#I would be suddenly flooded with pure grief and boiling fucking anger at the existence of severance

[orangesnail]

Can you imagine how devastating it is to be Devon and see your brothers innie completely light up and innocently repeat with child like wonder that he was a history teacher?

[i4z-0892-il]

Eggshells 12

Author: Jena @i4z-0892-il

Summary: AU Serial Killers Sam and Dean Winchester find themselves in a bind when the Reader gets caught in the cross-hairs of their plans.

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader

Word count: 5647

Warnings: dark!fic, NSFW, 18+, Very graphic descriptions of violence, mature themes, death, mentions of death, torture abuse, language, assault

A/N: Shit’s long, not sorry.

Unbeta’d typos are all the fault of dyslexic brain.

Inspired by my girl @alphvjensen’s incredible story Sex and Violence

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13

If you like my work consider buying me a Coffee, or leave me some Feedback!

Tag List

Masterlist

It was near impossible to tear your sight from Dean’s snoozing figure; draped clumsily, and almost uncomfortably over the bed next to yours. His face from your dream flashing in your mind, the twisted grin and piercing eyes sending a chilling shudder all the way down your spine. Coming to a conclusion about the meaning of your dream was easy, but it was difficult to convince yourself to heed the very obvious warning. Looking at him from where you sat he seemed so peaceful, and decent. Looking at him without context you might have seen him on the streets and been smitten, perfect pouting lips, the light dusting of freckles over his nose, a jawline for days, he was just beautiful. But that wasn’t really him. Maybe it was once upon a time, maybe he was just another handsome face in the crowd, maybe he was once as good as his pretty face would lead one to believe. In truth you knew of the raging inferno that boiled beneath the surface, the demon trapped inside begging to be fed with blood. He’d had multiple chances to exact that blood from your veins and even though he’d failed to collect, you weren’t so sure he wouldn’t change his mind. You had seen behind the mask, and it would haunt you forever. He was a monster wearing the face of an angel. Even still there was a bit of sweetness left in him, you weren’t sure how you’d managed to capture a glimpse of it, but it was there. Just a hint of kindness, a flicker of concern. It wasn’t enough though. It would never been enough to wipe away the destruction he’d brought to your life. But damn if it wasn’t tempting to try, damn if he didn’t make you feel powerful alive. Dean was a dangerous and addicting high that a dark part of you was willing to chase.

It was hard to tell how long you were awake after that, your eyes bleary and closing against your will, struggling to keep conscious not wanting to drown again. But sleep came and took you anyway, leaving you curled around Sam’s arm radiating warmth, his fingers entwined with yours hoping that if you held on through your sleep he’d be there to pull you to safety this time.

He’d made the mistake of not drinking himself to sleep. Without that numbing agent there his own dreams were plagued with their faces. Lisa’s beautiful smile, and disheveled dark hair in the golden light of the early morning, and the sweetness of her kisses. She was soft and kind and warm, and he would sink into her every night with ease where he would lose himself in the ecstacy ravaged way she’d scream his name as she came undone beneath him. It was too much, it filled his head to the brim. It wasn’t always her in those intimate moments. Sometimes it was the three of them, out for dinner, strolling through the park. Sometimes it was just Ben; teaching him his way around an engine, how to talk to girls, how to throw a punch. It was the moments that truly felt like family, the moments where he truly felt love. They had been the best moments of his life, and now they were they were the worst, most painful memories he could think of. As long as he was drinking, as long as he clouded his mind with some brain-numbing substance or illicit distracting act, then he could function. But every time he was alone, every time he was sober, every time he had a moment of pause in the chaos of his life the gates flooded and they came through like a hurricane does a house of cards.

Tonight was different however, it wasn’t Lisa’s nails dragging long red welts down his back, it wasn’t her teeth sinking into his shoulder while he fucked her. It was your ragged moans filling his senses, your sex he was pumping fervently into. It was your throat his fingers wrapped around squeezing tighter, and tighter, unable to decide if he would let go and allow you to breathe or if he’d strangle and fuck the life out of you. Your eyes were locked onto his in a mix of pain and pleasure with a gaze so intense and intimate, and begging for more, it drove him to madness. Perfectly soft, and delicious lips parted as you gasped for air, his name lingering on the tip of your pink tongue. He couldn’t stop, you felt fucking amazing quivering around him, and his hands felt too good locked around your neck. Your fingers clawed down his arms, body writhing and pulsing with each sharp jolt of his hips until your climax left you coming apart at the seams as your lips turned shades of blue and purple. Under the unrelenting pressure of his grip those eyes of yours finally broke away from him only to turn up to the ceiling lifeless and glassy as your body went limp. Arms and hands falling away to gracefully frame your face morbid and beautiful and unmoving. Paralyzed in a state of euphoria and suffering. Suddenly it’s not what he wanted anymore. Suddenly he wanted to your eyes on him again, judging and condemning, and he found himself violently shaking you by the shoulders attempting to breathe life back into your empty body. But you wouldn’t breathe, resistance wouldn’t return to your loose muscles, the drumming in your chest had gone silent. Gathering you in his arms he pressed his face into the crook of your neck, the warmth of you slipping away too quickly. When he pulled away to whisper his sorry’s in your ear he smelled the distinctive scent of iron. The scent and feel of slick startled him, dropping you on the bed he backed away in a panic. Your blood coated his hands and seeped into the white cotton below your head stemming from an unseen wound, pooling around you and sinking your body into it’s wetness, filling the room swallowing you in it. His chest heaved as a thick fog of shadow rolled in around the edges carrying with it the echo of strangled voices both pleading for mercy and threatening, and he was frightened for the first time in a very long time. But it was when your hand, cold and dead, wrapped fingers around his wrist like a vice and dragged him under that shook his bones in horror.

Dean woke up with a start, sitting straight up, out of breath and disoriented, taking a moment to figure out where he was  he promised himself that he’d never sleep sober again. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and rubbing his eyes as he stood. He leaned over your bed, crawling to you needing to check on you, to make sure he hadn’t accidentally murdered you in his sleep. When his eyes adjusted his face darkened when he saw you, fingers laced with his brothers. And your pretty lips, the same ones with his name on them in his head, pressed against the back of Sam’s hand contented and curled into a soft smile at the corners made his blood boil. Jealous was something he’d never considered himself, he’d never felt it with Lisa, knowing exactly where he sat in her heart. But this was different, he was different. Stepping over to Sam’s form he gave his boot a solid kick, abruptly jerking him, with a gasp, from his sleep. Wordless Dean stalked out the door, his jaw set tight. Sam shook his head to get the sleep out and followed Dean out the door. Leaning up against the door of the Impala with arms crossed over his chest Dean waited for Sam to shut the door behind him before starting in.

“So that’s what this was about?” Dean questioned but he wasn’t really asking, he’d already come to a conclusion about what he just saw and he didn’t like to share. Tilting his head to the side, his face screwing up in confusion Sam was almost afraid to ask for an explanation and still too tired to connect the dots.

“What are you talking about?”

“You and Y/n? You in love with her or something?”

“Dean...”

“What, Sam? Are you? I saw you in there holding her hand like she means something to you.” He accused, as if you were also meaningless to him.

“She does.” Sam admitted, you’d meant something to him for a long time, and Dean was the only thing standing in the way of it. Forgiving Dean for everything he’d done to ruin Sam’s life was no easy task, and it came with a fair share of resentment. Sam wasn’t allowed to live the normal life he’d wanted, he wasn’t allowed to be happy or have something healthy, not when Dean was so sick. It was easier to rationalize when Lisa and Ben had passed, easier to forgive the destruction that came with their deaths in their wake. But time continues and the world keeps spinning, people move on, but Dean couldn’t let go. And he wouldn’t let Sam carry on either. Of course he complied- it was his brother after all, the only family they had remaining in the world, but Sam had been pushed to his ends. There was no more justifying it, there was no more room for Dean’s grief to come before his own happiness. And after last night there was a flicker of hope that he might still be able to have something for just him, maybe he didn’t have to be a monster, maybe there was still a chance that there was goodness left in him.

His answer left Dean taken aback, with that ugly jealousy brewing in his gut, and it disgusted him. The whole situation disgusted him, it was always black and white. He found someone to take his anger out on, they stopped existing, and he moved on till the next time, and he didn’t think about it. Not time to rethink, or consider other approaches, no chance to give a fuck. And that was how he liked it. Pure instinct. Now there were shades for gray bleeding through. Every time he closed his eyes your face flashed in his mind more often than he would have liked, and your words barreled through his mind like a train. It made him feel again, and he despised it. But he wasn’t willing to just let Sam move in either. Had it been anyone else it would have been easy to ignore, but this was his brother, and this was you.

“Right, of course. And what- you figured you were just going to play hero, swoop in and whisk the damsel in distress somewhere safe so you can live happily ever after?” Dean snarked, and when his answer only came in the form of a frustrated head shake he continued. “Was all that supposed to happen before or after you throw your own brother under the bus?”

“It’s not like that.” Sam stated, it wasn’t fair of Dean to have dragged him into his escapades in the first place, and for him to throw it back in his face, it wasn’t right. Dean’s temper was flaring and Sam knew there was little he could do at that point to calm him, but he also knew that Dean wasn’t one to just drop something either, and he was through keeping the peace for Dean’s sake.

“Then what’s it like Sam? What was your plan?” Dean demanded. Sam didn’t  answer. “Y’know I distinctly remember you saying it was time we paid our dues, right before you ran away. So tell me the fucking truth.”

“I was gonna put her on a plane, drive her somewhere. I offered to take her to the Police, whatever she wanted.”

“Oh well aren’t you a bleeding fucking heart all of a sudden. You save the girl, and you run away, and you live some normal apple-pie life, pretend like none of this ever happened. You really think she’d go for that? For you? You’re a monster Sam, a freak. Just like me. And I may have pushed her to spill blood first, but you’re the one who suggested we take her in the first place. You tell me which is worse, the man that fires a gun, or the one handing it to him loaded, knowing he’d pull the trigger.”

“I couldn’t just let you torture her! I couldn’t stand around and watch you take out your pound of flesh from an innocent girl. You’re sick Dean! What you did was cruel, it was heartless, even for us- even for you. How many more people have to suffer? How many more victims before you’re satisfied?” Sam rationalized through grit teeth, the only reason he was on the line was because of Dean. Because Dean knew he could call for help and Sam would come running. Because that’s who he was. Because they were family, and there was no one more important than family. But now he felt taken advantage of, now he felt his kindness and willingness to be there for Dean was being abused. He wasn’t willing to stand by and watch the death toll grow around him anymore.

“As many as it takes.”

“As many as it takes for what? Lisa and Ben are dead, and no amount of blood you spill is going to bring them back.” Sam chastised, the mention of their names sent him reeling. Dean snapped, connecting his fist to Sam’s jaw with a dull crack, knocking him off balance and sending him clumsily into his Charger parked behind him, splitting his lip.

“Don’t you ever fucking talk about them.” Dean spat, eyes narrowed with threat and promise. No one was allowed to mention them. Sam returned to his height bringing the back of his hand to his mouth wiping away a thin trail of blood, before shaking hair from his face and trying to refocus. Raising his arms in the air at his sides he gave Dean a free target.

“You can hit me all you want, it’s not gonna change anything. You’re losing it man. They’re gone and it hurts so bad you don’t know how to move on.”

“I said don’t fucking talk about them!” Dean yelled, grabbing his brother by the collar and whipping his fist across his face again.

Smack!

And again.

Smack!

And again.

Smack!

Sam didn’t struggle, didn’t fight back, it wouldn’t have done any good. Anger was the only thing Dean understood since they died, it was the only language he spoke. And the beating was the least Sam deserved, after everything he’d done to you, after everything he’d done to help Dean cover his tracks. He deserved far worse, they both deserved the electric chair, and a lifetime in prison. They were a danger to society. This had gone on unchallenged long enough, too long.

“They’re dead Dean, and you’re turning into the thing that killed them.” Sam muttered exhausted, head swimming with eyes half-lidded but unafraid. Rearing back his fist intending to strike again Dean stopped his eyes fixated on Sam’s face who was willing to take any number of punches he wanted to throw at him. The fact that he refused to fight him back, that Sam was willing to just let him take his anger out on him did nothing but piss him off further, slipping deeper into that maddening rage that seeped every aspect of his mind and body. Rage was all he knew anymore, it was the only thing that made sense anymore. Dean shoved him backwards against the car where he hit hard, forcing the air from his lungs and slumped to the gravel below.

Leaving him there Dean walked around the Impala and climbed into the driver's seat slamming the door as he did. Firing his Baby up she came to life with a thundering rumble and he tore out of the parking lot, her tires squealing sharply over blacktop once he hit the paved road. There wasn’t a specific destination in mind, somewhere with liquor. Somewhere with enough liquor to drown them out, or drink himself to death- whichever came first.

There was no dealing with their deaths, how could he when it was his fault they were dead? If he’d just been stronger, or faster maybe. If he’d gotten home ten minutes sooner. He should have known, he should have tried harder, fought more. He could have saved them, and he failed. He was left trying to figure out how to carry on when he got to live and they didn’t. It had been years and he still couldn’t figure it out, he couldn’t end it himself, not yet. There was still unfinished business he had to attend to. The problem was he couldn’t hunt the fucker down. Gordon was as elusive as he was evil, and his murder spree hadn’t shown any signs of slowing down. There was no telling how high his body count was at that point, the only ones that could really be pinned on him were Ben and Lisa, all of the other women that had gone missing or been found dead across the state were nothing more that speculation. But Dean knew when they flashed across the screen.

‘Local Woman missing from home following break-in.’

‘Sixth Woman to go missing in two months.’

‘Body of missing Local Woman found.’

‘Human remains found, thought to be body of Missing Woman’

By his estimate Gordon had at least fifty kills under his belt in the last two years alone. His pattern was sporadic and ever changing, the only thing remaining the same were that all of his victims were young, attractive women who were at the wrong place at the wrong time. Much like you.

Sam was right, he was turning into the thing he hated most. He was turning into the Thing that lurks in the shadows and steals life, the monster in the dark. He didn’t even know how it happened, it just did, the natural progression of events. Before long it had become habit, addiction, commonplace. Not once had he stopped to wonder why, or take a moment to notice how far off the bandwagon he’d fallen. He was like poison now, infecting and killing everything around him, and he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop because he liked it. There was a morbid safety in the dark. After living there for so long it becomes a sanctuary of sorts. There was no further he could fall because he was already at rock bottom. No one’s heart to break because they were already all broken. There was no one left to disappoint, and no one to make him feel worse, because he was already buried in it.

He was untouchable because he was so full up on his own brand of self inflicted torment that no one would hurt him more than he’d already hurt himself. And when one doesn’t have hope they can’t be let down. At least that’s what he thought. But then there was you. You who had the same vibrant defiance and unwavering stubbornness as his Lisa. You who was supposed to be just another speed bump in the road.

The look on your face when he’d forced you into your first kill, that broken and shocked look had remained with him burned forever in his memory and if he thought about it long enough it would be one of his biggest regrets.

“And I blame you.” You’d said, your voice strong willed but quite, no edge of anger, or hatred. If anything your words were tinged with a sort of defeat, maybe it was acceptance; either way hearing them pass your perfect lips struck him in his soul in a way he didn’t think was possible anymore. And it infuriated him beyond fucking measure. Still there was a small flicker of something, there was no denying the wash of relief on your face when you’d seen him in the woods, and how his heart nearly leapt out of his chest because of it.

Dean smacked his palm against the steering wheel and let out a frustrated sigh realizing he’d left you back at the hotel, with Sam. Which was the exact opposite of what he wanted. Sam just pissed him the fuck off, bringing up Ben and Lisa set him off like nothing else and Sam knew that. Once their names were dropped that was it, all he saw was red, and the only thing he could do was leave so he didn’t murder his little brother in broad daylight in a parking lot. But the last thing he wanted was to give you and Sam an opportunity to get closer, at least until he could figure out how he felt about you. And now he might as well have dropped you right in Sam’s lap, what would you think of him now? You wouldn’t understand why he’d just beaten his brother senseless, how could you? And it wouldn’t matter if you did, you were a logical sort of person, he knew that. He knew this just made him look worse in your eyes, as if he could stoop lower. That pit in his stomach grew beginning to consume too much of his being. There wasn’t enough liquor in the world to fill it, to numb it, to change anything.

He had to go back, if he could just try to be a normal fucking human again, if he could just try to connect with you… He didn’t know what he was expecting. Didn’t know what he wanted from you. He didn’t want to scare you away, let alone into the arms of his brother. Maybe he could explain, just try to talk to you. The idea didn’t sit right with him, it made him more uncomfortable than anything he could think of. But if he was going to try to keep you around he needed to give you a reason to stay, and so far he’d given you nothing but reasons to run far, far away.

The distinct sound of Dean’s car ripped you from a near comatose slumber, eyes snapping open noticing the absence of both of them immediately. Slipping out of the bed you stepped cautiously to the window, not sure if you wanted to know what you’d find. Surely they wouldn’t just leave you there, dump you off at some random motel and jump ship? Sam wouldn’t do that to you, and you had a feeling that if Dean drove so long to hunt you down he wouldn’t either. Pulling back the curtain you peered out the window to find that beautiful black Impala missing, but Sam’s Charger still parked. Eyes went wide noticing a pair of long legs sprawled out over the gravel parking lot.

Without hesitation you tore the door to the room open and ran to Sam’s side, gathering his face in your hands, bloody and bruised. Jaw locking tight you smoothed disheveled strands of chestnut out of his face to get a better look. Split lip, and long ripped gash along his cheekbone already starting to discolor. It didn’t take but split seconds for you to figure out who did it, what you couldn’t figure was why. Dean had his shot last night to be pissed, to retaliate, why now? What you did know was that it was early, and bright, and Sam laying in a pulverized heap on the ground was not the attention they were going to want to attract.

“Okay Sasquatch, we gotta get you back inside, and I can’t carry you. You’re gonna have to help me out.” You said, understanding hazel eyes turned up at you as you knotted your fingers in the collar of his plaid shirt struggling to bring his massive form to his feet, which took more effort than you’d have liked. He helped as much as he could but he looked like he’d gone twelve rounds with a block of cement. With a groan he slung a heavy arm across your shoulders putting a little more weight on your side than you’d have been comfortable with but you were determined to drag him back to the room.

Once inside you kicked the door closed with your foot and dropped Sam back into the chair by the window. Sucking in a breath, filling your lungs, you let out of with a worn-out sigh. You had always been on the strong side, it’s not like you had been a power-lifter or anything, you’d just always been strong and capable for your size. But that was a workout. It was only about fifteen feet, but it felt like you’d just run a mile.

“Fuck, you are heavy!” You groaned. “You’re so thin! Why are you so heavy?”

Sam responded with a lazy smirk, but grateful for your help nonetheless. The answer was the miles of rolling and rippling suntanned muscle hidden under his shirt. It didn’t help that he was basically a full foot taller than you which made all of that weight throw off your balance.

The little first aid kit was still sitting open on the table, and you slipped into the bathroom to grab and wet a washcloth and flicked on the lights so you could see what you were doing. You stood between his thighs dabbing at the tender and broke skin on his face gently, pausing each time you saw his eyes flinch.

“Sorry…” You offered empathetic, he just shook his head.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about me.”

The thing that perhaps was perplexing you the most was the fact that you’d bludgeoned a man to death last night and couldn’t give two flying fucks less, but seeing Sam in slight discomfort made your stomach churn and your heart hurt.

This is stupid. On a long list of stupid things in your life. This is hands-down the stupidest of things. You chastised yourself. You’re catching feelings for a fucking psychopath.

It’s not as if you could have helped it. People can’t necessarily choose who they develop feelings for. If that were a thing then you’d have stayed with Matt Lowery, he was handsome, and nice, and safe, and so boring he made you want to blow your brains out all over his dumb cream coloured carpet. He was the kind of guy you bring home to meet your parents, the kind of guy who would have bent over backwards to make you happy. But no matter how hard he’d try, he’d always fall short, always missing a certain component that you needed desperately. Most importantly of all, you were not in love with him. You nothing’d him. It wasn’t that you didn’t try, you did, you really did. You wanted to love his soulful brown eyes. You wanted to love that he was a good person. You wanted to want him. But he didn’t make your heart leap out of your chest, or put that flutter in your stomach like you did him. You couldn’t see spending the rest of your life with him, hell you couldn’t see spending a full day with him. You never missed him when he was gone. Your body didn’t react to his touch like it should have, he always left you unsatisfied, and desiring more. There was a hunger in the pit of you that needed more, more than he could give you. You’d hoped you’d grow to love him, but it never happened. And when his laugh turned to nails on a chalkboard in your head, and seeing him became a chore it was time to go.  When you broke it off you knew you broke his heart, but you felt so free that you didn’t care. Maybe you were cruel for leaving, maybe you were crueler for staying and wasting his time. But once he was gone you didn’t think about him anymore, it was like the two years you were with him held no weight, and he didn’t exist. You hadn’t even thought about him till now.  If you were smarter you might have stayed, if you could choose who you wanted you might have stayed.

But that isn’t how it works. The heart wants what the heart wants. And now you were looking at Sam marveling the sharp, angular lines of his face, the dimples carved in his cheeks, the pink softness of his lips, and how long and lovely his eyelashes were. And he was looking at you with those eyes like a kaleidoscope of color, steel blue and green, and golden honey, with a deep seated sweetness in them. He was watching you so intently you were finding it hard to focus, like he could bore a hole straight through your head and peer directly into your very soul. Heat crept into your cheeks forcing you to look away embarrassed and a bit ashamed by the filthy thoughts flitting through your head. Clearing your throat you decided you needed a topic change, the feel of powerful thighs on either side of yours a bit too distracting.

“So you wanna tell me what happened.”

“Dean.”

“Yeah, I figured that much, but why?”

“He’s upset that we ran. And I pushed too far about Ben and Lisa.” Sam lamented. He’d deserved to be hit for that, not one of his proudest moments.

“Ben and Lisa? His wife and kid?” Up till then they could have just been a made up sob story Sam just concocted to make you feel sympathy for his brother. They had names, and that made a difference for you, it made them seem somehow more real. But the way Sam said their names sounded more like curse word than anything else.

“Yeah, I shouldn’t have brought them up.” The shameful guilt written on his face broke your heart. It baffled you at the same time that someone with so much empathy and compassion could follow such a heartless path. You wondered if he could stand to look at himself in the mirror, or if he slept much at night. Then again, that was something you were trying to get a wrangle on yourself. There was no simple answer, and nothing left to say.

There was no rubbing alcohol in the first aid kit, but you had found half a bottle of whiskey, and it was going to have to make due. His eyes squeezed shut, and he let out a small sharp hiss through his teeth at the burn of alcohol seeping into open and raw skin. Strong hands gripped your thighs so abruptly he nearly threw you off balance. All bets were off after that, there was no ignoring the warmth seeping through your jeans from his large hands that didn’t move away after dropping the whiskey soaked cotton ball on the table. Feather-light fingertips slipped along the length of his jawline, tilting his head up to see what else you could do for him, but you weren’t nurse and didn’t have the ability to heal with a touch. He was just going to have to deal with some bruising for a while.

“I think your prognosis is good. You’re going to live.” You said, as Sam’s hands inched ever so slowly up your thighs, his dimpled smile flushing your face and core with heat.

“Oh, is that your professional medical opinion?” He asked turning soulful hazel eyes up to catch yours, intense and burning with a hunger. Tracing your thumb over his lower lip soft, and pink and inviting you simply nodded as answer, pulling your own lip between your teeth transfixed and acutely aware of the agonizingly slow travel of his hands up your thighs. Sam’s grip came to rest at the bones in your hip, his thumbs slipping under the hem of your t-shirt and sliding rough against the smooth skin beneath it and just above the rise of your jeans sending tiny sparks of electricity straight to your center. Swallowing down your apprehension you slipped fingers into the soft locks of chestnut hair that curled around his collar.

This was wrong, and you knew it, and it made it all the more exhilarating. Large hands slipped higher under your shirt, long graceful fingers digging into the soft skin over your ribs, lips parted seeking permission but expectant. That nervous want coursed through your veins making it harder to breathe properly, making your body vibrate in anticipation, waiting for you to make a decision. Another choice that had the potential to change your future. 

You can’t sleep with your kidnapper.

You’d made stupid choice after stupid choice so far and looking into his eyes like a kaleidoscope of color it was difficult to keep your wits about you. When he pulled you in ever so slightly, enough to feel the heat radiate off of him like a furnace, and the flex of the muscle in his chest firm and taut, and flush against your stomach, it was all over. The scent of him filled your senses, and all you could feel was his electricity moving over bare skin raising goosebumps over your ribs and up your back lingering in the wake of his touch. You met his lips with yours crushing and hungry, his hands wrapping around the back of your thighs pulling you into straddle his lap, wasting no time once you were there to knot his fingers firmly in your hair. The feel of his arms wrapped so tightly around you, and his teeth sinking into that sensitive spot on your neck just below your ear was euphoric and distracting.

You never heard the sound of that distinct telltale engine pulling back into the parking lot.

Tags: @roseangel013bf, @sanityoverrated27, @nibeca, @deanlenaotp, @deanandsamsbitch, @classyjellyfishpoetry, @sarahbearccxc, @smiling-meerkat, @goldenangelbloodcastiel, @pearlparty, @aquabrie, @notnaturalanahi, @mogaruke, @deansbitch1967, @ladylustitia, @supernatastic101art, @starhdust @ellen-reincarnated1967, @wedontapologize, @butiaintgonnaloveem, @deansbitch1967, @deanandsamsbitch, @green-eyed-hunters, @butiaintgonnaloveem, @ellen-reincarnated1967, @mogaruke, @alexwinchester23, @bunnybaby121115 @afanofmanystuffs @hobby27 @heyitscam99