desperate to wash away the filth and the shame. The reflection in the mirror was almost unrecognizable, eyes red and swollen, face streaked with tears. You scrubbed your skin until it was raw, the hot water doing little to soothe the burning inside. When you were done you went straight back to the kitchen a kept preparing dinner as if nothing had happened.

[witchy-worm]

Here's my second art piece for @spnbangbang ! I had a great time working with @thefandomsinhalor on this one, thank you for claiming my art and bringing another Destiel hockey au into the world!

Go check out the fic here: LINK TO FIC

Banner and fic info behind the cut

Icebreaker

Author: thefandomsinhalor 

Artist: Witchy-Worm

Primary Ship: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Length: 16,000

Warnings: N/A

Tags: Hockey AU, Teammates, Top Castiel/ Bottom Dean, Clothed Sex, Masturbation, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Trust Issues, Mention of Some Childhood Trauma

Summary: Unlike the rest of his team, Dean hasn’t warmed up to their newest star hockey player, Castiel Novak. Between their long unspoken rivalry, and Castiel’s seemingly pretentiousness, Dean is not holding his breath on this changing any time soon, especially not after a disastrous attempt to find common ground over a cozy, yet forced, dinner.

A tiny mix-up with their hotel key cards, unbeknownst to them both, however, might just do the trick.

[topofmythighs]

demon dean smut 👀👀👀

speaking in tongue

demon!dean winchester x she/her reader

rundown: it's gettin' hawt in here!!! demon!dean fucks his gf and that's basically it

word count: 3k

warnings: where do we start? corruption!kink, sub x dom themes, oral, p in v pen., master!kink, cnc???, pain!kink, breeding!kink,

navigating the depths of her relationship with dean has always been difficult; he is the definition of closed off. working through typical relationship issues is easy for the two of them, but it’s the most profound secrets that dean keeps locked away even from sam that drive them apart. still, even with the disagreements and frequent pleas for dean to let her into his mind, she stays, because she promised she would.

it’s difficult, though, to not poke and prod at the mind of her lover as he shifts from mortal to demon.

dean’s more violent — hedonistic, even — but he’s almost more open than her true lover is. as the two of them sit across from each other at the bunker’s table, drinks in hand, she can’t help but purse her lips at the thought of asking more.

“go ahead, sweetheart,” dean smirks. 

she sighs as she stares into her drink, nervous to look up and see the green eyes of her lover replaced with depthless, soulless black ones. she wishes sam was here — she knows he would want to ask questions, too — but he had to flea the bunker with castiel. (he begrudgingly left her there, but with dean’s lack of plans to harm her, sam trusted that she would call him if something went wrong.) 

“it’s hard to not pick your brain,” she finally says, looking up slowly at dean.

he smirks, taking a swig of his drink. “i’m an open book.”

“yeah, but, he’s not.” she sighs, also taking a drink of her whiskey. “i just - i want to know what he thinks of me. i need to know. i know he loves me — we’ve been together for what feels like forever — but he’s just so shut-out and--“

“and don’t you think it’s time you know what he thinks of you, sweetheart?” dean asks, looking at her with a quizzed look so human that she almost believes she’s talking to dean. within an instant, he’s at her side, leaning against the table. his warm, calloused hand, the same as dean's, cups her jaw, forcing her to look up at him. she swallows thickly as her blood freezes up in her body. “you know he loves you, sweetheart. i’ve always been here — watching, waiting to come out and talk to you. to tell you what he thinks of you, how he feels about you.”

“do i want to know?” she whispers, feeling the grip on her jaw tighten. 

she’s scared and flustered. her mind is swirling, trying to wrap around itself that this is not dean in any other way than physically. he lets her jaw go with a quick jerk, crouching down in front of her. 

“he thinks about you all the time. touching you, fucking you,” he purrs. he watches the blush rise on her face, and just to be an asshole, he tacks on, “it’s gross, to be honest.”

“keep it in your pants,” she mutters, glaring at him and drinking down her whiskey. 

he spins her chair to face him. sitting down on his knees, he places his hands on hers, gripping hard. 

“ow,” she winces. “please,” she says, “please take your hands off of me.”

“ah, ah, ah. what you aren’t getting, sweetheart,” he says coldly, “is that even if you hate me, you love him.” he pushes himself up off of the ground and leans in close to her. “and right now, we are one.”

she stares into his eyes and shakily puts her hands on his cheeks as his hands grip tight on the arms of the chair. “baby,” she whispers, pleading. “if you can hear me, please know i’m here.”

“he knows, sweetheart,��� dean whispers. “he can hear you. we can hear you.” dean looks into her eyes, smiling pridefully at her. 

she takes a deep breath in, looking one last time into his green eyes, before guiding his lips to hers. she kisses him deeply, trying to feel dean amidst the demon.

“not so fast,” dean says. his ultimate speed has their positions flipped within seconds. she sits on his lap, hands still on his cheeks. “if we’re doing this, and trust me, we want this,” he purrs, “you need to understand that you don’t control me.” she nods quickly, frightened to do anything he doesn’t want her to. “but just because i’m some cold-blooded killer that has it out for every mortal around him,” he chuckles, “doesn’t mean i’m gonna hurt you, sweetheart. i don't want no angels or hunters after me. i don’t have a death wish.”

“they couldn’t stop you anyway,” she whispers, feeling herself relax into his hands that are tight on her hips.

he smiles at her. “that’s my girl.” 

his hands find her hair quickly, pulling her down into a deep kiss. her arms wrap around his neck as her body slowly sinks down onto his. she’s still unsure if her heart has stopped beating, but she feels his hand find her lower back and gently press her body down more.

“you’re okay, sweetheart,” dean murmers, and she swears that was really him. her legs finally relax and settle themselves on either side of his thigh, feeling the denim-to-denim contact. her arms tighten around him, and her lips find his neck where she places small kisses up and down it. 

testing the waters, she grabs a fistful of dean’s hair at the back of his neck as she kisses it, and she feels his hips buck up to hers.

“god,” dean whispers. “don’t make me feel like some desperate teenager here, baby girl.”

she smiles as she continues to kiss. she gently grinds her hips down against his thigh, staying very close to his body and keeping her movements slow. “don’t mean to,” she whispers back. “just trying to enjoy all of you.”

"we've got time, baby," he purrs, his hands roaming her thighs. he tilts his head back, savouring the wet, open-mouthed kisses that she continues to leave all over his throat.

the grip his hands have on her thighs leaves a searing pain behind, so she pushes herself away from his delicious skin to peek and see if the denim of her jeans has been burned away. she grabs his shoulders to steady herself, wincing as he squeezes harder.

she stares at her thighs, expecting burning flesh to be escaping the denim, but there's nothing there.

"ow," she whines, eyes meeting the demon's soulless black ones.

he smirks at her, peeling his hands off her thighs. "feel that?"

"yeah, it hurts like hell," she mumbles.

her jaw is grabbed once again by the familiar calloused hand, and her mouth hangs open slightly.

"i didn't ask for the attitude, sweetheart," dean snarls. "all that pain? means your little boyfriend is here, feeling all of this and watching us like a pervert in a movie theatre."

his eyes melt green again, and the combination of a mention of a mortal dean mixed with his luscious green eyes allows her body to fall slack. she drops back down onto dean's thighs and drools, coating his hand in spit. he smiles slyly at her, pulling his hand off her face before leaving a hard, aggressive slap to her cheek. he places his thumb in her still-open mouth and forces her face back to his. her mouth instinctively closes around his thumb.

"my good girl," he says, a hand finding her waist.

she smiles around his thumb, her cheek wet from her own spit being slapped onto it. she very slowly leans forward until her head rests on dean's shoulder and gently grabs hold of dean's wrist. she rests against him for a moment, feeling the pulse of his cock against her core every time she sucks on his thumb (she swears her heartbeat matches the rhythm of his dick.). her body goes slack, recovering from the pain in her thighs and on her face.

if she was in any other state of mind, she would be the utmost apprehensive woman in the world. if dean truly is watching, she has no doubt in her mind that he will condemn her for feeling safe in the arms of a demon. but as she lays here with her head on his shoulder and his protective arm around her, she wonders if there's some form of loneliness that drives a demon's anarchy.

she sits up, tired of thinking. she gently pulls his thumb out of her mouth, then presses a kiss to his lips. her shakey fingers unbutton his red shirt, and she feels a surge of wetness overtake her when she feels how incredibly hot dean's skin is.

dean can't help but admire her. he watches her as she licks her lips, and he feels his shirt coming undone. her eyes are huge and innocent, glistening like she's experiencing this for the first time. he knows she's focusing too much on the heat of his skin, overthinking about how close dean of the subconscious is watching, so he guides her hands to the tent in his jeans.

"we want you, sweetheart," he purrs, his hand looming over hers.

"take me," she whispers, so quiet that even with exaggerated senses, dean can barely hear her.

his inhumane speed brings her up onto the table with her jeans pulled off her legs. he smirks at her soaked thong - once a baby pink turned a deep rose from the amount of wetness her body has made. he pulls her to the edge of the table, kneeling down on the floor to press kisses to her thighs.

her hands try to push his head away. "no, please! he hasn't - it's been too long! i don't want you there, i want him."

dean smiles up at her from in between her thighs. "he's always here, babygirl."

he pulls her underwear to the side, immediately licking up all of the slick that her warm pussy made. she releases a loud, pornstar moan, her hands finding dean's hair quickly. he kisses her pussy, and she swears she can hear him growling from in between her thighs. she moans louder, hoping his dick throbs harder.

it must have, because his mouth finds her clit and sucks hard, eliciting a long, loud whine from her spit-covered lips. her hands are tight in his hair, the tension in her body having nowhere to escape but her hands. dean continues to lick and suck at her clit, making her whine and moan like she's never been touched before.

"need, need you," she groans, feeling dean's fingers dig deep into her thighs.

he comes up for air, pressing kisses anywhere he can. she swears she feels her dean here with her.

"need me?" dean whispers, his eyes staring into hers. she moans at his deep voice, swearing it rumbles through her. her head tilts back, and, within mere seconds, her body bounces off of dean's soft, memory foam mattress. she hears her breath catch in her throat, to which he smirks. "too fast for you, sweetheart?"

she shakes her head quickly as her hands find his belt and button. "like it," she mutters, her thoughts flowing too quickly to focus on anything but touching dean's cock.

when it sits in the palm of her hand, hard and hot, she whines and feels a gush of wetness fall over the tops of her thighs. she immediately tries to position his cock against her entrance, but he grabs her wrist.

"one thing about us, sweetheart," dean says, "is nothing turns us on more than watching those angel eyes suck cock." he smirks at her as she nods feverishly.

he flips their positions, allowing himself to sit against the headboard while she lays in between his thighs. her ass is high in the air as she wraps her hand around his cock again, licking up his long, veiny cock. he grabs her hair immediately, allowing her brain to turn off and her mouth to be used.

"pretty girl," dean mumbles, moaning as he face fucks her. her eyes are glazed over when she looks up at him, and she moans around his cock as those beautiful, green eyes watch her suck his cock. he holds her head down, her nose just an inch away from his pelvis. she gags, and usually dean would let up, but this time, he holds her head still.

she moves her hands up his thighs, digging her nails into them, letting him know it's too much. he doesn't let up until she draws blood just one gag later.

"bitch," he mutters, as he pulls her up by her hair. he watches his doll catch her breath, a long line of spit keeping her mouth connected to his cock. her eyes are watery, and a few tears have slipped down her face. small traces of makeup are smeared over her face.

their eyes meet, and his black, soulless ones switch back to his crystal clear, serpentine green eyes. he immediately pulls her onto him, his large protective hands rubbing her back. "i'm sorry, angel," he mutters.

she pulls herself up, and her legs straddle his hips. she keeps herself close to him as he kisses her head. his kisses lead onto her face, eliciting a small, fucked-out smile from her.

"it's okay, master," she whispers, peeling his hands from her face and pressing kisses onto his wrists, desperate to feel the human in him. as she does, he rubs his cock over her wet pussy, making her whine and hide her face in his hand.

she grabs his hand and tangles their fingers together, pushing herself up onto her knees to sink down onto his cock. she watches her boyfriend's face fall into the expression it always does when she takes it all; his mouth open, eyes closed, and his chest tight with air.

"i'll always let you do whatever you want to me, sir," she says, rocking her hips back and forth on his dick.

he smacks her ass, and a deep burning sensation flows through her veins. she knows her dean is gone again, taken over by the demon yet again.

"good girl," he says, watching her intently. he watches exactly where their bodies connect.

whether it's the demon's energy coursing through her boyfriend's body or the fact that she hasn't been fucked this hard in a few months, she finds it hard to take all of dean's cock. still, she does her best, feeling electricity course through her pussy whenever she sinks down all the way. she knows from the burning that dean is there. trapped in his mind, but he's there.

knowing he's there brings her an odd source of comfort. she wants to put on a show for him, and she wants to stay on this demon's good side. she hopes that he can feel everything the way she is. she rocks her hips again, feeling dean's fat cock hit her g-spot. she lets out a very loud moan, squeezing dean's hand harder as she rides.

dean groans, too. "fuck, babygirl," he mutters. "so fucking wet."

she caresses his face with her free hand, stilling her hips. "sir?" she asks quietly.

he smirks at her shyness, bucking his hips up into her. "yes, sweetheart?"

she squeezes his hand again, and to her surprise, he squeezes back. her hands feel like she's touching a hot stove. she blushes, knowing dean's right there. "make me squirt?"

his eyes roll back as he groans, and his lightning speed flips them into doggy quickly. he places her head into the pillows and grabs her hips, fucking her soaking wet pussy hard and fast.

"sir, sir, fuck!" she screams, feeling her hips burn where his fingertips squeeze. "i need," she moans. "need your cum."

"fuck, sweetheart," dean says, slowing down his speed a bit. he chuckles. "your boyfriend in here does not want me to do that."

her laboured breathing makes her choke out, "since when did you care?"

he laughs again. "you're a dirty whore. i like it."

she smiles into the pillows and wiggles her ass, begging for him to fuck her harder. he finds his rhythm again, and within a moment, she's finding his wrist and squeezing hard as she cums around his cock.

"don't stop, sir, please, don't stop!" she can feel the tension in her tummy build up again, and she's excited to see how worked up her mortal body can make a demon.

he keeps his pace, slapping her ass and fucking her pussy deep.

"fuck, your pussy is so good, doll," he mutters. "you want a demon to cum in you?"

she nods her head yes. "want your babies," she whispers, instantly regretting her dirty words.

dean haults, flipping her onto her back. "gonna watch that pretty face."

she smiles, grabbing his face for a kiss. his hands fist the pillow around her head, and he fucks her wet, warm pussy until his cum spills into her. the feeling of his thick load inside her makes that rope in her tummy snap, and she's begging him to fuck her hard again. he does, and she squirts as he fucks his cum deeper into her.

she cries out loudly as her body winds down from its high. dean switches them so she can lay on his chest. he rubs her body all over, and if her mind wasn't gone, she would easily overthink why he's showing her any sort of care.

her leg loosely wraps around his hips, and her arms wrap around his chest. he presses kisses to her head, petting her hair.

"y'know," he starts. "takes a real strong man to fight off total possession." she nods dumbly against his chest, just happy to feel the vibrations of his voice from his chest in her ear. "your man's got a lot of willpower to get back to you, sweetheart."

she nods again, pulling herself onto him more. "thank you for not hurting me, dean."

he smiles at her, and his hands continue to rub all over her body. "i still don't have a death wish, babygirl."

[seraph-starman]

admit it | s.w.

pairing: sam winchester x reader summary: sam’s sleep schedule finally catches up to him word count: 1.9k remi’s notes: i had sassy, early seasons sam in mind for this (so you should too !) even though the plot doesn’t match <3 (-2 degrees celcius is close to 28 degrees for our american friends)

You had advised him to wear a jacket. It was raining, and -2 degrees outside as you trekked through the forest in an attempt to retrace your steps and find where the Impala was parked. You had gotten lost after the hunt for the burial site of an angry ghost. Usually Dean was pretty good at remembering where he parked his beloved car, but it was dark when you arrived and this forest was much bigger than anticipated. At the sound of sniffing behind you, barely audible over the sound of leaves crunching in your path and tapping of rain, you stop and turn to Sam. He shoots you a glare.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine. And rain can’t even make you sick,” he says in response to your stare before continuing to walk past you.

“Sure, rain can’t make you sick. But being cold and wet for prolonged periods of time can. We’ve been out here for an hour. And you don’t get a healthy amount of sleep, which can put you at risk for illnesses,” you reply, paraphrasing the article you had memorized just for this occasion as you catch up with him.

“I get plenty of sleep. Trust me, I’m not sick.”

Dean then looks back to you both, shaking his head in annoyance.

“You two are being a real help here.”

Sam rolls his eyes.

“Do you even know where we’re going?” He asks, narrowing his eyes at Dean.

The older Winchester stops and turns back, looking offended.

“Of course I know where we’re going!“

You both stop as you reach where Dean stood, eyes peering through the curtain of rain over the river that stood before you, to the trees that stretched for acres. The sun was rising over the tops of the woods.

“Here,” Sam says, sniffing between the actions of reaching into his pocket and then handing Dean a crumpled map. Dean groans, throwing his hands up before snatching the map from him.

“You had that this whole time?” He asks rhetorically before unfolding the map and turning to face the forest. Sam leans over his shoulder, before turning sharply into a forceful sneeze. Both you and Dean turn to stare at him. Sam wipes his nose as he’s met with both your looks, Dean’s grimace and your amusement. He frowns irritatedly before waving it off.

“I’m fine! Figure out where we are, Dean.”

Dean shakes his head, gazing back over the map.

“I think… that we’re here,” he accentuates with a jab to the river on the sodden map, “so that means that we need to go that way.“

He gestures up a soft hill and begins walking again, you trailing behind and Sam bringing up the rear. You fall into step beside him, lumbering along in Dean’s wake. Up close you could see the dark circles under his eyes, the undeniable consequence of his sleeping habits. Hell, none of you had gotten good sleep in a long while. But you knew Sam had it the worst. Occasionally you’d hear his low-voiced discussions with Dean, spoken only when they thought you were out of earshot. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you, not at all, despite the teasing and the way he seemed consistently annoyed with you. He hated talking about his dreams, feeling like he was burdening someone with his own issues. Even with Dean he struggled. You’re interrupted out of your psycho-analysis of Sam as he realizes you’re staring. Again, but this time he could see the subtle concern in your gaze. It bothered him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you say, shaking your head as you turn back to look ahead. You recognize the pullout a few feet ahead, where Dean was already brushing leaves off the Impala. You’d never been happier to see that car, and Sam seems to have a similar sentiment as he sighs in relief. 

The ride back to the bunker was quiet. Dean was too tired to put any music in, and the rain had quieted to a gentle tapping on the hood of the car. Cas was waiting when you got back, offering a quick congratulations on your success with the ghost before baiting Dean into another hunt. Sam had relentlessly tried to convince all of you that he was functioning as usual, that he could go with Dean and Cas. He was soon after proven wrong by the hellish coughing fit that followed his lame debate. So now it was just the two of you, and Sam had locked himself in his room with a box of tissues. All the better for you. It wasn’t like you wanted to listen to or take care of an irritated, fever-ridden Sam. You’d offered him some tea to help with his throat before he left to sulk in his room, which he’d accepted begrudgingly. He still refused to accept the fact that he was ill. You had attempted to research for long enough, disrupted in your focus each time Sam came in or out of the kitchen. You finally decided to check on him, whether he liked it or not.

“Sam? I have soup,” you say through his door, bowl in one hand and the other on the knob.

“I don’t like soup,” he grumbled hoarsely from the other side.

“Too bad.”

You push the door open, receiving a huff from him. He was laying back, four blankets over his lap and a fan pushing cold air towards him from a few feet away. Empty mugs littered his bedside table, along with a bottle of aspirin and a half empty pack of cold medicine capsules. A few tissues had been balled up and tossed around the trash can. You held in a snicker.

“Oh, how the mighty fall,” you quote. Sam sighs again, exasperatedly. You set the soup (mushroom) on his bedside table before turning to the TV.

“Love Island? Seriously?”

He furrows his brows at your judgement.

“It’s really not that bad. I mean, obviously it’s fake, but it’s somewhat entertaining. Better than whatever’s on cable, I guess.”

You shrug, picking up tissues and tossing them into the garbage before gathering the mugs, Sam watching your tidying carefully.

“You really don’t have to do that,” he says, turning the volume down on the TV. 

“It’s fine,” you reply, carrying the stack of mugs out of the room, when Sam’s voice stops you.

“Can I… have more of that tea that you made earlier? Please,” He asks. He much preferred coffee over tea, but ever since you had made him earl grey, (with a bit of milk and honey) it had become a quick favorite. 

You turn and smirk.

“You like it?”

“It’s not bad,” he said, shrugging.

Your smirk remains as you walk to the kitchen and set the empty mugs near the sink, setting the kettle back over the stove. For some reason, you were happy he liked your tea. And that he wasn’t being as stubborn as usual. You had been slightly caught off guard with his change in demeanor, from irritated to benign. After a few minutes of breathing in steam, the kettle whistles, announcing that it was finished boiling. You pour the water into one of the only remaining clean mugs and follow the routine of what you’d made before, when a shadow moving in the corner of your eye almost causes you to knock the still-hot mug over. The thing clears its throat roughly and you realize who it is.

“Jesus!” You say, steadying the mug.

Sam’s eyes meet yours, expression shifting from hard-set to attentive, brows furrowed slightly in concern.

“D’you need help?” He asks, taking the mug and holding it in his hands, looking down into the swirls of milk in the dark like he was searching for an untold prophecy. You watch in amusement as he sips the tea, making a face as it burns his tongue.

“It’s hot,” you add, smiling as he scoffs and sets the mug aside.

“You need to get back to bed.”

He rolls his eyes.

“What, so I have a curfew now?”

There goes soft, polite Sam. You sigh. This was going to be a long night. You usher him back to his room and somehow convince him to more medicine. He lays back on his bed, observing you as you lean in the doorway.

“You just going to stand there?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow.

You shrug.

“I can leave. You need to sleep anyways.”

“I’m not tired.“

You roll your eyes, when a grin starts to spread across your face.

“Y’know, I don’t think that I’ve ever seen you get sick. Between the awful crap you come into contact with and your sleeping tendencies, you’d think there would’ve been at least one instance. But no. Somehow you avoid any illness. How’d you do it? Bribe a god? Is it something in those so-called ‘health shakes’ of yours? Honestly, it’s a medical mystery. You should be studied.”

Sam listens to your slight ramble, face growing more and more skeptical.

“Those shakes are actually good for you,” he replies.

“Out of everything I just said, that’s what you choose to defend?” You say, resisting the urge to scoff.

Sam rolled his eyes.

You look him over for a moment, before walking toward the desk to pick up the few newer balled-up tissues.

“Seriously though, you should at least try to get some sleep now. Even if you don’t want to. And, you’re probably too fatigued for the dreams-”

As soon as it slipped out you knew you shouldn’tve said anything. Sam looks to you as soon as it comes out, narrowing his eyes.

“Lemme guess— Dean?” He asks, irritation flooding his tone.

“No, no. I’ve heard you talk about them. With Dean. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, I swear,” you add, “but I’ve heard enough.”

You’re both quiet for a moment.

“You could talk to me about them, Sam. If you wanted to. My opinion of you won’t change,” you say, voice much lower than it was before.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just not your problem,” he says, sucking in a breath. 

You sit down in the chair, facing him but avoiding his gaze.

“It can be our problem. All of us. This is really corny, but you’re not alone, Sam. Really.”

He sniffs.

“That was corny,” he agrees, laughing and then smiling slightly, “but… thanks.”

The lamp light cast shadows over his face, and you could see the dimples of his genuine smile. You suddenly wanted to kiss them, a thought that a you’re alarmed by, before it slips away.

“How’re you feeling?” You ask, leaning forward to press the back of your hand to his forehead. He looks surprised, eyes flicking up to yours. They stay there, his lips parted like he was going to say something but never does. You smile, and his smile returns, softer but still present. And despite his runny nose and fever-flushed face, you kiss him. It isn’t rushed, or passionate or lustful or wanton. It’s just a kiss. But it means so much. Finally feeling comfortable. Safe. Needed. He goes rigid for a moment, before finally catching up and kissing back. His lips are slightly chapped, but also soft. You kiss the sides of his lips, his dimples as he grins into you. Then he grabs your shoulders and pulls back slightly, breathlessly, still smiling.

“Fantastic… that’s how I feel. But also- sick. And I don’t want you to-”

You laugh, “Oh, so now you admit it?”

[alexsoenomel]

Being loved by Dean Winchester would include: (you being not so clueless edition)

Note: I'm currently kinda heartbroken over someone I've never dated (we were best friends) so I added some cute things he used to do before everything went to shit. I think I'll love him forever, he's not good for me and yet I still love him.

You noticing Dean checking you out from time to time and feeling your cheeks burn.

Whenever you had a day off he wanted to hang out, and even if you didn't feel like hanging out with anybody, you always did because you loved spending time with him.

If you were in your room he would always come to checkup on you, his head would peek out awkwardly before he would open the door fully to come in.

Every time you made pancakes he would tell you he loved you before stuffing his pie hole.

Sometimes he loved making you food if you were too tired.

Feeling the energy change between you two. The pure, authentic connection just kept getting stronger.

He loved sharing his food with you.

One day you noticed the way he would just stare at you whenever you had a silent moment. The eyes never lie, especially his.

Sometimes you would finish each other sentences.

You loved the fact you both had the same music taste and you especially loved the way he admired your knowledge of music and art.

You loved the fact that he would let you in on his thoughts and feelings. He wasn't afraid to be vulnerable with you.

You saw how much he really trusted you which was a big thing considering he had trust issues and was known to hide things from Sam.

He would let you choose songs while you were on the road and he would never protest.

You both had the same lame dad humour and loved telling eachother jokes.

You would sometimes talk about stupid shit like different kinds of farts at 5 in the morning because you both had trouble sleeping.

Addictive laughs. If one was laughing the other one would follow.

You both loved annoying Sam with stupid jokes and puns.

Him teasing you about your past flings and relationships. Sometimes he would bring them up so much you had to tell him to shut up. You had a feeling he was secretly jealous.

Him trusting you with Baby was when you started realizing.

Being overprotective and always making sure you were safe and comfortable no matter what made you blush.

Spending more and more time together alone and Sam being more than happy to NOT tag along.

Watching movies in your room and you resting your head on his shoulder.

Drinking together and somehow always ending up talking about past flings and sex.

You slowly falling for him.

One day you finally decided to break the ice and kiss him good night after a successful hunt.

He kissed you back and finally everything made sense.

"You're more than obvious." You told him.

"And you're so clueless sometimes."

[ninii-winchester]

Trust In Ashes

Pairing : Dean Winchester X Reader

Word count : 2.7k

Warnings : angst, alot of angst, demons, blood, violence, slight spoilers but not exactly following plot, language, mentions of injuries, dean(?) I’m sure he’ll never do anything like this but wtv, not proofread.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

The fluorescent lights of the cramped motel room flickered as Sam sat hunched over his laptop, the glow illuminating his focused expression. His fingers danced across the keyboard, searching for any leads on unusual supernatural activity. It had been a slow week for the Winchesters, but something was nagging at the back of Sam's mind.

After a few moments of scanning through local news sites, he stumbled upon a small article dated just a couple of days ago. The headline sent a chill down his spine: "Strange Occurrences in Willow Creek: Locals Report Electrical Disturbances and Missing Pets." He clicked on the link, his eyes darting over the text.

He glanced at the couple snoozing in bed, Y/n leans back against Dean, who wraps his arms around her in a protective embrace. The warm glow of a nearby lamp casts a gentle light over them, highlighting the content look on their faces. Their legs are tangled together, and they shift slightly to find the perfect position. Dean buries his face into her soft hair, breathing in the familiar scent, while the she relaxes into his embrace. 

Sam knew the news definitely had something to do with demons, the omens were there, he just wanted to wait for the couple to have a good sleep before they got on the road. Things have been tense with the apocalypse looming and the two angelic brothers wanting to jump Sam and Dean. The thought of being a vessel to Satan himself was something that made Sam uneasy. He almost never wanted to think of the repercussions of him saying yes to him, sometimes he felt his resolve waver but Dean and Y/n kept him grounded, even he was ever going to lose himself and say yes to Lucifer he was sure Dean would never allow Michael to take over his body and cause the end of the world.

As he shifted in his chair, the mattress creaked under Dean's weight. Sam turned slightly, watching them. Dean's brow furrowed in sleep, his protective instincts still active even in slumber. Y/n's hair fell across her face like a curtain, shielding her from the worries that had plagued them for weeks. Suddenly, a soft rustling from the bed drew his attention. Y/n stirred, her eyes fluttering open. "Sam? What's going on?" she asked taking in his distraught expression, her voice laced with sleep but edged with concern.

"Just some strange happenings in Willow Creek," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "Electrical issues and missing pets. I think it's connected to something... supernatural."

"Demons." Dean quipped waking up, his eyes fluttering open as he stretched. Sam nods in agreement as he was thinking the same.

“Willow Creek’s not far from here, actually. If we leave soon, we can get there by nightfall,” Sam replied, glancing over at Dean and Y/n. He knew they needed rest, but time was of the essence.

Dean’s hand found Y/n’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. “What do you think, sweetheart. You up for a little demon hunting?” His smirk was faint, but the affection in his eyes was unmistakable. His first instinct was to keep her out of danger but he would never ask her to stay back. Y/n offered a sleepy smile and nodded, though she couldn’t ignore the knot forming in her stomach.

Sam quickly packed up his laptop, his expression hardening as he prepared for the road ahead. The looming apocalypse was a weight that hung over them all, a constant reminder of what was at stake. But now all their focus was on whatever that was waiting for them in Willow Creek.

The drive to Willow Creek felt fairly short with Dean behind the wheel. Sam took a nap in the backseat while Y/n accompanied Dean in the front. The Impala rumbled to a stop outside a rundown motel on the outskirts of Willow Creek. They walked into the lobby, where a tired-looking receptionist barely lifted her eyes from the old TV on the counter. Dean leaned forward, flashing a charming smile. They got themselves a room with two beds and turned in for the night.

The next morning the trio decided to talk with the townspeople for more information on the unnatural occurrences around the town. They went to see the girl who had reported her pet cat missing. She was teenager named, Alice. She told them that Alice has been missing for days and she had last seen the in her room. Upon investigating the room, Y/n found traces of sulfur on the window sill and even caught a trail. She gestured her head to the boys to follow her. The trio moved through the dense woods just outside Willow Creek.

Y/n clutched a small iron knife, glancing around with cautious eyes, while Dean kept his shotgun at the ready, salt rounds loaded. Sam walked slightly ahead, scanning their surroundings for any signs of demons.

“This place is giving me the creeps,” Y/n murmured, shivering slightly as a cold wind passed through the trees.

“Yeah, something doesn’t feel right,” Dean agreed, his voice low. Just as Sam was about to speak, a few people came out of the trees, ambushing the trio.

“Well well well, look who we have here.” A female said inching closer to the three. “The Winchesters.” Dean narrowed his eyes at the woman and then Sam spoke.

“Meg?” He questioned looking at her curiously. She beamed at him sarcastically and tilted her head to look up at him.

“You recognised me, though i must say this suit is prettier than the last.” She said running her hands through her raven hair.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean growled aiming his gun at her. But she laughed at him, holding out her hand.

“Please Dean, don’t even try.” She closed her hand cutting off Dean’s air supply and making him drop the gun and clutch his neck. Y/n immediately moved to his side trying to help him. Meg quickly released him and he coughed up a bit before she spoke again. “Had to create hell lot of ruckus to get you guys here. But I just need Sam.” She said looking up at the tall man.

“Why?” Sam glared at her, clenching his jaw.

“Oh nothing serious, just need you to say yes to Lucifer.” She replied nonchalantly making the trio rage.

“Like hell we’re letting you take him. Even if you do he won’t say yes.” Y/n snapped.

“You know what, I’m tired of this conversation.” Meg gestured her goons to capture Sam but Dean quickly killed of the demons with the demon blade, while Sam was fighting off other demons, Y/n started to chant the exorcism. “Can’t let you do that, honey.” Meg slapped Y/n making her stop and the latter punched her back.

Dean watched Meg slap Y/n and was distracted momentarily which gave the demon, he was fighting, an upper hand, getting him stabbed in the side. Amidst all chaos, Meg and Demons managed to take Sam and Y/n away. Dean screamed and yelled but they disappeared right in front of his eyes and he leaned against the three holding his wounded side.

Dean managed to go back to the motel and patch himself up. He grabbed a beer bottle from the fridge and gulped it down before thrashing the room. He quickly pulled out his phone and called Bobby. The man answered the call almost immediately.

“Bobby,” Dean breathed. The old man urged him to speak before he lost his mind. “We were on a hunt, me, Sammy and Y/n, it was ploy to get us here. Fucking demons.” Dean growled pulling at his hair as he paced the room. He filled Bobby in on everything that Meg said, and that he was going to lose his mind if he couldn’t find either of them.

“Dean, I think you should call for Castiel. He might be able to locate them.” Bobby suggested and Dean nodded vehemently. He was glad he called Bobby as his brain had completely shut down.

After ending the call Dean continued to pace the room as he called for Castiel. He prayed with his whole chest so the angel would hear him. He desperately needed his help.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel appeared in front of him. The blue eyed man was looking at him curiously as to why he’d called, since he was sure Dean would never change his mind about saying ‘Yes’.

“Castiel, man i need your help. I know I’ve cursed you a bit too much but you gotta forget it all help me.” Dean spoke way to fast for it be coherent but the angel somehow managed. He nodded and asked Dean how he could help. Dean told him everything that’s happened and waited for the angel’s response.

“I would love to help you Dean,…” Castiel spoke and Dean felt like there was a ‘but’ coming in and he was right. “But if Sam says yes then it’s over. You’re gonna have to say yes to Michael.”

“My brother would never say yes to him.” Dean glowered grabbing the angel by the lapels of his trench coat.

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice was harsh. “Lucifer’s Demons have got him. You can’t even begin fathom the horrors they could inflict on him to get him to say yes.” Dean gritted his teeth at the mental image that flashed into his mind, he didn’t even want to think of it.

“You’re wasting time, Castiel.” A heavy silence settled in the motel room as Dean shoved his weapons into a duffel bag. Holy water, shotguns with salt, his regular gun and of course the demon blade. If Castiel isn’t going to help him then he’s not going to sit around waiting for a miracle. Two of the most important people in his life have been abducted by demons and he’d be damned if he didn’t do anything about it.

“Dean, I can’t locate them.” Castiel commented after a while and Dean stopped in his tracks.

“What do you mean?” He questioned, his brain already filling with the worst case scenarios.

“They’re probably under sigils, the demons must’ve painted the place to keep them hidden from me. They’re blocking me.” The angel explained and the hunter nodded.

“I’ll find them on my own.” Dean said leaving the motel room and getting into the Impala. He drove around like a madman trying to see anything that resembles a demon’s hideout. It must probably be a warehouse or an abandoned building. Castiel appeared beside Dean in the Impala, scaring him. Dean gave him a curious look.

“I’ll know when my powers are being blocked that way it’ll narrow it down for you.”

Dean gripped the steering wheel of the Impala, the engine roaring in protest as he sped down the winding road, his mind racing with thoughts of Sam and Y/n. Castiel sat in the passenger seat, his expression focused, eyes scanning the landscape as they searched for any sign of the hidden demons.

A few moments later, Castiel pointed out the window. “That abandoned warehouse—there’s a disturbance in the air around it. I can sense the darkness.”

Dean slammed on the brakes, the Impala skidding to a stop in front of the dilapidated building. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “You sure?” And Castiel nodded.

“I’m afraid I can’t go any further.”

Dean looked back at Castiel but nodded, he appreciated him coming along but he wouldn’t waste any more time. Without saying another word he loaded his shotgun and went inside. The walked further inside the dark warehouse and saw Y/n and Sam, tied to chairs and they were both in bad condition. Sam worse than Y/n. All Dean saw was pure rage.

Sam’s whole face was bloodied, the crimson liquid poured from the side of his head, his chest was covered in bruises, while wide gashes ran along his arms. Dean’s heart clenched in his chest as his gaze fell onto Y/n. Her lip was swollen and gashes were visible on her arms as well, he could see a faint fingerprints around her neck, and her forehead had a split, dripping blood onto her cheek. While Sam still wasn’t completely unconscious, Y/n’s head lolled to the side as she succumbed to the darkness.

“Sweetheart,” Dean kneeled in front of her tapping her cheeks lightly. She fluttered her eyes open and he sighed in relief.

“Dean,” she choked smiling painfully but then she remembered, “Sam.” She mumbled looking the side. “Help him.” Dean nodded at her.

“I’ll help him, I’ll help you both.” Dean said moving to untie her hands when he heard footsteps approaching.

“Ooh the hero is here to save the day, huh.” Meg taunted walking towards the trio. Dean turned to glare at her and she smiled.

“A few more hits and he’ll be begging to say yes.” She spoke evilly and Dean shot at her but she dodged it.

“Get him out of here.” Y/n mumbled to Dean. In that moment Dean’s mind was troubled but he knew if he left Sam with them they’d probably torture him enough to say ‘yes’, which will result in the end of the world. His mind kept chanting, ‘Save Sam’ and he knew he had to save his brother.

Dean stood up to his feet and punched Meg, knocking her unconscious, he quickly untied Sam and supported his weight on his shoulder. “I’ll be back for you sweetheart, I promise.” He said to her and she nodded weakly.

“I trust you, Dean.” Was the last thing he heard before he went outside. He quickly threw sat Sam in the backseat of the Impala.

“Castiel heal him.” Dean commanded and Castiel put his fingers over Sam’s forehead but nothing happened.

“I..I can’t.” The man in the trench coat said looking half ashamed and half perplexed. “I think this is some sort of dark magic that I can’t undo. He needs medical help.”

In that moment Dean forgot what else he was supposed to do, who else needed him. His brain kept telling him his brother was dying and he couldn’t let that happen. He forgot that he was supposed to go back inside and save the woman he claimed to love. But in that moment nothing mattered except for the fact that his brother was on the verge of dying and he had to save him. He got into the driver’s seat and drove off towards the hospital.

An hour later, Sam was out of the ER and shifted into a private room, while he slept Dean paced the hallway when Castiel approached him.

“Dean,” he placed a hand on the hunter’s shoulder. The green eyed man turned to the angel who had a sombre look on his face. “I heard Y/n.” All the color drained off of Dean’s face when he heard her name and he realised that he’d abandoned her. “She was calling out my name, even yours, she seemed anguished, pained.” Dean’s breath caught in his throat as Castiel’s words sunk in. Y/n was calling for them—calling for him—and he hadn’t been there to answer. The weight of that realization pressed down on him like a heavy shroud, threatening to suffocate him.

“I can’t hear her anymore,” Castiel continued, his tone grave, eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and concern. “I’m sorry.” The apology felt like a dagger twisting in Dean’s heart. He staggered backward, trying to process the implication of Castiel’s words. He had left Y/n, left her in the hands of demons. Despair washed over him in waves, threatening to pull him under. His mind raced with images of Y/n, her smile, her laughter, now replaced by fear and pain. He had failed her when she needed him most.

He sunk to his knees, the weight of the world crashing down around him. The cold concrete floor felt like a punishment beneath him, a stark reminder of his failures. His breath came in shaky gasps as he struggled to hold back the tide of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. This is something he would regret for the rest of his life. “I’m so sorry, Y/n,” he whispered into the emptiness, feeling as though his heart was breaking into a thousand pieces.

Tags:

@spnfamily-j2 @galway-girlatwork @deangirl96 @queensilber

@s0urw00lf @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deans-baby-momma @fullbelieverheart

@riah1606 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @hobby27

@starkleila @suckitands33 @m3ntally-unstable @kanekilovelove-blog @candy-coated-misery0731

@blackcherrywhiskey @ladysparkles78 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @graywrites5567

@thelittlelightinthedarkess @enamoredwithbella @winchesterwild78 @myuhh8

@10ava01 @n-o-p-e-never @itsdesiree86

@kr804573

[quietwingsinthesky]

something very tragic about looking at dean's relationships with most of the women he knows especially through an aro!dean lens because he so clearly wants deeper relationships with them but because he's dean and has Problems and A Role To Perform, he can only allow himself to have it through romantic attachments that he isn't even comfortable with.

[morganwrites12672]

Abandon

Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: After the worst fight he's ever had with his father, Sam goes to the only person he can for comfort.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: ANGST. John is a piece of shit. Arguing. Crying. Daddy issues.

A/N: Have fun crying!

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Whenever Sam had finally gotten back from visiting her, he hadn't expected Dean and John to be waiting up for him in the small living room of the motel. He awkwardly shrugged off his jacket before tossing it over the back of the couch.

He could feel his father's eyes burning into his skin. John must be pissed off about something. It seemed like Sam couldn't do anything without upsetting the older man. His good mood vanished.

"You have something you want to tell me?" John asked, and Sam just knew. He knew exactly what John meant. There was nothing else that would have his father looking this pissed.

Sam swallowed thickly, he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. He looked between Dean and John. John looked pissed, his fists clenched, his jaw tight. Dean looked different. He looked almost happy, he looked satisfied. A smug smirk tugged at Dean's lips.

Dean was convinced that John was going to fix everything. He thought that his father would be able to fix this. Once all of this was over, Sam would stay. Everything would work out. If only Dean didn't put so much blind trust into his father. Maybe then he would have realized what would actually happen.

"No sir."

Sam knew that his father wouldn't be satisfied with this response. No, the older man would be pissed off. Nothing Sam said would make it right. No matter what he did his father would still probably lose his shit. This was going to be an argument from Hell.

"Don't you fucking lie to me!" John growled. He pulled something out of his pocket, a letter. Not just any letter though. The letter. Sam's acceptance letter for Stanford.

"How-" Sam didn't get to finish his sentence.

"You applied for Stanford," John said. It was a statement, not a question. The evidence was quite literally being gripped in John's hand.

Sam's nerves coiled in his gut, ready to explode. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. This argument was the very thing that Sam had wanted to avoid at all costs. He wasn't quite sure how he had planned to avoid it though. Telling John might have made it better rather than the older man figuring it out, or being told by someone else.

"I'm going," Sam blurted, standing up a little straighter. He wouldn't keep letting his father walk all over him. He would go to Stanford. After everything he had sacrificed for other people, he would do this for himself. Hunting could wait a few years.

"I just want to-" For the second time that night, John cut Sam off.

"Like hell you are! I won't let you abandon this family," John snapped as he stood. He slammed the letter down onto the table. He couldn't believe the way Sam was speaking. "Would you really do that? Would you really abandon your brother and I?"

"No. Dad listen, I am going to Stanford!" Sam shouted back at John. He wasn't abandoning Dean or his father. No, he was just trying to go to college.

"It's that damn whore," John sneered. It didn't matter that he was talking about his friends daughter, he was also talking about the girl who he thought had been a bad influence on Sam. "She's been putting all of these ideas into your head. She-"

It was Sam's turn to cut John off. Hearing his father talk about her that way made Sam's blood boil. He took a steadying breath. Just yelling at his father wouldn't do any good. He needed to be somewhat logical. Though, he struggled to think of anything decent to say after what he had heard his father call her.

Dean was watching everything go down. Now that he'd seen how this argument was going he might have a few regrets. He'd seen Sam and his father argue, a lot. It had never been this bad though. Hearing what his father had to say about her though, that made Dean regret everything. Being around her was the happiest Dean had ever seen his brother. He couldn't believe that his father would insult her like that. She wasn't a bad influence on Sam, not in the slightest.

"Don't call her that," Sam said through a clenched jaw. "She has done nothing wrong! It was my idea to apply for Stanford. I am not abandoning this family! I'm going to college!"

"Don't you fucking come back! If you aren't going to do the job, and be apart of this family, don't you ever come back," John snarled.

Sam's expression changed in an instant. He felt his chest tighten, panic spreading throughout his body. He knew by looking at johns face that his father wasn't kidding.

Sam grabbed his jacket, the letter from Stanford, and his laptop case before walking out the door. He had a lump in his throat as he walked down the row of motel room doors. Looking around the parking lot, he was thankful that it was empty.

"Sammy! Wait!" Dean yelled, running out of the motel room door after his younger brother. He was panicking at this point. Things weren't supposed to end like this. He couldn't believe that Sam would leave like this.

"Don't call me that," Sam snapped at his brother, not bothering to turn around. "Leave me the hell alone Dean."

The older Winchester brother stopped in his tracks. He had fucked up, everything had went wrong. It was too late now. Sam had clearly made up his mind. There was nothing Dean would be able to do to stop his brother.

Sam walked. And he just kept walking. His jacket protected him from the ice cold gushes of wind blowing. He walked towards the only place he had left to go; her house. She was his escape. He needed her, right now especially.

The disgusting words that John had spoke of her made Sam's blood boil. He walked faster. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket, hiding them away from the brisk cold.

She was the best part of his day. Hearing his father call her that, and the way the older man talked about her made him sick. She deserved so much better. She didn't do anything wrong. No, the opposite. She made everything better.

The thought of her smile was only able to hinder the tears building up for so long. Sam only walked faster. His long, gangly legs could only carry him so fast though.

The walk to her house didn't take long. Sam practically ran. His eyes had long ago welled up with tears, he sniffled as he finally spotted her house. He walked up to the front porch and hesitated. It was late. What if her parents answered instead of her?

He didn't knock on the door. Instead, he sent her a quick text asking if she could open the front door for him. He prayed to anything out there that might listen to him that she was still awake. He wouldn't risk her parents coming to the door, even if he knew that they wouldn't be upset.

His tear stained cheeks glimmered in the moonlight. He wiped at his cheeks with the sleeve of his jacket, trying to hide some of the tears from view. However, he knew that the second she opened the door that she would know. It would be impossible for her not too.

She could take one look at Sam and read him like a god-damn book. It was nice to be understood like that. Dean and his father had never actually listened to him about anything. He felt like an outsider. He don't feel anywhere near like that around her.

His train of thought was interrupted as he heard the click of a deadbolt sliding open. The front door creaked open. Standing in the doorway, there she was. Her pajama pants hung low on her hips, exposing a small section of her waist before her tank top covered the rest of her skin up. She looked tired as hell, yet she still gave Sam a gentle smile.

She stepped aside wordlessly, letting Sam into the house. Her eye brows drew together in concern as she noticed his tear stained cheeks. As Sam stepped inside, she quickly (and quietly) shut the door. The dead bolt snapped into place.

As she turned around she noticed that Sam had already began walking to her bedroom. Her house was more like a home to Sam than any other place. He did spend a lot of time here. Not that her parents minded.

Her parents loved Sam. They had always welcomed him in with open arms. And, they ignored all of the times they caught Sam sleeping over. They just appreciated that their daughter was spending time with someone her age. Having such a an odd lifestyle made it difficult to maintain friendships.

Whenever she walked into her bedroom, Sam was already sitting on her bed. His head was titled downwards, his eyes seemed to be locked on her rug. She noticed that he had discarded his shoes and jacket already. His jacket hung on the back of her desk chair, and his shoes sat in the corner of her room.

She sat next to Sam and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He shuddered beneath her touch. More tears burned at his eyes and he fought to keep the emotion out of his voice as he spoke

"H-he found out," Sam whispered in a fragile voice. With anyone else he would have cringed at how vulnerable he sounded. He sniffled again, trying to prevent the tears from pouring down his cheeks again.

Her heart dropped. She was suddenly wide awake. That was the worst possible thing that could happen. She still remembered how excited Sam had been to show her his acceptance letter. All of that excitement had been ruined by John.

"Oh my God. . . Sam-"

"I'm still going to S-Stanford," He looked up at her as a few tears finally escaped down his cheeks. "My dad. . . my dad told me not to come back."

She didn't hesitate before pulling him into a tight hug. It was awkward since they were both sitting down but she didn't care in the slightest. Sam broke down in her arms. Hot tears poured down his cheeks.

"It's going to be okay, you're going to be okay." Her voice was gentle, the polar opposite to how his father had spoken to him earlier.

It was moments like this that made Sam realize how lucky he was to have her. He wouldn't know what to do without her. Especially tonight. His heart has been brutally ripped apart by his father, now she would work on helping him pick up the pieces.

They were always there for each other. It was something that could be so very simple that most people didn't notice it. The way that Sam would subconsciously reach for her anytime things went South, the way she always seemed to find her way into Sam's arm after a case or fight with her parents, the way she always made sure Sam had somewhere to go.

And yet, the two had stuck with the title of best friends. Neither one of them wanted to change it much, not yet anyway. There might have been occasional thoughts that definitely weren't the kind you thought about friends though.

Her warm touch brought Sam back to the present moment. It reminded him that things didn't have to be so bad. He might have lost his father, and maybe even Dean too, but he still had her.

"You can stay here until you leave for Stanford."

Sam' head jerked up. That was months away. He had planned to- he actually didn't know what he had planned to do. He would have figured something out though. No matter how hard it was.

Sam cleared his throat, "No, I can't ask your parents to do that."

"Too bad," She retorted. "You live with us until you leave for Stanford." Her voice was firm and left no room for argument.

Her parents would understand. They always did. Even if her father and John were friends, she knew that her mother would be able to persuade her father into letting Sam stay with them. Her mother was good at doing that. Nobody could say no to that woman.

"Thank you," Sam whispered. He then rubbed his eyes, wiping away the tear streaks. It would never make sense to Sam. He couldn't believe that she cared about him this much. He was a black sheep with his family. He was the one who caused problems and didn't belong. He didn't feel that way here. He felt just as much apart of the family as she actually was.

The two fell into a comfortable silence. She kept her arms wrapped around Sam. He felt like her arms were the only thing holding him together. His own father had just kicked him out! Sam couldn't believe that Dean had shown the letter. It hurt.

None of that mattered right now. He couldn't go back in time to fix things. He had to live with everything that had just happened. He had to figure it out.

Maybe things wouldn't be so bad. He could get through anything with her by his side.

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A/N: The biggest thanks to @tranquilitybasegrunge and @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles for beta reading parts of this for me!

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