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lila-lou · 2 days ago

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✨Taking her in - Pt. 17✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Language, Dean on pain meds, reader is struggling - a fucking lot

Word Count: 7061

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💜

The hallway was quiet as you made your way back to Dean’s room, your steps soft on the cold floor. Your heart still raced from the conversation with Sam, but there was a strange calm that had settled over you as well—one that came from knowing he understood and accepted what was between you and Dean.

You carefully pushed the door open, slipping inside as silently as you could manage. The dim light from the hallway spilled in for a moment before the door clicked shut behind you, plunging the room back into shadow. You froze, your eyes adjusting to the faint glow of the bedside lamp.

“You know, you’re not exactly stealthy”, Dean’s voice rumbled softly from the bed, startling you.

You turned toward him, your heart skipping a beat. He was awake, of course. His hunter’s instincts rarely let him sleep deeply, and you should’ve known he’d notice you slipping out of bed. His green eyes, sharper than they had been in days, flicked up to meet yours, and a faint smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Where’d you run off to?”, he asked, his voice low and gravelly, though there was no trace of annoyance—just curiosity.

You bit your lip, slipping out of your sweater and climbing back into bed beside him. His arm automatically lifted to let you curl against his uninjured side, and the warmth of his body enveloped you. “Bathroom”, you said softly, your fingers resting lightly on his chest.

Dean’s smirk softened as you settled back into his side, your fingers tracing light patterns over his chest. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he leaned down, his lips brushing against your jawline. The kiss was slow and deliberate, his warm breath fanning over your skin as he trailed soft kisses along your jaw toward your ear.

His broken arm rested gently on your hip, his fingers curling slightly to keep you close. You felt him tense as he shifted, a quiet wince slipping from his lips as the motion pulled at his injured ribs.

“Dean”, you whispered, concern lacing your voice. Your hand immediately went to his arm, your fingers resting lightly over the cast. “Careful. You’re supposed to be resting”.

Dean huffed a quiet laugh, his lips hovering just below your ear. “I am resting”, he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “This is my kind of resting”.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, even as you tried to keep your worry in check. “Resting doesn’t usually involve wincing in pain”, you pointed out gently, tilting your head slightly to meet his gaze.

Dean pulled back just enough to look at you, his green eyes still soft but tinged with determination. “It’s fine”, he said, his voice gruff but affectionate.

You glanced down, your heart skipping a beat as you instinctively searched Dean’s shirt for any sign of fresh blood. Relief washed over you when you didn’t see any new stains—this time, at least. But your relief was short-lived as your eyes caught sight of his broken arm resting on your hip. The fingers peeking out from the edge of the cast were dark purple, bruised and swollen, and they twitched slightly as he tried to move them.

Dean’s rough fingertips brushed over your hip in a featherlight, tentative motion. The small gesture made your breath hitch, but you couldn’t ignore the way his fingers barely moved, like every slight touch was an effort.

“Dean”, you murmured, your voice soft but filled with concern as you placed your hand over his cast. Your fingers lightly traced the edge of the plaster, careful not to press too hard. “You shouldn’t be moving this arm at all”.

His lips quirked into a faint smile, though there was a flicker of exhaustion in his eyes. “Doesn’t hurt that much”, he muttered, but his voice lacked conviction, and the lines of pain etched into his features betrayed him.

You raised an eyebrow, not buying his bravado for a second. “Dean”, you said again, your tone firmer this time.

Dean sighed heavily, a mix of defeat and that ever-present stubbornness. “Alright, alright”, he grumbled, letting his bruised fingers relax against your hip. “I’ll hold it still, okay?”. But before you could feel relieved, he added with a small smirk, “But lemme kiss you”.

The sudden shift in his tone made your cheeks flush, and the warmth shot through you before you could stop it. Your eyes flicked to his face, and despite the bruises and the exhaustion, that teasing, irresistible charm was still there. It wasn’t fair how he could make you feel like this, even in his condition.

You rolled your eyes playfully, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “You’re impossible, you know that?”, you muttered, tilting your head toward him.

Dean’s grin softened into something warmer as he leaned forward just enough to meet your lips. The kiss was gentle, his movements careful as if he was more concerned about not hurting you than himself. His lips, slightly cracked but still so soft, moved against yours in a slow, tender rhythm that made your heart flutter.

The heat in your chest grew, and you tried to push it away, knowing he needed rest far more than anything else. But his good arm tightened around you slightly, his fingers brushing against your back in a way that sent shivers down your spine. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss just enough to make you lose track of everything else.

“Dean”, you mumbled against his lips, your voice barely audible. You tried to pull back, but he followed, capturing your lips again with a quiet hum of satisfaction.

“What?”, he murmured, his voice rough but playful, his forehead resting against yours when he finally let you pull away. “You’re the one who keeps saying I need to rest. Pretty sure this counts as rest”.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the warmth that spread through your entire body. “This isn’t exactly what I meant”, you said softly, your fingers brushing over his chest, careful of his injuries. “You’re supposed to be healing”.

Dean’s green eyes gleamed with mischief as he looked at you, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against your side. “Sweetheart, this is the best medicine I’ve ever had”.

You rolled your eyes at Dean’s words, but you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning back in, pressing your lips to his again. The kiss was soft, slow, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy either of you. You felt yourself moving closer, careful of his injuries but unable to resist the pull of his warmth and the way his lips molded perfectly to yours.

Dean’s thumb brushed lazy circles against your side, his good hand slipping under the hem of your shirt as his fingers traced your skin. His touch was light, almost teasing, but it sent shivers coursing through you. When he pulled back slightly, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke, his voice was rough and laced with mischief.

“You know”, he murmured, his words slurred just enough to remind you how tired he still was, “I can think of a way… where I wouldn’t have to do much of anything”.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. His green eyes, dark with desire but softened by exhaustion, held yours, a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Dean..”, you said, your voice a mixture of nervousness and anticipation.

“I know, resting”, he whispered, his good hand sliding a little further up your side, the warmth of his palm against your skin making you shiver. “That’s the beauty of it. You’d be in control, sweetheart. All you gotta do is…”. His voice trailed off as his smirk deepened, his eyes flicking down your body before returning to your face.

The implication in his words made your cheeks burn, and you couldn’t help the way your thighs pressed together at the heat building between them.

He grinned at your reaction, his thumb still tracing small circles on your skin. “C’mon”, he teased, his voice dipping lower, huskier. “I’d just lay here, lookin’ at you—watchin’ you do all the work”. His words were laced with a lazy confidence, but there was a rough edge to his tone that told you just how much the idea affected him, too. “Bet you’d look so damn good ridin’ me”.

Your breath hitched at his words, and your face grew impossibly hotter. You’d never heard Dean talk to you like this before—not this openly, this unabashedly. It was overwhelming, making your heart race and your stomach twist in nervous excitement. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, spreading through your body, and you couldn’t deny how much his words affected you.

“I’ve… I’ve never—”, you started, your voice barely above a whisper, but Dean cut you off with a soft kiss.

He shifted slightly beneath you, his good arm keeping you close as his eyes roamed over your face, drinking in your reaction.

“That just makes it better”, Dean continued, his voice dropping even lower, taking on a soft, teasing edge. “Means I get to teach you everything, make sure you do it just right”.

Your cheeks burned at his words, and you couldn’t stop the small gasp that slipped from your lips. “Dean”, you mumbled, trying to keep your composure, but his grin only widened.

“What?”, he teased, his thumb dipping just a little lower, brushing the bare skin above your waistband. “Just sayin’—I’d love to see you on top of me, takin’ your time. You’d look so damn good, movin’ just how you want”.

Dean’s smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a soft groan as he tilted his head back against the pillow. His thumb continued to tease the bare skin above your waistband, but his grip on your hip tightened ever so slightly, as if anchoring himself to the moment.

“Sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice rougher now, tinged with a frustrated whine that caught you completely off guard. His head lolled to the side, his green eyes locking onto yours, hazy with exhaustion and pain meds. “Don’t make me beg”, he grumbled, his words slurred slightly but still carrying that signature Dean Winchester charm.

You blinked, taken aback, your lips parting as you tried to process his tone. He sounded desperate, his usual confidence muddied by the haze of medication. The sight of him—battered and bruised but still so determined—made your heart ache and your stomach flutter at the same time.

“I’m serious”, Dean continued, his good hand sliding further up your side, his fingertips brushing just under the edge of your bra. His breath hitched slightly as he leaned his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t make me beg, sweetheart. You’re killing me here".

“Dean”, you whispered, your voice soft but tinged with amusement. “You’re not exactly in any condition to—”.

“I don’t care”, he interrupted, his tone suddenly more urgent, though still laced with exhaustion. “C’mon, baby. I’m just… I’m too damn tired to argue. Just wanna feel you, okay?”.

The vulnerability in his words, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded, made your resolve crumble. You bit your lip, your cheeks flushing as you considered his request.

“Fine”, you murmured, your voice barely audible as you leaned in closer. “But you tell me if it’s too much”.

Dean’s lips curved into a faint, victorious smirk as his thumb traced a slow, lazy line up your side. “Wouldn’t dream of stoppin’ you”, he murmured, his voice thick with desire despite his weakened state.

The anticipation in the air was electric, your heart pounding as you shifted slightly, your thighs brushing against his. Dean let out a low groan, his head falling back as his good hand guided you, his bruised and battered body completely at your mercy.

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling slightly as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of your panties, slowly pushing them down over your hips. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but the heat pooling in your stomach drove you forward. Biting your lip, you glanced at Dean, who was now fumbling awkwardly with his boxers, his injured body making every motion slow and deliberate.

Dean grunted, his frustration evident as he tried to push the fabric down without jostling his broken arm or pulling at his stitched-up chest. “This is harder than it should be”, he muttered, shooting you an apologetic but amused glance. His lips quirked into a lazy smirk as he caught the flush on your cheeks. “You could help, you know”.

You rolled your eyes, though the blush on your face deepened. “You’re impossible”, you muttered, leaning over to help him tug the boxers down just enough, careful not to hurt him. His warm skin brushed against your fingers, and the contact made you shiver, your curiosity bubbling over.

As you sat back, Dean’s smirk turned into a grin, his good hand settling back on your hip. “See? Teamwork”.

You shot him a look, your voice laced with mock annoyance but softened by your shy smile. “I’m not sure if I like this version of you, high on painkillers”, you grumbled, though the playful edge in your tone gave you away. “You’re too bold”.

Dean chuckled lowly, his voice rough and teasing as he tilted his head back to look at you. “Bold, huh? Sweetheart, this is just me being honest. The filters are gone”. He let out a soft groan as you settled back against him, his hand tracing a slow, lazy line along your side.

You narrowed your eyes at him, though the warmth spreading through your body betrayed you. “Is this the Dean women usually get?”, you asked softly, your voice tinged with both curiosity and embarrassment. “The ones who aren’t… like I was?”.

Dean’s smirk softened into something warmer, more sincere as he looked up at you. His thumb continued its gentle path along your side, his touch deliberate and grounding. “You”, he murmured, his voice low and rough, “you get whatever you want. Always”.

His words sent a shiver through you, and you bit your lip, your blush deepening as you sat on his lower stomach. You were acutely aware of the hard length of him pressing against you, the heat of his skin searing against your own. Dean’s good hand moved with purpose, his fingers sliding down your body until they brushed against your inner thigh.

“C’mere”, he murmured.

You felt his thumb find its way to your slick folds, brushing through them with a slow, deliberate stroke that made your entire body tremble. Dean let out a low groan, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he felt just how ready you were.

You whimpered softly, the sound escaping your lips before you could stop it. His touch was skilled but gentle, his thumb moving in slow circles as his fingers teased you, spreading your arousal.

Dean let out a soft, strained chuckle, his fingers gliding through your wetness again as he murmured, “Don’t even need to get you ready, do I?”. His voice was rough, edged with a mix of desire and exhaustion, but the heat in his gaze burned into you, making your entire body tingle.

You bit your lip, unable to meet his eyes as the embarrassment and need warred within you. “Dean”, you whispered, your voice trembling, but he didn’t let you say more. His good hand slipped away from your folds, settling back on your hip to steady you.

“Alright, sweetheart”, he said, his voice softer now, though still tinged with that teasing edge. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna take control, yeah? Move just how you want. I’ll… guide you… a bit”.

You hesitated for a moment, your hands braced lightly against his chest. The thought of taking control, of being the one to lead, was both thrilling and terrifying. You nodded slowly, swallowing hard as you looked down at him.

“Good girl”, Dean murmured, his words sending a fresh wave of heat through you. His thumb traced small circles on your hip as he continued, his tone gentle but firm. “Start slow. Take your time, okay? You’ll figure it out”.

You let out a shaky breath, lifting yourself slightly and aligning your hips with his. The feeling of his tip brushing against your entrance made you gasp softly, your heart pounding in your chest as you pressed down just enough to let him begin to stretch you.

Dean groaned low in his throat, his good hand tightening on your hip as he felt you envelop him inch by inch. “That’s it”, he rasped, his voice strained. “Slow, sweetheart. Nice and slow”.

You nodded, following his guidance as you sank lower, your body adjusting to the unfamiliar stretch. The sensation was overwhelming but in the best way, a mix of pleasure and anticipation as you took him deeper. Dean’s head fell back against the pillow, his jaw clenching as he tried to keep still, his broken arm resting awkwardly at his side.

“Feel so damn good”, he muttered, his voice hoarse and full of awe. His hand on your hip gave a soft squeeze, urging you to keep going. “That’s my girl. Just like that”.

You blushed deeply at his words but let them encourage you.

As you slowly sank down further, the stretch grew more intense, the last couple of inches making you inhale sharply. Your body tensed instinctively, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you tried to steady yourself. Your hands fluttered near Dean’s shoulders, hesitant to press down, not wanting to hurt him further or strain his injuries.

Dean’s eyes flickered open at the sound, and his gaze softened when he saw the tension in your face. “Hey”, he murmured, his voice low and rough, but filled with reassurance. “You’re alright, sweetheart. My shoulder’s fine”.

You bit your lip, looking down at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you”, you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as your body struggled to adjust to the overwhelming sensation.

Dean’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Trust me”, he muttered, his tone taking on that familiar teasing edge, even though his voice was heavy with desire. “If this is hurting me, it’s the kind of pain I’d happily live with”.

His words made your cheeks flush, the tension in your body easing just slightly. He tightened his grip on your hip, guiding you down another inch, groaning low in his throat as you took more of him. “That’s it”, he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours. “Nice and easy. You’re doing so good”.

The way he looked at you—half-proud, half-crazed with need—sent a rush of heat through your body. You nodded shakily, your breaths coming in short gasps as you tried to relax around him.

“Take your time”, he said softly. “No rush, sweetheart. Just feel it”.

You followed Dean’s guidance, your body trembling as you slowly, carefully, sank all the way down until you were fully seated against him. The stretch was intense, overwhelming, but the way his warmth filled you sent a rush of heat through your entire body. A low, guttural groan rumbled in Dean’s chest, his fingers flexing against your hips as he felt you clench around him.

“Fuck”, he muttered, his voice thick and breathless. His head fell back for a moment, his eyes fluttering shut before snapping open again to meet your gaze. “You’re so tight, sweetheart”, he rasped, his good hand stroking your side. “I’ll never get over how good you feel”.

Your breath hitched at his words, your hands still braced on his chest for balance as you tried to adjust to the sensation. The intimacy of the moment, the way Dean looked at you like you were the only thing in the world, made your heart race. But as much as his touch grounded you, there was an uncertainty flickering in your mind—you weren’t sure what to do next.

You searched his face, your blush deepening as your eyes met his. “What now?”, you whispered, your voice trembling slightly with nervousness.

“First, you’re gonna take that bra off”.

Slowly, your hands moved up to the straps of your bra, your fingers trembling as you slipped them off your shoulders. You reached behind to unclasp it, letting the fabric fall away before tossing it aside.

Dean’s good hand immediately slid up from your hip, his palm warm and calloused as he trailed it up your side. His eyes roamed over you appreciatively, his gaze darkening with awe and hunger. “That’s my girl”, he murmured.

The weight of his gaze made you shiver, your hands instinctively moving back to his chest for balance as you tried to steady yourself. Dean’s fingers brushed lightly over your ribs before his hand settled just below your breast, the motion both tender and teasing.

Dean’s hand lingered just below your breast, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin there in a way that made your breath hitch. His green eyes, darkened with desire, never left yours as he leaned in slightly, his voice a husky murmur. “Just move, sweetheart”, he whispered, the heat in his tone sending a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, your cheeks burning as you nodded, but the truth was, you had no idea what you were doing. You’d never done this before—never taken control like this—and the vulnerability of that realization made your heart race.

Dean seemed to sense your hesitation, his good hand sliding back down to your hip. His grip was firm, reassuring, as he guided you gently. “Start slow”, he murmured, his voice softer now, tinged with patience and encouragement. “Just lift up a little, then come back down. You’ve got this”.

You placed one hand on Dean’s shoulder, the firm muscle beneath your fingers grounding you as you tried to follow his guidance. Slowly, you lifted yourself just a little, your thighs already trembling with the effort, and eased yourself back down. The stretch was still intense, a sharp reminder of just how new this was for you, and you bit your lip to keep from wincing. Every movement felt awkward, uncertain, and you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious.

Dean groaned softly beneath you, his grip on your hip tightening slightly, but instead of reassuring you, it only made you hyperaware of your inexperience. A wave of doubt washed over you as your mind spiraled. You knew how many women Dean had been with, how effortlessly skilled and confident they must have been, and here you were, fumbling through something that was supposed to feel natural.

Your cheeks burned, and you avoided meeting his eyes, the vulnerability threatening to overwhelm you.

You took a deep breath, determined to try again despite the uncertainty twisting in your stomach. Slowly, you lifted yourself once more, using Dean’s shoulder as leverage. The movement felt awkward, uncoordinated, and when you sank back down, the stretch was still sharp and overwhelming. Your thighs burned from the effort, and you couldn’t ignore the growing sense that this wasn’t at all what it was supposed to feel like.

Your blush deepened as your insecurities bubbled to the surface. Your small breasts barely moved with your motions, nothing like the exaggerated scenes in the movies you knew Dean used to watch. Your mind raced, comparing yourself to the women you imagined had shared his bed before, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t measuring up.

The self-consciousness made your movements stiffer, more hesitant, and your frustration grew with every awkward attempt. You bit your lip, fighting the urge to stop entirely.

Dean was trying his best to focus on the overwhelming pleasure that came with feeling you around him, tight and warm and so incredibly perfect, rather than the sharp, persistent ache radiating from his injuries. Despite the awkwardness you felt, every movement you made sent jolts of heat coursing through him, the sensation so intense it nearly made him forget the throbbing in his chest and arm.

His good hand gripped your hip firmly, helping guide your slow, uneven motions as he gritted his teeth against the mix of pleasure and pain. He was already close, the sheer intensity of you—how good you felt, how new and raw this was—enough to push him dangerously near the edge. But then he noticed the shift in your body language, the way you hesitated, your movements faltering.

“What’s wrong?”.

Dean’s thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a tear as he tilted your chin up gently, trying to catch your eyes."Hey". His voice softened further, concern laced through every word. “Sweetheart, talk to me. You´re hurt?”.

Dean’s thumb continued its soothing path along your cheek, his green eyes searching yours with a mixture of tenderness and worry. “(Y/N)”, he mumbled softly, his voice steady but insistent. “Are you hurt? Did I—did I do something?”.

You shook your head quickly, biting your lip as you tried to find the words, your hands clutching his shoulders for support. “No”, you whispered, your voice trembling. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not that”.

His brow furrowed, his gaze filled with confusion and concern. “Then what is it? You’re shaking like a leaf”, he murmured, his tone patient and encouraging, even as his thumb brushed away another tear. “Talk to me. I need to know what’s going on”.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. The warmth in his eyes, the softness of his touch, made it impossible to keep your insecurities hidden. “I just…”. You paused, your cheeks flushing as the words caught in your throat.

You took a shaky breath, the words heavy in your chest as you finally forced them out. “I just… I’m so bad at this, Dean”, you whispered, your voice breaking slightly as you looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “I know I’m disappointing you right now”.

The confession hung in the air between you, the weight of it pressing down on your chest as embarrassment clawed at you. You felt so exposed, so small, and the silence that followed only made it worse. “I’m clumsy, I don’t know what I’m doing, and… and you’ve probably had so many women who were amazing at this”, you continued, your voice trembling. “And here I am, just… failing”.

Your hands fell from his shoulders, wrapping around yourself as if you could shield yourself from the vulnerability you’d just laid bare. “I feel so stupid”, you added, the tears you’d been holding back threatening to spill over again. “I just… I want to be good for you”.

Dean’s reaction wasn’t what you expected. There was no frustration, no hint of disappointment or irritation. Instead, his green eyes softened, his expression melting into something so tender and full of love that it nearly stole your breath.

“Baby”, he said, his voice rough but impossibly gentle, “you couldn’t disappoint me if you tried”.

You blinked up at him as his hand cupped your cheek again, his thumb brushing away another stray tear. He shifted slightly, careful of his injuries, and fixed you with a look so full of warmth and sincerity that it made your chest ache.

“You’re not clumsy”, Dean said firmly, his voice steady and full of conviction. “You’re not stupid. And you sure as hell aren’t failing”.

Your lip trembled as you met his gaze, the knot in your chest loosening just slightly at his words. “But I—”.

“Listen to me”, Dean interrupted. “This isn’t about how many people I’ve been with or what anyone else has done. This is us, okay? Just you and me. No comparisons, no expectations“.

Your lip quivered as you whispered, “I’m sorry”, the words barely audible as you bit down on your bottom lip. The vulnerability you felt was overwhelming, but Dean’s thumb brushed against your cheek again, grounding you.

He shook his head, his gaze never leaving yours. “Don’t apologize”, he murmured softly, but then his lips quirked into a small, teasing smirk. His eyes darkened just a little, a spark of heat flickering there. “Do you even know how hard it is for me to hold back right now? Because, sweetheart… you’re so fucking hot like this”.

The unexpected boldness in his words sent a shiver through you, your cheeks burning even hotter. “I…”, you started, but the way his voice dropped lower made your breath catch.

“Let me finish”, he whispered, his tone deep and rough with sincerity. His good hand slid back to your hip, his fingers tightening slightly as if to emphasize his next words.

“You have no idea what it does to me”, he murmured, his gaze unwavering. “Knowing that I’m the only one who’s ever felt you. That no one else has ever touched you like this, made you feel like this”.

His hand tightened slightly on your hip, anchoring you in place as his words sunk deep into your chest. “You’ve given me all of yourself—your trust, your body, everything. And, sweetheart, I don’t take that lightly. Not for a second”.

Your cheeks burned, the weight of his words crashing over you. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as his eyes searched yours, their green depths softened by the tenderness in his expression.

“You’re all mine”, he continued, his voice soft but firm, like he needed you to understand just how much he meant it. “Every sound you make, every time you tremble under my touch, it’s because of me. And no one else gets to have that. Just me”.

The possessiveness in his tone was undeniable, but it wasn’t harsh or overwhelming—it was filled with love, a deep-seated need to cherish and protect you. His forehead pressed gently against yours, his lips brushing over yours in the faintest of kisses.

“You’re perfect to me”, he whispered against your lips, his breath mingling with yours. “Every inch of you, every moment we’ve share. It’s all mine, just like I’m yours”.

Dean let the heavy silence linger for a beat longer, his forehead still pressed against yours. The raw, emotional intensity in his eyes softened just slightly, and you could see the faintest flicker of mischief returning to his expression. His lips quirked into a small, teasing smirk, and you could feel the shift in his demeanor.

“Besides”, he murmured, “if you keep clenching like that, sweetheart, I’m not gonna last long enough to keep making these romantic speeches”.

Your eyes widened, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as his words sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through you. “Dean!”, you squeaked, your cheeks burning hotter than ever.

He chuckled, the sound low and raspy. “Just being honest here. Thought you liked that about me”.

You bit your lip, torn between laughing and burying your face in your hands to hide your embarrassment. “You’re impossible”, you muttered, but the small smile tugging at your lips gave you away.

Dean grinned wider, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Impossible? Nah”, he teased. “I’d say I’m pretty damn good at this”. His gaze darkened slightly. “And judging by how tight you’re holding onto me, I’d say you agree”.

You groaned softly, leaning forward to press your forehead against his shoulder, hiding your face. “Stop”, you mumbled, though the breathy laugh that followed betrayed you.

Dean chuckled again, his good hand moving up to stroke your back gently. “Alright, alright”, he said, his tone softening as he kissed the top of your head.

Dean’s fingers brushed over your back in slow, soothing strokes, the rough calluses on his hands a comforting contrast to the softness of his touch. Your forehead remained pressed against his shoulder, the steady rhythm of his breathing grounding you. His good hand trailed up and down your spine, a silent reminder of his patience and care, even as his thumb occasionally dipped to your hip in a way that sent little jolts of electricity through you.

His lips moved closer to your hair, and you felt his breath warm against your scalp as he murmured, his voice low and tinged with amusement, “You wanna try again, sweetheart? ’Cause, uh… in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m still rock hard here, baby”.

You froze for a moment, your face heating at his words.

“No pressure, though”, he added, his voice softer now, the teasing edge giving way to genuine reassurance. “I mean it, sweetheart. If you’re not feeling it, we stop. Simple as that”.

You lifted your head slightly, your gaze flicking to his face. Despite the smirk playing at his lips, his green eyes held nothing but warmth and understanding. He wasn’t rushing you; he wasn’t pushing. He was just… waiting, patient and steady, letting you decide.

You bit your lip, letting out a shaky breath as your fingers brushed lightly over his chest. “You really don’t make this easy, you know”, you mumbled, half teasing, half shy.

Dean’s grin widened, the wince from his earlier movement fading into the background as his good hand slipped down to your hip again, grounding you. “That’s kinda the point”, he murmured, his voice rough with affection and just a hint of heat. “But I’ll behave if you want me to”.

The glint in his eyes told you he was lying—Dean Winchester didn’t do “behaving” very well—but the sincerity in his tone reassured you nonetheless. You hesitated for a moment, your fingers playing with the edge of his shirt, before you nodded.

"That’s my girl”, Dean whispered, his voice low and laced with pride. He shifted slightly beneath you, wincing as he reached out with his good hand to grab the edge of the blanket. The movement was clumsy, the effort clearly costing him as his chest tightened in protest, but he managed to pull the blanket up and over your shoulders, draping it around you. The gesture was so Dean—thoughtful, protective—and it made your heart swell.

“You’re good”, he murmured. “Take your time”.

The blanket helped you feel less exposed, and the warmth of it, combined with Dean’s steadying touch, gave you the courage to try again. You lifted your hips gently, the stretch still intense as you moved slowly, carefully. You settled back down with a shaky breath, the motion awkward but filled with intention. Your hands clutched his chest for balance, your fingers grazing over his warm skin as you found a rhythm, though it was far from perfect.

Dean’s breath hitched as you moved, and his fingers flexed against your hip. “That’s it”, he rasped, his voice strained but encouraging. “Just like that, sweetheart”.

You bit your lip, focusing on the way his body felt against yours, the way he filled you completely. But despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. Your movements felt unsure, your thighs trembling with the effort, and you couldn’t shake the thought that you weren’t doing this right.

“You’re perfect”.

You glanced at him, your blush deepening. “I’m… I’m not”, you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know what I’m doing”.

Dean’s lips quirked into a small, crooked smile, his green eyes gleaming despite the exhaustion etched into his features. “Sweetheart”, he murmured, his tone a mix of teasing and affection, “if this is you not knowing what you’re doing, I’m in trouble”.

The words made you laugh softly despite yourself, your nervousness easing just a little more.

You were trying your best, but the rhythm wasn’t quite right, your thighs burned, and you felt self-conscious about every little shift and wobble. It was impossible not to wonder how it compared to what Dean had experienced before.

But Dean? Dean didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he didn’t care.

“You feel incredible”.

What he didn’t say—what he would never say—was that yeah, maybe the mechanics weren’t exactly flawless, but none of that mattered. Not when it was you. His feelings for you were doing all the work, filling in every gap with the overwhelming love and desire that had been building between you two. You could’ve been the clumsiest, least experienced partner on the planet, and it wouldn’t have made a damn bit of difference to him.

Dean’s grip on your back tightened slightly, his good hand slipping further down to guide your movements just a little. “Slow it down”, he whispered, his voice strained but gentle. “Take your time. You’re doin’ so good”.

You nodded, biting your lip as you followed his guidance. The slow, deliberate pace made the stretch more manageable, though it still left you trembling with effort. Dean groaned softly beneath you, the sound rumbling through his chest, and the heat in his eyes darkened.

Dean’s groan deepened, his voice thick with both pleasure and restraint. His head tilted back against the couch as his grip on your waist tightened slightly. “Sweetheart”, he murmured, his lips curling into a faint, teasing smirk. “I’m pretty close down here��.

You felt your face heat at his words, but the pressure building in your thighs and the ache in your body made it hard to focus on anything else. While Dean was on the verge of release, you weren’t even close. No matter how hard you tried to keep moving, to find the right rhythm, your nerves and inexperience kept holding you back.

You let out a frustrated breath, your movements faltering slightly as you tried to ignore the growing sense of inadequacy. But Dean was always tuned into you—your emotions, your body, everything. His green eyes opened, meeting yours with a warmth that instantly made your chest tighten. He didn’t say anything at first, just watching you with that same mix of affection and desire.

Then, without warning, his good hand slid from your waist to your thigh, his calloused fingers brushing over your trembling skin. “C’mere”, he muttered, his voice rough but tender. His thumb pressed gently against your sensitive bundle of nerves, circling it slowly with a deliberate, practiced touch.

Your breath hitched sharply, your entire body jolting at the sudden wave of pleasure. “Dean”, you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance as your hips instinctively bucked against his hand. The sensation was overwhelming, all-consuming, and you could feel your muscles beginning to tense as his thumb worked in perfect, steady circles.

“Relax”, Dean whispered, his voice like gravel and honey, grounding you even as he pushed you closer to the edge. “Let me take care of you. Just focus on this”.

His fingers didn’t falter, his movements precise and gentle yet insistent, coaxing every little reaction from you. The strain in his own body was obvious—his breathing ragged, his muscles tense—but he didn’t stop, his focus entirely on you.

“You’re so beautiful”, he rasped, his words tumbling out between groans as you clenched tighter around him. “So damn perfect. Let go for me, baby. I’ve got you”.

His thumb pressed just a little harder, and the tension in your body snapped, a wave of pleasure crashing over you so intensely that it stole your breath.

Dean’s good hand stayed firm on your thigh as the intensity of your release rippled through you, your entire body trembling as waves of pleasure coursed down your spine. The feeling was overwhelming, raw, and utterly consuming. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you gasped for breath, and his voice—low, hoarse, and full of praise—grounded you in the moment.

“That’s it, sweetheart”, Dean rasped, his voice strained but filled with admiration. “You’re so damn perfect… so good for me”.

His grip on your hip tightened slightly, guiding you through the aftershocks as your body pulsed around him. The sensation was too much, pushing him over the edge. With a guttural groan that sent shivers through you, Dean followed, his entire body tensing beneath you as his own release tore through him.

His groans of pleasure turned strained as his stomach muscles scrunched in the process, pulling at his injured chest. He winced, his face contorting in a mix of pain and bliss, but he didn’t stop.

You could feel the tension radiating through him as his release claimed him fully, his breathing ragged and uneven. Despite the obvious discomfort, he didn’t let it detract from the moment. His hand brushed over your thigh again, soothing and grounding as he let out a final, exhausted groan, his head falling back against the couch.

For a long moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of your shared, heavy breaths. Dean’s chest rose and fell beneath you, and his good hand moved to your back, tracing slow, lazy patterns in an effort to steady you both.

Finally, his green eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with a soft, lopsided smile that made your heart ache.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @ladykitana90 @fullbelieverheart @chainsawsangel @zaratahir @rebecca-hvnstn @maackiimoo @mayafatimakhan @ladysparkles78 @lachelledavies-winchester @kamisobsessed @kr804573 @c1gs-coffee @fyegyall @lilbloggs @emily-winchester @star-yawnznn @noell666 @averagedenjienjoyer0290 @impala67rollingthroughtown @stellamagicmoon

#jensen ackles #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader #spn fanfic #spn #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #taking her in

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castiwls · 2 days ago

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⟣ㅤㅤ˳ㅤㅤ︵︵ㅤ𑁥౿ㅤ︵︵ㅤㅤˑㅤㅤ⟢ hidden bots

≫ challengers

guilty as sin? ➵ art donaldson ༯ you both knew cheating was bad...but is it as bad when the person your cheating with is the husband of the woman your own husband still loves 13 years later?

lucky charm ➵ art donaldson ༯ fucking the nanny...how cliche. at least its not as bad when your wife agrees

daddy issues ➵ art donaldson ༯ your coaches husband has always been close to you. she could tear you down and he'd always be right there to build you back up

coach ➵ patrick zweig ༯ coaching had been his best idea yet, especially when he got his hands on you

cheater cheater ➵ patrick zweig ༯ you and patrick had always been less than perfect (toxic through and through but when your boyfriend decides to sleep with his ex you could be the bigger person but....instead you sleep with a certain blonde tennis player and make sure patricks finds out

fwb ➵ patrick zweig ༯ patrick zweig was your best friend nothing less nothing more

boyfriend ➵ tashi duncan ༯ tashi knew art didn't deserve you, she just had to show you that

≫ spn

picture to burn ➵ dean winchester

≫ note hi!! none of these bots are new there simply the bots which I used to have on my profile under the hidden bots section before c.ai got rid of links (yay😔) I think I got them all but if anyone catches any other just message <3

#supernatural #challengers #dean winchester #art donaldson #patrick zweig #tashi duncan #dean winchester x reader #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #tashi duncan x reader #challengers 2024 #character ai #character ai creator #c.ai #c.ai bot #spn #spn fanfic #challengers movie #.navigation

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wxnchesterss · 3 days ago

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supernatural if it was set in 2025 pt 2

dean: lets do a fit check :3

sam: dean we’re wanted on like 15 accounts of murder

#spn #supernatural #ao3 #dean spn #dean winchester #sam spn #sam and dean #spn sam winchester #modern au #fanfic #spn fanfic #spn fic

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milkb0nny · 2 days ago

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Addicted To Crimson Kisses

... Dean loves your twisted grotesque quirks

Pairing: Dean x insane angel!reader

Summary: You are twisted, your hobbies and admirations being extraordinary. But Dean fell in love with your gruesome nature, sometimes wondering if you share human traits or not. Nevertheless, Dean was head over heels for your ethereal being.

Note: This is another niche scenario, and its not as comforting and romantic as the other fics I’ve written. I hope this isn’t the type of edge that makes one cringe...but I longed for some disturbing content. I got inspired by that one season of American Horror Story where Lady Gaga acted in.

Content: MDNI +18, blood, spn violence, kissing, reader being obsessed with injured dean

The sharp pain of a claw embedded in Dean's shoulder yanked him back to reality, his knees buckling as he stumbled against the cold, damp wall of the vampire nest. Blood seeped through his jacket, the metallic tang sharp in the dank air. The nest was chaos; a mess of snarling fangs, swinging machetes, and the occasional grunt from Sam as he fought his way through the bloodsuckers.

You, however, were a different force entirely.

The sound of a wet crunch filled the room as your blade sliced through one vampire’s neck, your expression calm, eerily detached. Whenever you killed one of these beasts, you seemed to be one yourself. The flicker of dim light caught the crimson streaks across your face, but you didn’t flinch. In fact, your lips curled ever so slightly, almost as if you found beauty in the carnage.

Dean noticed it even now, through the haze of pain… the way your eyes gleamed, like a predator reveling in the hunt. Like a snake watching its prey die from suffocation.

He sometimes wondered if you were entirely insane. And why he was so oddly drawn to you?

Outside the hunts you were an ordinary sweet person, caring and loving. Only your small hints of admiration for grotesque things made him notice from the start; you weren’t quite alright in your mind.

Another vampire lunged toward you, but you sidestepped it with an almost feline grace, delivering a deadly blow without hesitation. Your movements were calculated, smooth, and ruthless. There was no trace of fear or doubt, only precision. It was that very nature of yours… twisted, extraordinary, and unapologetically dark… unusual strength which had drawn Dean to you in the first place.

"Sweetheart!" Dean’s voice was rough, strained as he swung his machete with his good arm. The other one slowly became numb, blood rushing out, dropping onto the ground. "A little help here?"

You turned toward him just as a vampire closed in, its claws outstretched for another swipe at Dean. Without missing a beat, you flung a dagger with pinpoint accuracy, embedding it deep in the vampire's chest.

„My, my…,“ you said, your eyes watching his wound scream for help.

Dean sank to the floor, clutching his shoulder as he let out a shaky breath. "You sure know how to make a guy feel useless," he muttered, but there was no malice in his tone - just a rough-edged admiration.

You crouched in front of him, your eyes scanning his wound with a cool detachment. There were marks all over him, his gorgeous face, his strong arms, his broad back. The vampires really wanted you to see Dean like this; beauitful, vulnerable and defenseless. Your eyes glistened with love, as you picked up your calm voice.

"You’re not useless, Dean," you replied, your voice calm but tinged with something he couldn’t quite place. "You’re just... mortal."

There it was again - that hint of otherness that made his chest tighten, even as his blood soaked into his shirt.

Sam found you to be creepy, not sure if his brother will be safe in your hands or not, but he couldn’t deny you were a handy help when hunting. You didn’t let emotions faze you, and handled the situation with a numb mind. Times like these simply demonstrated that you were an angel.

But a distorted one; making you more demonic than angelic.

Sam dispatched the last vampire with a decisive swing, his panting breaths breaking the heavy silence that followed. "Dean, you good?"

"Peachy," Dean grunted, though the expression of his face told a different story.

As the chaos settled and the last vampire’s body hit the floor, you turned back to Dean, still slumped against the wall, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Blood dripped from the wound on his shoulder, pooling darkly against his torn shirt.

Your hands were steady as you pressed against his wound to stem the bleeding. His jaw clenched, a hiss escaping his lips as pain flared through him.

"Stay with me, Winchester," you said softly, your voice firm but laced with a touch of worry.

Dean chuckled weakly, the sound more like a rasp. "A little hard to do when you’re pressing on my bullet hole."

"It’s a claw wound, not a bullet hole," you corrected, your gaze flicking to his green eyes, which still burned with that familiar fire, even through the haze of pain.

For a moment, you hesitated, your hand brushing against his bloodied cheek as you adjusted your grip. Something in the way he looked at you… raw, vulnerable, and yet so unyielding… stirred something deep inside you.

"You look like hell," you murmured, though your voice softened, a trace of affection slipping through.

Dean smirked faintly, his lips curving even as blood stained the corner of his mouth. "Good thing you’re here to clean me up, huh?"

Without thinking, you leaned closer, your breath mingling with his. "You’re impossible," you whispered, shaking your head.

"Yeah," Dean replied, his voice lower now.

And then, you kissed him.

It wasn’t a delicate kiss; it was fierce, desperate, and tinged with the metallic taste of his blood. The coppery flavor flooded your senses as your lips pressed against his, and you could feel the heat of him, the way his body leaned into yours despite the pain. He was full of life, yet he sat here, bleeding terribly. His good hand came up to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss.

When you pulled back, your lips were smeared with his blood, your heart hammering in your chest. Dean stared at you, his eyes wide for a brief second before a crooked grin broke across his face.

"Didn’t think I’d ever say this," he said, his voice rough, "but I think you just made bleeding out a little more bearable."

You rolled your eyes, the corner of your mouth quirking into a smirk. "You’re lucky I like you, Winchester. Now, let’s get you patched up before you try to charm me to death."

Even as you worked to bandage his wound, the lingering taste of blood on your lips and the look in his eyes stayed with you. Dean might have been battered and bruised, but he was still every bit the man who made your pulse race.

And you knew he’d fight tooth and nail to make it out alive, if only to steal another moment like that with you. Dean caught the flicker of something in your eyes. Concern? Guilt? Or was it something darker, something he didn’t dare name? - Adoration for his pain.

"You’re enjoying this too much," he rasped, a half-smile tugging at his lips despite the pain.

Your lips quirked in return. "Maybe. Or maybe I just like keeping you alive."

Your blood drenched hands cupped Dean‘s face again, and you took a moment to take in that beautiful view god had offered you. Your heart jumped, began racing uncontrollably and you were about to lose your coolness.

„You’re so good looking when roughed up,“ you whispered, leaning in closer. You gifted Dean a small kiss, before pulling away and continuing to stop his bleeding.

He knew you’d keep the blood soaked fabric afterwards, as you always did.

They were your sacred treasures. A strange collectible.

You were his disturbed, deranged, sweet angel.

Sam rolled his eyes, already moving to check the perimeter. "You two can flirt later. Let’s get out of this hellhole."

You helped Dean to his feet, your arm firm around his waist as you guided him toward the exit. The weight of his body against yours was heavy, but you didn’t seem to mind. In fact, there was something almost protective in the way you held him, as though the blood and chaos of the nest had awakened something primal in you.

As you stepped into the cool night air, Dean turned his head slightly, his deep eyes searching yours.

"Babe," he said softly, his voice barely audible over the sound of Sam’s footsteps ahead. "You scare the hell outta me sometimes, you know that?"

Your smile this time was faint but genuine, the sharp edges of your demeanor softening ever so slightly. "Good," you replied, your voice low and steady. "Fear keeps you alive."

„Though,“ you acted innocent and pure while speaking, “I would never dare to hurt you. It’s on you if you’ll trust me on that or not.“ There was it, your sweet, usual side.

Dean chuckled, though it turned into a wince as the pain in his shoulder flared. A sound which strangely sent a blush down your cheeks.

"You’re one hell of an angel, you know that?"

Your gaze wandered to his face.

"Yeah," you murmured, your tone laced with a quiet intensity. "And you’re one hell of a man, Dean Winchester. Dating an angel, that by all means, defies the human definition of one."

#supernatural dean #sam and dean #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean winchester x you #supernatural #spn fanfic #spnfandom

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winchestersisterimaginessss · 3 days ago

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Request: can you do one where their sister is in purgatory with Dean and when they come out they realize Sam didn’t even look for them and was with a girl while they were suffering in purgatory fighting for their lives basically. The sister had a really really hard time in purgatory and is defientely scarred and has bad ptsd like super bad. I see how messed up it made Dean and I imagine it would take a huge mental toll on their sister. Make it dramatic and have Sam and her make up somehow and deans mad but for his sisters sake he has to keep himself together to fix their problem as a family.

A/N: this was so fun to write, I hope you like it! Requests are open please send in some ideas because I’m bored and want to write stuff LOL

Sam and Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader

The ground was uneven beneath Dean's boots, the dim light of the underworld barely cutting through the suffocating darkness. He had just pulled himself and his sister, Y/N, out of purgatory with nothing but their ragged breaths to anchor them back to reality. But as the veil between those two worlds lifted and they found themselves standing on solid ground once again—on earth, on familiar soil—the weight of it all hit Dean harder than he could have anticipated.

They had escaped, yes. They had fought their way through the endless maze of creatures and the sickening, oppressive silence of purgatory. But that didn’t mean they were free. Not truly. Not when their minds were still wrapped in the haunting memories of everything they'd seen, everything they'd endured.

Dean knew it would take time, but he hadn’t expected it to start this fast. The moment his boots hit solid earth, his sister's body tensed beside him. Her breathing was shallow, a slight tremor running through her limbs. She wasn’t hiding it well. But Dean could tell. He always could.

He glanced sideways, watching her for a second longer than he meant to. Her face was pale, eyes wide and unblinking, as though she couldn’t fully comprehend the freedom they had just won. He reached out for her arm, stopping her in her tracks. “Y/N,” he said softly, his voice strained with the weariness that had settled deep into his bones. “You alright?”

But as soon as she looked at him, her walls broke down. Her breath hitched in her throat, her hand shaking as she reached for him, her fingers clutching his jacket like she was afraid it would slip away. She wasn’t okay. Not by a long shot.

“Dean…” She gasped his name, her voice barely audible as it trembled. She looked almost feverish, her eyes darting around the open space, as if expecting something to jump out of the shadows at any given moment. The world was no longer a safe place for her—her mind still trapped in purgatory, the fight to survive still clawing at her chest. “I… I can’t—Dean, I can’t—” Her words were falling apart in front of him.

Dean’s heart twisted in his chest, and without thinking, he pulled her into his arms. It was instinctive, a desperate need to protect her, but it was also the one thing that seemed to ground him in this moment too. She clung to him, her body shaking uncontrollably, the sobs that had been building finally breaking free.

He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected to feel this—the vulnerability, the absolute terror in her small, shuddering frame.

“Y/N… Hey, hey,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady even as his own heart threatened to beat out of his chest. "We’re here. We’re back. You’re safe. We both are. I promise."

But the words didn’t land. They were hollow, meaningless, because nothing could undo what they’d been through. Not the screams. Not the endless days of fighting without rest. Nothing could erase the raw, jagged scars that purgatory had left on their souls.

She pulled away slightly, her eyes wide, haunted. “I’m... I’m so scared, Dean. I’m always looking over my shoulder. Always hearing them... hearing the growls, the whispers. It’s like I can’t escape it. I’m still there, and I can’t stop hearing the screams.” Her voice cracked, the terror unmistakable.

Dean’s throat tightened, the words sticking there. He had fought and clawed his way out, but the truth was—he hadn’t really left either. He could still feel it. The suffocating grip of purgatory on his chest, the constant need to fight, the adrenaline that had coursed through him for so long that now it felt like a damn near permanent part of him. Even the sunlight, which should have felt like salvation, felt like it was too bright. Too real. Too normal.

He wanted to say something, anything that would make this better. But the reality was, he knew what she was feeling. He had felt it too. Every single moment since they had made it out of that hellhole, his body had been reacting like it was still there.

"Hey, I know," he said quietly, his voice suddenly thick. He wasn’t sure if he was reassuring her or himself at this point. “I know what it’s like. You’re not alone, okay? I’m right here.”

But even as he spoke, her sobs intensified. She broke down completely, her whole body shaking, and Dean held her tighter, his own breath shaky as he pressed his forehead against her hair. "I’m so scared, Dean…. I feel like I’m going to lose my mind. I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to be scared all the time... to hear things that aren’t real. It’s... it’s not over, Dean. It’s not over for me."

A raw sob ripped through her, and Dean felt it deep in his chest, the weight of it pressing down on him in ways he couldn’t explain. He wanted to say something to help. He wanted to tell her that it would get better, that time would heal them. But deep down, Dean knew it wouldn’t. Not completely. Purgatory didn’t just break you; it remade you in its own image.

“I understand,” he whispered, surprising himself with the confession. “I can’t... I can’t shake it either, Y/N.” His voice cracked, and he hated it. He hated how raw it sounded. How human it made him.

Y/N looked up at him, her tear-streaked face a mirror of his own pain. And for a moment, the two of them just stood there, holding each other—sharing the weight of their suffering in silence.

The world might have looked the same, but nothing felt the same anymore. They weren’t the same anymore.

“I’m here,” he repeated, a little more firmly this time, even though he wasn’t sure how much comfort it really offered. “You’re not alone. We’ll get through this together.”

And they would. Maybe not perfectly. Maybe not quickly. But they would figure out how to survive in a world that felt so much bigger than the one they’d left behind in purgatory. For now, it was enough that they had each other. For now, they had the silent understanding of two people who had seen the worst of it and somehow, somehow, were still standing.

Though, they still had to face one more thing: the looming question of where Sam had been during all this. “We gotta find Sam.” Dean muttered under his breath and with determination you would both stop at nothing to find him.

When they had finally reached Sam, the reunion was nothing short of overwhelming. Y/N felt the warmth of Sam's embrace seep into her bones as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her in tight as if he were afraid that if he let go, she might vanish. For a moment, everything else faded. The horrors of purgatory, the constant fight for survival, the fear and isolation—it all slipped away in the comfort of Sam’s arms. She clung to him harder than she thought she ever could, her body shaking violently as the sobs wracked through her chest.

She had thought she would never feel safe again. But here she was, in Sam’s arms, and it was everything she’d longed for. Before she knew it, Dean had wrapped his arms around the both of them and Sam patted his back.

“I can’t believe you’re both here,” Sam said as Dean pulled away. His voice was thick with emotion as continued to hold his sister who wasn’t letting go, tightly. His hand moved over her hair in a soothing gesture, and Y/N let herself melt into it. She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel anything but this moment, this relief.

Dean watched them from the side, a small smile on his face, though his eyes were weary. Something wasn’t right. Something in Sam’s demeanor felt... off. There was a subtle distance in his expression, an awkwardness to the way he spoke. It was like he was relieved to see them, sure, but not the way he should’ve been. There was something missing.

Sam pulled back slightly, his large hands still resting on Y/N’s shoulders as he looked down at her. He smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you both again. I was starting to lose hope. I... I thought I’d lost you both.” His voice faltered, but then, almost offhandedly, he added, “I mean, I tried looking for you but there was no trace of anything. There was nothing else I could do. I’ve... I’ve kind of stepped back from all that now.”

Y/N’s heart stuttered in her chest, and the air between them instantly grew cold. She stared up at Sam, eyes wide with disbelief, her breath catching in her throat. “What do you mean, you stepped back?” She asked, her voice barely a whisper, but already tinged with confusion and hurt. “Sam... what are you talking about?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flickering toward the ground for a moment, his hands dropping from her shoulders. “I mean... I’m not hunting anymore, Y/N. I... I don’t do that anymore.”

The words hit Y/N like a slap in the face. Her breath left her entirely, her legs weakening as she stepped back from him, blinking rapidly as the confusion and hurt in her chest twisted into something far more primal. "What?" she croaked, the words tasting like bile on her tongue. “You... you don’t hunt anymore? What does that mean? You just gave up?”

Dean, who had been standing off to the side, felt his stomach drop at the tone in her voice. He stepped forward, his gaze flickering between Sam and Y/N, a frown pulling at his features. But before he could say anything, Y/N spoke again, her voice rising in disbelief.

“You... you just stopped hunting? For real?” Her chest was heaving now, her breath shallow, and Dean could see the wave of emotion crash over her. Her eyes were wide, her face pale. “Sam, we were trapped in purgatory. We were fighting every single day to survive—dying out there, and you—”

Her voice cracked, and she stumbled back a few steps, shaking her head, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You... you left us to suffer... for what?” Her voice was trembling with anger now, with disbelief, the hurt evident in every word. “You just stopped looking for us, Sam. You gave up on us.”

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. His eyes flickered with guilt, but they couldn’t meet hers. “Y/N, I’m sorry... I just... I didn’t know how—”

“No,” Y/N snapped, her voice escalating to a scream now, the floodgates opening. “Don’t give me that! How dare you say you didn’t know how?!” She surged toward him in a wild rush, shoving him with all the force she could muster. Sam staggered back, eyes wide with shock, but Y/N was unstoppable now. “We were fighting for our lives out there, Sam. I was terrified every second. I needed you. We both did!”

Dean’s jaw clenched, his own anger flaring at the scene, his fists clenched at his sides. His eyes shot between his sister and Sam, disbelief twisting his features as the weight of what Sam was saying hit him. His throat tightened, and his voice came out sharp, raw.

“What the hell, Sam?” Dean barked, his tone hard. “After everything we’ve been through, after all we’ve fought through together, you just quit?” He took a step forward, his voice rising as he let the rage build. “We were fighting for our lives every damn second in that place, Sam. You didn’t even look for us.”

Sam flinched, taking a step back, his eyes flickering with guilt, but his words were weak. “I didn’t know what else to do, Dean. I tried to find a way. I thought—I thought you two were lost. You don’t understand—”

Y/N was shaking now, her fists clenching at her sides as tears welled up in her eyes. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and it felt like the world had dropped out from under her. “You left us behind,” she whispered brokenly, but the words cut through the silence like a scream. “You didn’t even look for us, Sam. You left us to suffer... for what?”

Sam’s eyes flickered with something—guilt, shame, confusion. He stood there, frozen, his hands held up in an attempt to placate her, but the words were already spilling out before he could stop them. “I... I met someone.”

The words didn’t register immediately. Y/N stared at him, her mind trying to piece together the nonsense she’d just heard. It couldn’t be—“What?”

“I met a girl,” Sam repeated, his voice softer, almost apologetic, but it hit Y/N like a punch to the gut.

“A girl?” Her voice cracked as she took a staggering step back, her body swaying with the weight of what Sam had just revealed.

Dean's eyes widened in complete disbelief. He took a sharp step forward, his anger boiling over now. He had been furious, but now? Now he was fucking seething.

“You gotta be kidding me. Are you out of your goddamn mind, Sam?” Dean growled, his voice low but venomous.

“A girl? That’s what you’ve been doing, Sam?”

Y/N’s voice rose, trembling with hurt and outrage. “You left us to suffer. For a girl?” Her breath caught in her throat, and her chest burned with the sting of betrayal. “A fucking girl?” She whispered, the words barely coming out, but they were enough to make the air between them feel like acid.

Her breath catching as she stared at Sam, the disbelief on her face growing darker with every passing second. “That’s what you’ve been doing? You met a girl?” She stumbled back again, this time with a look of pure betrayal, her hand flying to her mouth as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Please, it’s not—” Sam started, his hands reaching out to her in an attempt to calm her down, but the damage was done.

She lashed out, her fist connecting with his chest with a force that made him stumble back, the shock of the hit barely registering before she attacked again. “We were suffering, Sam! Every damn day!” Her voice was ragged with pain. “You didn’t even look for us. For a girl?! You abandoned your family for that?” Her chest heaved as the words came spilling out in desperate, frenzied bursts. “I was terrified, Sam! I thought we were going to die out there. You don’t get it. You don’t get it, do you?!”

Dean’s hand shot out, grabbing Y/N’s arms before she could strike Sam again, but her anger made her stronger than him in that moment.

“How could you do that to us?” Y/N screamed, her voice shaking. “We were alone. Alone in that place, surrounded by things that wanted to kill us every second. And you just... you just let us go, Sam. How dare you?”

Before Dean could step in again, Y/N's fists flying toward Sam’s chest with a force that had no place in the fragile, exhausted body she’d come back with. It was a frantic, desperate kind of attack—one fueled by pain, by betrayal. She slammed into him again, the punch landing square in his gut.

Sam stumbled back, wide-eyed, hands raised in defense. "Y/N, wait—"

"Shut up!" Y/N screamed, her voice breaking with the weight of everything she couldn’t keep inside. She swung again, but this time Dean was there, grabbing her around the waist before she could make contact. She struggled against him, kicking her legs, her breath hitching in sobs that she couldn’t control. “You left us! You left us for a random fucking girl! How dare you!”

Dean gritted his teeth, trying to keep her calm, his grip firm but not hurting her. He pulled her back against him, holding her against his chest as she kicked and screamed, the words coming out like raw, guttural cries. "Y/N, stop," he murmured in her ear, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

Sam stood there, frozen, his mouth moving like he wanted to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. His eyes were haunted, like he could barely stand to meet her gaze, but Y/N wasn’t giving him an inch. She pushed against Dean’s arms, writhing in his grip, her body still trembling with pent-up energy, the frustration pouring out of her.

"You—" Y/N sobbed, her voice breaking into the words that had been festering inside her since they’d realized they were trapped. “We needed you. We needed you to save us, Sam. You could’ve saved us.” Her words shook with pain, every syllable like a slap in the face. Dean pulled her into his chest, more forcefully this time. His own chest was tight, his eyes burning, but he couldn’t lose it like she had. He couldn’t let her spiral completely. He knew she was about to cross realities from purgatory and where she was in the moment now.

“Y/N, please,” Dean murmured into her ear, his voice gentle but firm as you whimpered against him. “I know. I know. I need you to breathe, okay?”

He said calmly, holding her tightly against him, even as she writhed in his arms, her body shaking with the full force of her emotional breakdown. Her breath came in quick, gasping sobs as she tried to break free from his hold.

“Stop, Y/N,” Dean said softly but firmly, his own voice raw with the same anger and hurt she was feeling. “You’re scaring yourself. Calm down for me, please.”

But Y/N couldn’t stop. She couldn’t stop the tears that were now flooding her face, the hot rush of betrayal, the crushing weight of realizing that, in the end, she had been nothing compared to the life Sam had chosen for himself. “You didn’t even care enough to try to get us back.” She sobbed, her voice breaking.

Sam stood there, completely still, his face hollow with regret, guilt eating at him as he watched his sister unravel before him. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He couldn’t speak. How could he?

Dean glared at him, his eyes burning with anger, but it was a look that spoke volumes—this was Sam’s mistake, and now it was time to fix it.

Dean’s jaw clenched as he held her tight, feeling the heat of her rage and grief, her entire body vibrating with the tension that she couldn’t let go. His own chest tightened as he felt the overwhelming sense of betrayal rising in him too. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, not really—but now it was clear.

Y/N’s breath was ragged, her sobs coming in gasps as she buried her face against Dean’s chest. She couldn’t look at Sam anymore. She didn’t want to. “How could he leave us there?” She whispered brokenly, as if the question could somehow make sense of it all.

Dean’s gaze shot to Sam, who looked utterly devastated, his eyes full of regret, his posture stiff.

“Sam,” Dean said, his voice dangerous in a way that only came out when he was pissed beyond belief. “What the hell, man? We’re standing here, barely alive, and you didn’t even try to get us back?” His voice cracked in frustration, his eyes never leaving his brother. “She’s right. We were fighting for our lives every damn day, and you—”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Sam snapped, his voice sharp, cracking under the weight of his own guilt. “I didn’t know what to do! I—I couldn’t find you, Dean. I swear, I was—I was trying to figure out how to bring you back. But I didn’t even know where you were!” His hands fumbled in front of him, as if looking for something to grab onto. “I didn’t leave you. I just... I didn’t know how to get you back.”

But Y/N wasn’t listening anymore. She pulled herself from Dean’s arms, her face red with anger, tears still streaking down her cheeks as she stepped right up to Sam. “You didn’t try hard enough,” she spat, every word coated with venom. She couldn't look at him anymore.

Without a word, she turned and walked out the door, her footsteps uneven as she left the house behind. She needed air. She needed to be alone.

The cold hit her immediately, biting at her skin, but she didn't care. She sank down onto the front steps, her hands moving to her face as her chest tightened in a way she couldn’t control. Her body trembled, and she could barely keep her breath steady. Tears flowed freely now, a flood of emotion that she had been holding back since the moment they’d returned—since she’d realized that Sam, one of the last people she had always counted on, had left her behind.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping the sting of her tears would block out the storm inside her chest, but it didn’t help. Her body heaved with sobs, her head buried in her hands as the weight of everything crashed down on her.

Inside the house, the argument was escalating. Sam’s voice was muffled through the thin walls, but Y/N could still hear the frustration in his tone. Dean’s was louder, sharper, each word cutting deeper. It didn’t matter to her anymore. She didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to hear their voices arguing over her, over the past.

Her mind was reeling, spinning with thoughts she couldn’t quiet. She tried to take deep breaths, to pull herself together, but it was impossible. She thought she was past this—thought the terror of purgatory was a memory she could lock away. But it never worked that way, did it? The fear always came back.

It was too much. The memories, the sounds, the feeling of being trapped in purgatory, the constant fight for survival, for breath. The way the ground had never felt solid beneath her feet. The way everything was dark and endless, every corner hiding something dangerous, something that could kill her. The way she had felt like nothing, just a pawn in a game of survival, fighting against an unstoppable tide.

The panic gripped her, suffocating her, and suddenly, she was back there.

She couldn’t breathe. The air felt thick, oppressive, like she was drowning. Her hands clutched at her sides, and she rocked back and forth on the cold steps, trying to ground herself, but she couldn’t. Her vision blurred with fresh tears, and her body shook uncontrollably. The memories were too vivid, too real.

Stay down. Keep quiet. They’re coming. Don’t let them hear you...

Please, please don’t let them find me. Please.

She was shaking, her whole body quaking with terror, her knees pulled up to her chest as she rocked on the steps, trying to hold onto something—anything—that would remind her she was safe now. But it wasn’t working. The fear, the panic, the terror—it was all too fresh. Too close.

Dean’s voice broke through the fog of her mind. “Y/N!”

It was sharp, desperate. His voice seemed to reach her from miles away, but it pulled her back, just a little. She could hear footsteps, loud and frantic now, coming closer, but she couldn’t stop herself from rocking. She couldn’t stop the tears that kept falling, couldn’t stop the fear from consuming her, from taking over every part of her.

“Y/N, hey, hey,” Dean’s voice was right next to her now. His hands were warm on her shoulders, his grip firm as he gently pulled her back from the edge, but she was too far gone.

Her breath came in short, frantic gasps, and she could feel her chest tightening, the air around her getting thinner and thinner. She wasn’t here, in this moment, with Dean and Sam. She was still stuck in purgatory, fighting for air, desperate, terrified.

Dean kneeled in front of her, his voice low, soothing as he tried to reach her. “Y/N.” His hands moved to her arms, trying to ground her, but she snapped her head up at the sound of his voice, her heart racing even faster than before. Without thinking, she jumped up from the steps, her chest heaving as panic exploded in her chest.

“No! No, Dean, we have to go!” She screamed, her eyes wide with terror. “We have to run! They’re coming! They’re going to get us!” Her voice broke on the words, each syllable filled with pure, unrelenting fear. She didn’t even realize she was trembling so violently. Her hands flew out in front of her as if to push him away, like somehow she could give him a running start ahead.

The frantic look in her eyes, the wildness in her movements—Dean froze for a split second, caught off guard by the intensity of her reaction. His body instinctively moved forward to close the distance, but his hands held up, trying to keep her from spiraling further.

“Hey, hey, wait,” Dean’s voice was calm, but his expression was one of disbelief, trying to understand what was happening. “Y/N, it’s okay. We’re safe.” He took another step toward her, his voice more urgent now. “You’re out. You’re with me. Nothing’s going to get us.”

But Y/N was beyond listening. Her breath was coming in quick, shallow gasps, and her eyes were darting around as though she could see something that wasn’t there, her chest heaving with the intensity of her panic.

“No, no, no,” she repeated over and over, her voice growing higher, more desperate. “We have to go. We have to leave! They’re coming!” She took a stumbling step backward, her body jerking as she tried to run, to flee from something that wasn’t there.

Dean’s eyes widened, his heart aching at the sight of her. He could see the fear consuming her—he had seen it in purgatory, had watched her fight for control, but this... this was different. It was like she had been torn open, exposed to something she couldn’t escape. Something she couldn’t outrun.

“Y/N, hey, look at me!” Dean’s voice was firm now, the edge of panic creeping in, but he was trying to hold it together for her. “Look at me. You’re safe. We’re not in there anymore. We’re out, okay?”

But Y/N wasn’t hearing him. She wasn’t with him. She was still stuck, lost in purgatory in her mind, the same place she had been for so long. The place where the monsters were always coming.

She started to turn away from him, her whole body tensing as if preparing to run. She was shaking, every part of her rigid with fear. “No, Dean! They’re coming! We have to run!”

Dean moved in quickly, stepping forward and gently grabbing her arms, keeping her from retreating any further. “Y/N!” His voice was softer now, more insistent. “Y/N, listen to me.” He locked eyes with her, his hands tightening just enough to ground her without hurting her. “Look at me. You’re not in purgatory anymore. You’re safe. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

But she was still shaking, her mind a whirlwind of fear and confusion. The echo of purgatory still felt real to her, the constant threat of death and danger clawing at her.

Her hands were shaking violently, and she finally collapsed into him, pressing her face into his chest, her breath ragged and broken.

"Dean," she whispered, voice hoarse with terror, "I can't... I can’t breathe. I can’t... I’m still there. I’m still... I can’t...” She gasped. “I’m still stuck there. I can’t get out.”

Dean’s heart broke at the sight of her. His voice was steady, despite the panic rising in his own chest. “I’m right here, Y/N. You’re out. You’re here. You’re with me. We’re okay.”

But Y/N couldn’t stop shaking. The memories were still fresh, the terror still suffocating. She felt like she was drowning all over again.

Dean’s voice grew firmer, pulling her focus back to him. “Look at me, Y/N. Focus. Breathe. In... out. Come on, just breathe with me. You’re not in there. You’re here with me. You’re safe.” He took a slow, deep breath, matching her frantic gasps with his calm, steady rhythm.

She tried to follow, her breath ragged, her chest tight. She couldn’t get it right, but Dean didn’t let up. He stayed there, holding her, guiding her, forcing her body to slow down.

“Just breathe, okay? You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you. I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice soft, but insistent.

Y/N’s body jerked, the fear still clawing at her, but slowly—so slowly—her breathing started to match his, each inhale and exhale a little steadier than the last. Her hands trembled in his grip, but she was listening now. She was trying.

The sound of Sam’s footsteps getting closer made Y/N flinch, her body tensing, but Dean’s grip tightened on her arms, grounding her back to him. “It’s Sam, it’s just Sam. Relax.” He reassured her. Sam hovered at the edge of the porch, his face pale, his eyes filled with guilt and regret as he watched his sister struggle. He didn’t say a word, but his presence was there, heavy, inescapable.

Dean shot him a look over his shoulder, his voice low but harsh. “This is your fault, Sam,” he growled, before turning his full attention back to Y/N.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut as she clung to Dean, her body trembling less now, though the fear still lurked in the back of her mind. She was still shaking, but Dean’s steady presence was the only thing that made sense anymore. He was here, and that was all that mattered. Slowly, but surely, she felt herself coming back to the present, the overwhelming panic ebbing away.

“Come on,” Dean whispered, pulling her into his chest as she continued to shake. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. You’re out of there.”

Sam stood quietly, watching them. He could barely look at her, barely look at Dean. The weight of his failure—the fact that he hadn’t been there, hadn’t even tried to find them—was too much to bear. His heart sank as he watched Dean take care of Y/N, the realization that he had caused this all too real.

But there was nothing Sam could say. Nothing that would fix this. He had lost his chance.

Dean kept his arms wrapped around Y/N, whispering soothing words as she finally began to calm, her sobs dying down into quiet sniffles. Her body still shook, but it wasn’t from panic anymore. It was from the aftermath of everything she had been through. Everything they had both been through. Everything that Sam could have helped them out of, but didn’t.

The Impala’s engine hummed as it rolled down the empty road, the familiar sound a small comfort in the midst of everything that had just happened. The air inside the car was thick with tension, with so much unsaid between the three of them. Sam had been quiet since they left the house, his guilt weighing him down like an anchor, and Dean—Dean was focused on driving, his jaw set, his eyes straight ahead, trying to keep his mind from spiraling back to the mess they were all still tangled in.

Y/N had fallen asleep in the back seat, her head against the window, the weight of the past few hours—hell, the past few years—finally pulling her into a deep, much-needed sleep. The tension in her body had finally subsided, but her breathing was still uneven, a subtle reminder of how much she was still struggling.

Dean’s gaze flickered in the rearview mirror every few moments, checking on her, but he didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure if she’d wake up crying, or if she’d wake up terrified again, caught between two worlds—between purgatory and the life she used to know.

Sam was quiet beside him, his hands folded in his lap, his eyes trained on the passing road but clearly lost in thought. The silence stretched on until it was almost unbearable.

Dean knew Sam was probably wrestling with guilt, but he wasn’t sure if Sam even knew how to begin the conversation. Dean didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about purgatory, or the things they had seen, or the horrors they had lived through. But Sam needed answers. He needed to understand what had happened to their sister while they had been trapped there.

Finally, Sam broke the silence, his voice low but filled with regret. “Dean... I—I don’t even know where to start. But... I need to know what happened to her. What you guys went through.”

Dean’s grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white as his jaw clenched. He didn’t look at Sam—he couldn’t. Not yet. He needed to focus on the road, on anything but the memories that were clawing at him, threatening to pull him back into the nightmare.

But Sam needed to hear it. And as much as Dean wanted to protect her, as much as he didn’t want to relive the horrors of purgatory, he knew Sam needed to understand.

“Sam...” Dean’s voice was rough, the words caught in his throat. “You have no idea what it was like in there.”

Sam sat up straighter, his eyes never leaving Dean’s face. “I... I know I can’t understand. But I need to know what she went through. I need to know how bad it was for her. For both of you.”

Dean swallowed hard, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. His eyes flickered to the rearview mirror again, looking at Y/N’s sleeping form, her face so peaceful for the first time in what felt like forever. He wasn’t sure how to explain it—how to put into words what he had witnessed, what he had felt during the hellish time they had spent in purgatory.

Dean exhaled slowly, his voice thick with emotion. “It was... it was brutal, man. Every damn day, it was a fight. Not just for us—for her.” He swallowed again, trying to get the words out without cracking. “She wasn’t... she wasn’t the same when we first got there. She was strong. She’s always been strong. But being there, being hunted by monsters and being trapped like that... it changed her.”

Sam shifted in his seat, uncomfortable, but he couldn’t look away. He needed to know.

Dean’s eyes stayed focused on the road as he spoke, his voice growing quieter as the weight of his words began to settle in his chest. “I had to take care of her, Sam. I had to watch her fall apart. Every day. It wasn’t just the monsters. It wasn’t just fighting for survival. It was what that place did to her.” He paused, his voice cracking just a little as he relived the memory. “She was scared, Sam. Absolutely terrified. I could see it in her eyes. I could feel it, like a constant pressure. It was like... like she was losing herself every damn day.”

Sam’s jaw tightened, the guilt eating at him with every word. “I had no idea... I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“No,” Dean said sharply, his voice almost a growl. “You didn’t. Because you weren’t there. We were. We fought our asses off every damn day just to stay alive, and I had to hold her together, Sam. I had to keep her from falling apart, from losing herself completely. And some days...” Dean’s voice faltered for a second, the weight of the memories pressing down on him. “Some days, I wasn’t sure if I could do it. If I could keep her with me.”

Sam stayed silent, his hands gripping the edge of the seat, his chest tightening with the brutal reality of what Dean was saying. He knew it hadn’t been easy for them—he had felt that when he first reunited with them. The distance between them, the look in Y/N’s eyes, the way Dean had kept his focus on her, protective and unyielding.

Dean took a shaky breath, glancing back at Y/N again. “There were days when... when she just couldn’t. When she couldn’t fight anymore. She’d... she’d just sit there, curled up, shaking like she was about to break in half. I don’t know if you can even imagine that, Sam. Watching her go through that. Watching her become some terrorized with no hope.”

Sam’s throat tightened, guilt flooding him as he tried to picture it. He couldn’t. It was too much. He had been so consumed by his own guilt, his own demons, that he hadn’t even considered how badly purgatory had affected his siblings. He hadn’t realized how much she had been suffering.

Dean shook his head, his voice softening as he continued. “It was the silence that did it. The constant, crushing silence. The emptiness of the place. And the monsters, the ones that never stopped hunting us. We didn’t have a moment’s peace. I don’t even know how we made it through.”

“You keep saying she was scared, but... what else? What did it do to her? How much of her did it take?” Sam’s voice cracked, his eyes searching his brother’s face for some kind of answer.

Dean swallowed hard, his eyes flickering to the rearview mirror again, where Y/N’s pale face was pressed against the window, her body still trembling slightly in her sleep. “It took everything, Sam. Every part of her. Every day was like living in a nightmare that never ended. She started to shut down after a while, like... like she didn’t think she could survive anymore. I had to pull her out of it. But it was never enough. Nothing was ever enough. And that place—that place... it never let up. It broke her, Sam. It broke me too.”

Dean’s voice caught in his throat again, and for a moment, the car was silent except for the low hum of the engine and the occasional creak of the Impala as it rolled down the road.

“Purgatory’s not just a place, Sam. It’s a damn mindfuck. It gets into your head. It turns you into something you don’t even recognize anymore. You don’t know what it’s like to be constantly hunted. To never feel safe, to always wonder if you’re going to die that day.” Dean’s eyes were haunted now, his voice distant as he spoke, remembering those long, dark months. “I had to keep her close. I protected her with everything in me and it wasn’t even enough.”

Sam could hear the strain in Dean’s voice, the exhaustion that had never really left him. The weight of the responsibility. The fear.

“And now...” Dean’s voice softened again, almost to a whisper, “now she’s back, but she’s not the same. The things we went through, the things she went through... they’re with her. She’s not gonna be able to shake it off. You can’t just forget something like that. Her PTSD—it’s gonna be bad, Sam. She’s gonna be jumpy. She’s gonna be scared. She’s gonna feel like she’s still there. And I... I don’t know how to fix that. I don’t know how to make her feel safe again because I know I barely feel safe.”

Sam’s heart broke as he absorbed the weight of his brother’s words. He had left them in purgatory. He had abandoned them, and now he was faced with the consequences of his failure. His siblings trauma was something they couldn’t fix alone, and Sam was going to have to help them. He had to make up for the time he had lost.

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Sam said softly, his voice filled with regret. “I should’ve searched harder.”

Dean didn’t respond right away, his eyes focused on the road ahead. But after a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice tight, but filled with an unspoken promise. “Yeah you should have…” Dean trailed off, clenching his jaw. “We’ll figure it out, Sam. But it’s gonna take time. For all of us.”

And in the backseat, Y/N stirred slightly in her sleep, her breath still shaky but a little more even now, her body curled up tightly as if she was still trying to protect herself from the memories that haunted her. Dean’s grip on the wheel tightened and he focused his attention back to the road.

The hours passed, the road stretching out in front of them as they made their way towards the nearest motel. The car was quiet, save for the occasional sound of tires humming on the asphalt and the soft breath of Y/N as she slept in the back seat. Dean kept glancing in the rearview mirror, checking on her every few minutes, but for the most part, his focus was on the road. His mind was still racing, replaying everything that had happened in the past few days, in the past few months, hell, the last few years. Every part of him was exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally. But it was the ache in his chest, the fear for his sister, that was the hardest to shake.

Sam had fallen quiet next to him, his eyes lost somewhere in the dark night outside the window, probably replaying their conversation from earlier. There was guilt in his posture—his slumped shoulders, the way his hands were tense on his knees, like he was trying to keep himself together. Dean didn’t know what to say to him anymore, not with the weight of their shared history, the things that had gone unsaid for so long.

The Impala’s engine purred on, the miles slipping away, but the tension in the car was almost suffocating. Dean didn’t want to think about purgatory anymore. He didn’t want to think about how it had broken Y/N. He just wanted to move on. But there was no moving on. Not yet. Not when the scars were still so fresh, when they were all so damn broken.

Dean pulled into the parking lot of a small motel on the outskirts of town. It was a place he had passed by countless times, a quiet spot that they had used more than once in the past. The neon sign flickered in the dark, casting an eerie glow over the place, but it was far enough away from the main road that they wouldn’t be disturbed. Dean turned to look at Sam, who was still sitting there, staring out the window.

“You good?” Dean asked, his voice flat but laced with an edge of concern.

Sam nodded slowly but didn’t look at him. “Yeah. Just... thinking.”

Dean didn’t press him. Instead, he pulled the keys out of the ignition and turned to the back seat, checking on Y/N. She hadn’t stirred since the car had stopped, but her breathing was still unsteady, a telltale sign that the trauma was still haunting her even in her sleep.Her head rested against the window, her face pale, her body curled into the seat like she was trying to protect herself from something that wasn’t there anymore.

Dean didn’t want to wake her. Not yet. He knew the toll purgatory had taken on her, and he didn’t want to rush her back into reality too quickly. He wanted her to rest, to feel safe, but part of him—part of him that was always on alert—was worried about what would happen if she woke up in the wrong moment.

Sam, however, didn’t see the concern in his brother’s eyes as he pulled himself from the car and moved toward the back of the Impala. Dean’s gaze flickered to him, his voice low and filled with warning.

“Sam, wait. Let her sleep. She—”

But Sam was already leaning into the backseat, his hand gently tapping Y/N’s shoulder. “Y/N, hey, we’re here.”

Dean’s eyes widened in alarm. He knew it was too soon. Too soon for Sam to try and wake her up like this. Her instincts, sharpened to a razor’s edge during their time in purgatory, would kick in. She wasn’t going to wake up slowly, not after everything she’d been through. But it was already too late.

Y/N's body jolted awake with a sharp gasp, her eyes snapping open in a split second, wide with terror. She immediately went rigid, every muscle in her body locking as her eyes darted around, scanning the unfamiliar surroundings, confusion flooding her mind. The fleeting fragments of reality and nightmare twisted in her head. Purgatory had taught her to fight first, think later. The moment her gaze landed on Sam, it was like everything she had suffered, every monster she had fought, every split second of terror, came crashing back all at once.

“No!” Y/N screamed, her voice raw with panic and desperation. She didn’t recognize him, didn’t see Sam as her brother—only a threat, an enemy, someone to fight against. Her arm shot out before Sam could react, grabbing him by the collar and throwing him back with an unexpected force. She swung with wild, panicked energy, not knowing where she was or who she was fighting.

“Sam! Get back!” Dean shouted, but it was already too late. Y/N’s instincts had already kicked in, and her body was moving like a well-trained soldier, every movement a flashback to purgatory’s brutal reality.

Sam stumbled back, narrowly avoiding her fist as she lunged again, her face twisted in fear and anger. “Get off me! Get away!” she shouted, her words incoherent, her mind still trapped in the hellish cycle of survival. She wasn’t seeing Sam—she was seeing the monsters, the endless nightmarish beasts from purgatory that had hounded her every single day. The creatures that never stopped hunting her.

“Y/N!” Dean’s voice cracked with urgency as he reached for her, trying to grab her arms. “It’s me! It’s Dean! You’re safe, okay? You’re safe now!” But his words barely cut through the fog of fear and confusion clouding her mind.

Y/N thrashed against his grip, her knees buckling beneath her as she dropped into a crouch, her hands clawing at the air like she was still trying to fight off something invisible. “No! No! They’re coming!” she screamed, her breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. Her whole body trembled as she curled into herself, rocking slightly as if trying to shield herself from an attack that wasn’t there.

Dean was trying to hold onto her, but she was so damn fast, her survival instincts too well-developed. “Y/N!” Dean’s voice broke, his hands desperately grabbing her wrists as he pulled her into his chest, his voice low and soothing, though his heart was pounding in his throat. “It’s okay. We’re not in purgatory anymore. You’re safe. It’s just me, okay?”

But Y/N wasn’t listening. Her chest was heaving as if she couldn’t catch her breath, her eyes wide, darting around the room as she continued to struggle in Dean’s arms. “No! No, please!” she sobbed, the sound tearing at Dean’s heart. “They’re here. They’re going to get me. Dean, we have to run. We can’t stay here. We can’t! They’ll find us—” Her voice cracked, desperate, pleading, as her eyes darted around, scanning the parking lot like she was expecting the next threat to come barreling toward them. But it wasn’t there. It was never going to come. Not in the real world. Not anymore.

Dean tightened his grip on her, holding her still, trying to calm her. “Shh, I’ve got you. You’re safe. We’re not in that place anymore. It’s over. It’s over, baby.”

Y/N’s body trembled against his chest as she tried to push away from him, still disoriented, still lost in the trauma of what had happened. Her mind flashing with images of all the horrors she had endured there. Dean tried again to hold her, to ground her. He was strong—too strong for her to escape—and yet it felt like she was slipping through his fingers. “Shh, I’ve got you. I’m here, okay? You’re safe, Y/N. You’re with me. We’re safe.” His voice was tight with emotion as he held her close, trying to block out the terror that had overtaken her. “You’re home. You’re not there anymore.”

But Y/N’s body continued to tremble, her mind still fighting to keep her from the monsters that lived in the dark corners of her mind. Her fists shook, her nails digging into Dean’s shirt as she struggled to get away, her mind not yet fully realizing she was safe.

Dean’s voice dropped to a whisper as he stroked her hair, his hand gently pulling her back into him, keeping her close so she couldn’t hurt herself or anyone else. “It’s over, Y/N. You’re safe. You’re home. I won’t let anything happen to you. No one’s coming. It’s just me and Sam, alright?”

Then, a flicker of recognition.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Y/N froze, her body taut with tension.

Sam.

Sam was there.

She looked around with wild eyes until they locked onto the face in front of her. Sam, standing a few feet away, his face still full of shock and guilt, his body frozen in place. She stared at him, as if trying to make sense of something that had been lost.

For a heartbeat, everything else faded away. The screaming, the terror, the fight for survival—all of it vanished in that single moment when she saw him. Sam.

Her mouth trembled as she breathed out his name, barely above a whisper. “Sammy?”

She blinked. Once, twice. The recognition was slow, but it hit her like a wave crashing over the shore. Sam. Sam was here. And if Sam was here... it could only mean one thing.

She wasn’t in purgatory anymore.

The realization hit her with such force that it almost knocked the breath out of her. She wasn’t surrounded by darkness, by monsters, by the endless fight. She wasn’t there anymore. She was... home. She was safe.

Sam wasn’t a shadow in the dark. He wasn’t one of the creatures that had hounded her every day. He wasn’t part of the nightmare. Her chest rose and fell with a jagged breath as her whole body went still.

“Sammy... you’re here.” Her voice was shaky, still wrapped in disbelief. Her eyes scanned his face, her mind still reeling, but it was there. That final piece of clarity.

Dean didn’t know if it was the fact that Sam was real, or if it was the way her body slowly began to relax against him, but the tension in Y/N’s form started to ebb. She was still trembling, still disoriented, but the fight was gone. Her mind had finally caught up to the present.

The grip of fear around her heart started to loosen.

Sam stood frozen, his body still, but his eyes softened when she called out for him and he understood. He saw that he was her pull to reality. That if he were around, it was her reminder that she was out. That she was safe.

"I’m here, Y/N." Sam said, his voice cracking, full of love and guilt. "I’m so sorry. I’m here now. You’re safe. I promise, sweetheart."

He took a step closer, hesitant, unsure if he should reach out, if he should even get too close. But he had to try. His voice trembled as he spoke again, his words coming in a rush of guilt, sorrow, and raw emotion. "I’m here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything. I should’ve found you, I should’ve—"

But before he could finish, Y/N’s body moved with an almost primal urgency. Without thinking, she lunged forward, her hands reaching for him. And then, she was in his arms.

Sam barely had time to register it, his own arms wrapping around her as she buried her face in his chest. Y/N was shaking, her whole body convulsing with sobs, but she held on so tight, like if she let go, the nightmare would come crashing back. Sam held her just as fiercely, his own heart pounding as he whispered, over and over, "I’m here. I’m here. It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re safe now."

For a long moment, there were no words. Just the sound of Y/N's breath ragged against Sam’s chest, her body shaking in his arms. Sam didn’t know what else to say. He had failed her, failed Dean and the weight of that failure hung heavy in the air between them. But for now, he could do this. He could hold her, let her know that he was there. That he was there for both of them.

"I’m so sorry.” Sam said again, his voice thick with emotion. "I wish I could’ve been there with you. I would’ve traded places with you in an instant. With both of you. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there."

Y/N's hands clutched at him desperately, her voice muffled in his shirt as she finally spoke. "I—I don’t want to be angry at you. I can’t..." Her voice trailed off, as if she didn’t have the strength to hold on to that anger anymore. It was just too much. Too much fear, too much pain, too much everything.

She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her, but she pushed it down. "Sam... I—" Her voice faltered, but she steadied herself. "I don’t have the strength to be angry anymore. I—I was terrified, Sam. Every second.... but I can’t hold onto this anger. I just—I can’t."

Sam’s eyes welled with tears as he pressed his forehead to hers, his voice breaking. "I’m so sorry, Y/N and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it right. I’ll be here for you. For both of you. I promise."

Y/N’s arms tightened around him, and Sam felt a flicker of hope stir in his chest. He wasn’t sure if things would ever be the same between them, if they could ever get back what had been lost. But he would spend every damn day trying to make it right, trying to help her heal. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

"I forgive you," Y/N whispered, her voice so quiet, so raw.

Dean watched them, his arms crossed as he stood a few feet away, letting the siblings have their moment. His heart ached for all of you. The pain, the suffering—they had all been through too much. But seeing Y/N in Sam’s arms, finally finding some semblance of peace, that was something.

He could see it now. The crack in the wall, the first real sign that they could begin to heal.

Dean nodded to himself, taking a deep breath as he walked closer to them. "You hear that, Y/N?" His voice was soft, but the weight of it was clear. "We’re all in this together. Always. We’re not alone in this."

Y/N looked up at her brothers—at Sam, still holding her, and Dean, standing behind them, his eyes full of love and protection. She felt a weight lift from her chest, not completely, but enough to know that they had her.

She finally let out a shaky breath, the kind of breath that carried a small but meaningful relief. "Yeah," she whispered, a tremor still in her voice, but something else too—something fragile, but real. "Together."

And maybe, for the first time in a long time, it felt like it might just be enough.

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magpiewithinternetaccess · 2 days ago

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Ahhh im honored to have made the cut thank you!! ur writing is top-notch and ur comments always make me smile!! it means the world that my sappy little story made an impact 💚💙

WE REACHED 120‘000 DESTIEL FICS ON AO3 YALL

LETS CELEBRATE✨✨✨📖

REBLOG THIS POST WITH YOUR FAVOURITE DESTIEL FICS

(Can be your own btw)

#destiel world domination?#spn fic #spn fanfic #ao3 #etc

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nightxcreature · 2 days ago

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Are You Here?

Summary: Reader is a shifter, Dean is in love, Rowena is here to save the day.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Cursing (It's me. So of course), Self-deprecation, Shifting Realities, Threatening Gun Violence (kinda? I think you'll get it when you get there), no use of y/n. if i missed anything please let me know.

A/N: This one should cross off "Star Crossed Lovers" for my @jacklesversebingo card! I'm going to be turning this one into a three ? part series. I know I know I've promised series for a while, but this time I'm serious. lmao If you'd like to be tagged just let me know!

Word Count: 1.6k

Dont copy my work, i worked really hard on it and i might cry if you do. You don't want me to cry do you? Comment, reblog, and like if you want! All mistakes are mine, if you notice any errors...my bad.

She had been lying in bed for hours, those fucking TikTok videos repeating over and over behind the lids of her eyes. ‘Keep a journal’ one had said. ‘If you just keep trying it’s bound to happen!’ another had enthusiastically exclaimed. ‘Try this position, that position, only think of your DR!’ came another. And still nothing. The frustrated sigh that left her was heavy as she rose from the bed to grab a glass of water from the kitchen. All she wanted was to escape this world and all its problems, to hit the road with Sam and Dean in another reality. A dark chuckle escaped her lips at the thought. Yeah right, you should’ve known better than to believe in all that crap. Nothing will get you out of this boring life.

She leaned against the counter as she filled a small glass and took a long swig before laughing again, “So fucking silly. Why would I even think that would work?” She mumbled to herself, shaking her head slowly, “Multiverse? What a joke…” She carefully placed the glass down into the sink, deciding to head back to bed for the night. She placed an episode at low volume and dozed off to the sound of Sam and Dean’s adventures.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. The two brothers had been sitting with their heads buried in books for what felt like an eternity as they tried, and failed, to wake the sleeping woman across the room. Page after page of unanswered questions had only fueled the fire raging in Deans mind.

“She’s been like this for days! Why won’t she wake up?” Dean’s gruff voice echoed around the library as he stared in frustration at the love of his life, “It’s never taken this long before.”

Sam glanced up from the large book in front of him, peering over at his older brother. Dean’s shoulders were slumped, the bags under his eyes somehow darker as exhaustion set in, and yet he never left her side. Sam sighs as he placed his head in his hands, frustration radiating off him. Before he can respond to the rhetorical question from his older sibling, the door at the top of the stairs slammed open, metal clanging against the wall. The cold metal of his pistol touched his palm as he rose from his seat, hand firmly wrapped around the weapon on his side. He glanced again over at Dean who had already raised his own gun, pointing it in the direction of the stairs when a pile of books carried by a bundle of bouncing red curls came struggling into the room.

“If you don’t mind!” Rowena’s annoyed voice came muffled from behind the lore and Sam jumped forward to grab the books before they fell. The red-headed woman wiped her hands along the sides of her long dress as she glared up at the two Winchesters, “Buffoons.”

Dean slotted his pistol back in his jacket and sent a narrow look down at the witch while nodding in the direction of Sam who was placing the books down on the table, “What’s all this?”

“Help.” She stated confidently before strutting across the room to peer down at the unconscious woman laying across the infirmary cot, “How long has she been like this?”

“A couple days.” Dean mumbled, stepping closely behind the witch, “Why do you care?”

His poor attitude didn’t go unnoticed. Jaw ticking, Rowena glanced back up at him, hands clasped firmly at her waist, “Well, while I don’t particularly enjoy your presence…” She sends him a pointed look before softening her gaze on the woman below them, “She has wormed her way into my heart. And I would hate to be stuck in this world where she doesn’t exist and you’re a mopey, brooding mess again.”

“Gee, thanks for that.” Dean replied, sarcasm dripping from his tone. He slipped down into the chair beside the cot, his hand clasping hers unconsciously as the hardness in his tone slips away, “Have you found anything that could help? I know she does this a lot…you know sleeps or whatever this is, but I’ve always been able to wake her.”

The sigh that left Rowena’s lips brought Dean no comfort, his head hanging a bit as he waited for her reply. None came, however, instead Sam piped in from his place still at the table, “What do you mean ‘stuck in this world where she doesn’t exist’?”

“I was hoping one of you would catch that.” Rowena began, a smile obvious in her tone, “I should’ve known it would be the one with the big brain.”

“Watch it.” Dean starts, “I read.”

“Of course you do, Dear Boy. Anywho,” Rowena spun on her heel and grabbed a small book from the top of the stack, “I assume you both recall that Chuck was destroying worlds before his tragic demise at the Nephilim’s hands?”

“Kinda hard to forget.” Sam’s sarcastic response cut in, the grimace on his face only spurring Rowena on.

“Well, there are many, many universes out there, boys.” She continued, flipping through the book as she spoke, “Many universes with many people who no longer wish to be in their universes.”

“Yeah, and what does that have to do with her?” Dean piped in, nodding at the body beside him.

“Well, Dearie, it seems that the love of your life is from one of those universes.” Rowena’s brash response hit Dean like a train. From another universe? No way, she knows so much about this one, so much about this life. It could be possible, it could be…but she would’ve said something by now, wouldn’t she? She would’ve told me. His rampant thoughts ran wild as he tried to process what Rowena was telling them.

“From somewhere else? Like from one of the universes Chuck was trying to destroy?” Dean’s head snapped in Sam’s direction, his younger brother jumping into action where Dean could not.

“Oh, I’m sure Chuck would’ve destroyed it eventually. But no. I believe our sweet girl is trying to escape the life she lived there. I believe she’s looking for something…more.” Rowena responded with a curt nod and a smile down at the woman, “I can’t know her reasoning for certain without asking, but I’ve had suspicions for quite some time that we had a Shifter on our hands.”

“She’s not a shifter, Rowena. I did all the tests on her when we found her. She didn’t have any reaction to silver except cussing me out after I sliced her palm.” Dean replied with a small grin, the memory causing a slight chuckle to escape him.

“Not your kind of shifter, Dean.” Rowena placed a hand on his shoulder as she peered down at him. The hunters green eyes meet hers in confusion as she finally answers the unspoken question between them, “A Reality Shifter.”

“Reality?” Dean whispers, “Like she came here on purpose?”

“Yes. But She doesn’t seem to know that she isn’t truly from here; Honestly, I can’t say that she knows she’s shifting at all.” Rowena answered, “I’m unsure how she did it, but I’ve been keeping my eyes on her for a while and I don’t think she’s realized that this isn’t where she belongs.”

Dean jerked his shoulder from her grasp, standing to his feet, “She belongs here. With us. With me.”

Rowena dropped her hand back to her side, sending a scowl at Dean’s reaction, “Of course, Dearie. I do think she belongs with you, soulmates and all the disgusting things that come with it; I just mean that this isn’t her true reality.”

Sam’s chair scraped against the floor as he moved to stand beside his brother, realizing what Rowena was trying to tell them before Dean, “Are you trying to say that they’re meant to be, but they can never be? Like star-crossed lovers?”

Sam could practically hear Dean’s eyes roll, “This isn’t some Romeo and Juliet crap. This is my life, our life.”

“Exactly.” Sam mumbled, sending Dean a grimace, “When has either one of us ever been lucky enough to be as happy as the two of you’ve been?”

“I do mean star-crossed lovers, Dean.” Rowena interjected, “You can’t honestly believe that Chuck would allow you to find your soulmate before he died without some kind of catch?”

Dean felt the air leave his lungs, that thought hadn’t even crossed his mind, but it should’ve. Why wouldn’t Chuck try to ruin his life again from The Great Beyond? He could never have anything good in his life. Never be happy, never truly love and be loved. He was meant for death and destruction, and that Apple Pie life would always and forever be just out of reach. No, He shakes the negative thoughts from his mind, finally deciding to come to his senses as he stares down at the beautiful woman sleeping peacefully next to him, I’m waking her up. I’m getting her back and then I’m gonna throttle her for ever doing this shit in the first place.

“Well, how do we wake her up?” He growled out, “Can we wake her up?”

“I believe we can. But it’s going to take a while, and she’s going to need to be told everything when she comes to.” Rowena answered, pilfering through the titles she brought with her, “It’s going to be time consuming, but I brought everything I could think of to help.”

“And I’m sure we’ll owe you after this?” Sam grunted in response.

A sweet smile crossed Rowena’s face, and she peered back at the body laying across the cot, “I owe her, consider this me repaying my debt.”

“Then let’s figure this shit out.” Dean sternly replied as he dropped a hand to the top of her head, leaning down to whisper in her ear before placing a sweet kiss to her head, “I’m gonna fix this and when I get you back, you’re never doing this shit again.”

______________________________________________________________

Taglist: @lmhf1 @whimsyfinny @enigmalynne @k-slla @envysarchive

@daisydark @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @manicjk @aylacavebear

@suckitands33 @oceean @mxtansy @justwhisperingfantasies @mgchaser

@xinsonyax

#jacklesversebingo24 #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #jensen fucking ackles #spnfandom #jensen ackles #dean winchester x you #sam winchester #spn fanfic #sam and dean #jackles

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drdawnbreaker · 14 hours ago

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ﾟ°☆𝐃𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐰𝐧𝐬 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐏𝐭.𝟏☆° ﾟ

Heya!! This is my first recommendation list. I read too much and from multiple different fandoms, hehe. I did think about splitting the fandoms up into separate posts, and maybe I'll do that in the future, but for now, these are all just amazing fanfics that I need to share and show off to the world. If you have any fics you really love, whether they are your own or others you love. Send them my way!! Im always looking for new content to read, hehe.

ᴍᴀʀᴠᴇʟ

✦ Unleashed — @veltana

Genre: Smut. Sex Pollen Au.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: During a mission, Bucky is exposed to something that removes his inhibitions, and all he wants is you.

✦ Last Minute — @dollfacefantasy

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Frank Castle x Female Reader

Summary: When Frank won't give you attention, you have to convince him not to leave somehow...

✦ Everybody Talks — @nickfowlerrr

Genre: Smut. Halloween Au

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Curvy!Reader

✦ What If...? — @vunblr

Genre: Smut. Angst. Neighbours Au

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Curvy!Reader

Summary: Bucky navigates his insecurities and guilt from his past as he grows closer to his new neighbour, a nurse.

✦ Who’s She? — @sacredsorceress

Genre: Fluff. Secret double life au.

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: when sam gets injured during a mission and isn’t able to go to a hospital, bucky brings him and natasha to his own home to get cared for by his girlfriend, y/n, who he’s been keeping a secret.

✦ Dr. Bee — @malum-forev

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Bucky x Nurse!Reader

Summary: Bucky has quite the reputation, but all it takes for him to want to change is an hour with an outspoken little Bee.

✦ In losing grip, on sinking ships (you showed up just in time) — @mellowsaturns

Genre: Heavy Angst. Onesided-enemies-to-lovers-ish

Pairing: Soldat!Bucky x Assassin!Reader

Summary: When the avengers pick up unusual activity, they realize that not all of hydra was destroyed. one unidentifiable face sends the team into a frenzy, but bucky knows it. he could recognize those eyes anywhere.

✦ Blurred Lines — @ellemj

Genre: Time Travel. Angst. Smut. Fluff. Enemies To Lovers

Pairing: Avengers!Bucky x Reader. 40s!Bucky x Reader

Summary: When choosing a female agent to send back in time to gain young Sergeant Barnes's trust, everyone's in agreement that it should be Sharon. Until Bucky, the man that you barely get along with, speaks up and lets everyone know that it could only be you.

✦ Out of My Head — @navybrat817

Genre: A/B/O. Smut. Angst. Fluff.

Paring: Chubby!Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader

Summary: Bucky feels a bit insecure during a romantic evening, and you do your best to get him out of his head.

✦ The Memory Remains — @vunblr

Genre: Smut. Angst. Winter Soldier Vibes

Pairing: Bucky x Curvy!Reader

Summary: An unexpected encounter brings Bucky face-to-face with someone from his past, stirring memories he thought were long buried.

✦ Toy Soldier (part 1) — @vunblr

Genre: Dark. Gore. Angst. Fuff. Big feels

Paring: Winter Soldier!Bucky x mutant!Reader

Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

ʀᴇsɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ᴇᴠɪʟ

✦ Strawberry Scented — @cakelitter

Genre: Smut. Hybrid au.

Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy x Bunny!Reader

Summary: You remain still blissful as ever. Your dreams must be nice, hopping in meadows and basking in the sun; or is that too stereotypical of him? Wonder if you dream about him. Does your mind replay the sweet and innocent time you spent together? Or do you get dirty dreams about him like he does?

✦ Dolled Up — @coqvttes

Genre: Smut.

Pairing: Carlos Oliveira x Virgin!Reader

Summary: After making you wait nearly two months to lose your virginity, you surprise him in lingerie that you know he can't resist corrupting you in.

✦ Sweetheart Club — @cakelitter

Genre: Smut. Angst. Collage au.

Pairing: Professor!Leon x Fem!Reader

Summary: “You wanted to talk, professor?” he turns around and faces you, placing down the papers he’s holding on his desk and taking his glasses off. “Yeah, mind explaining the absences?”

✦ Light of the Full Moon — @dollfacefantasy

Genre: Dub-con. Werewolf au. Smut. Angst

Pairing: Husband!Wolf!Chris x Wife!Reader

Summary: Your husband hasn't been the same since coming back from his latest mission. you struggle to understand the cause, not wanting to believe the worst. on the night of a full moon, tensions peak, and you're determined to find out the truth.

✦ LIKE RABBITS ♡ — @dollfacefantasy

Genre: Pure Smut. Hybrid au

Pairing: carlos oliveira x bunny-hybrid!fem!reader

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✦ Werewolf!Jason Todd Imagine — @redr0sewrites

Genre: Smut. Werewolf au. Heat/Knotting

Pairing: Jason Todd x Human!Reader

✦ Virgin Jason Todd — @devotedlyandrogynousyouth

Genre: Pure Smut. Drabble. P/W/P

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

sᴘɴ

✦ Tentacles — @sweetcocopowder

Genre: Smut. Monster fucking. Supernatural.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Castiel ft. Alien being?

Summary: Dean has to perform a ritual to continue further in his hunt. Said ritual, is fucking an ancient being that only wants to pleasure. And Cas is here as moral support.

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supernotnatural2005 · 3 days ago

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A Christmas miracle: Timestamp - Maybe next time

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Being parents can be tough/frustrating when trying to find a quiet moment to yourselves. However, the reality of family is much more rewarding as are the sacrifices.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: SMUT!!! (18+ONLY!) Like, it is pure filth from the beginning! But ends with all the fluff and feels!

AN: Surprise! Just a little sinful Sunday fic for you all from the well loved little family of ACM. I Couldn't resist a little spicy fic, which I hope you all enjoy 😉💕

Main Masterlist

Mimicked sighs of relief filled the quiet space of your bedroom as Dean finally slid home.

The warm orange glow of the bedside lamp cast shadows of your connected bodies across the wall opposite, like a display of artwork only the ghosts could see at this hour.

It was late, way past both of your bedtimes, but it was also the only time you had alone, together.

Raising a 5-year-old and a newborn left you both with little time, or energy, to connect in the ways you once did on an almost daily basis. Ironically enough, it was this very act that had gotten you into this situation in the first place.

But you missed him, missed the feel of him, his touch, the tender press of his lips, tongue, and teeth, all of it. And as his hips pulled back, the feel of his velvety cock sliding against your walls, sending shivers from the base of your neck down to the tips of your toes, before snapping his hips back into yours, you felt whole again.

“Goddammit.” Dean groaned low in your ear as he began a gentle rocking motion, back and forth. His large and hardened frame shrouding you in a cage of pure ecstasy, your only focus is him. “I’ve missed this.” You pant, voicing his lost words. Your nails rake down his back, taut and rippled with years of strength. He rolls his eyes back at the sensation, his hips picking up their speed.

Your mouth latches on to his shoulder, sinking your teeth in enough for him to feel you there but not enough to distract him, your only line of defence to stop yourself from crying out.

Dean suddenly shifts, his body pulling upright, and he gazes down at you deliciously sprawled out beneath him.

Your hair a halo on the pillows beneath your head, your full breasts bare and heaving beneath his wondering hands. You gasp and arch into the pinch of your nipples, sensitive and raw from feeding your newborn.

You then feel a hand slide down from your chest over your stomach, your desire battling with your insecurities to cover your little belly pouch and the stretch marks that now scarred your skin. However, Dean’s eyes filled only with admiration and wonderment as he ran his hands over those changes.

He’d been nothing but flattering and encouraging throughout all the changes your body had gone through in bearing his children. In fact, his desire for you had tripled, peaking new heights, for now he had witnessed what it could do, how even more special and unique it was, and how forever grateful he would be because of it.

“Beautiful.” He whispered more to himself as his eyes roamed you, like a masterpiece deserving to be displayed, but only for his eyes, of course. His pupils blew wide as his hand reached your sex, gazing down at where the two of you remained connected with a dangerous heat.

His thumb begins to rub slow, torturous circles against your clit, just as he slowly pushes in and out of your cunt with shallow thrusts. You bite furiously at your lip to not whine so loud, the coil in your belly already growing tight at the littlest of touches. Your body starved of this kind of intimacy for too long.

Dean stares at you like a lion would at his prey, focused, precise, and ready to pounce at any moment. He enjoys the way you keen and squirm, rocking your hips for more friction than he was giving you. Desperate and at his mercy.

“Come for me, baby.” He hums in pleasure at the feel of your walls gripping him tight, his thumb relentless as it flickers against your swollen clit at an almost punishing pace. Your head slams back onto the pillows, your back arching high off of the bed, toes curling so tight your calves begin to cramp, and then you crash.

Your moan is muffled just in time for you to turn your head into the pillow, biting it tight as your body convulses and contracts around Dean’s cock. You faintly hear him groan at the feeling, his movements stilling completely as he lets you ride out your high.

When you finally float back down to earth, your body settling like jelly against the sheets beneath you, Dean leans back over you to claim your lips. The kiss is dirty and all-consuming, sparking you quickly back to life already. “On your front, sweetheart.” Dean mumbles with a grin against your lips and pats your thigh for good measure. You smile devilishly at him and allow him to slip out of you before quickly rolling onto your front, spreading your legs wide as you lift up slightly on your knees.

Keeping your chest to the mattress, you stick your ass up in the air, wiggling it teasingly and feeling victorious at the deep moan of appreciation behind you. “Fuck.” Dean breathes, seeing you so bashfully on display for him. He cups the cheeks of your ass with his two large hands, massaging them and spreading you open. Your pussy is glistening, wet with your last orgasm, so much so it had spread against your thighs. “Please baby.” You whine when it appears Dean has made no effort to move. He catches your eye and grins wide before shuffling to position himself closer behind you.

You brace yourself with your hands fisted in the pillows as he runs the length of his cock through your folds, coating him with your juices before he allows his tip to catch at your entrance.

Again you both sigh at the feeling of him entering once more, and from this angle he feels impossibly deep.

Dean’s movements are gentle at first, experimental, watching with fascination as he slides so easily in and out of your dripping hole. Just the sight alone has him twitching and about ready to burst. And then you push back against him, swallowing him whole; he chokes on his own breath.

You repeat the action once, twice, three times, all with a grin and a heated twinkle in your eye, as of right now, it was him who was at your mercy. Taking the hint, Dean palms at your hips and ass, gliding along the length of your spine as he begins to drive into you harder and faster.

The dull slap of skin against skin echoes in the quiet, joining the harsh pants of breath as he chases both of your highs. Your face is buried in the pillows, capturing your muffled moans as he hits you in just the right spot over and over.

Your legs are shaking, your body trembling, and you’re about to snap when the cry of your son breaks through your lustful spell, shattering the moment like a cold bucket of water pouring over the two of you, extinguishing the flames the friction of your bodies had ignited.

Dean stills, painfully so, the both of you listening to see if it was only a brief moment of distress before Bobby fell back to sleep. However, luck was not on either of your sides, and the cries grew louder and more consistent.

You huff in both humour and discontent but raise on your knees, causing Dean to slip out of you. His head lands on your shoulder, his own groan of disappointment slipping from his lips as he places a firm kiss against your bare skin.

You smile over your shoulder, cupping his cheek with a gentle caress of your thumb.

“Maybe next time, baby.” You pat his cheek affectionately and step off of the bed, grabbing your robe, which lay across the desk chair, and slip it on.

Dean flops onto his back with a huff, and you have to bite your lip and clench your thighs at the sight of his gloriously naked body stretched out in front of you. His cock still erect and glistening with evidence of the mess he’d made between your legs.

“I’ll join you in a minute.” Dean sits up then, running both hands down his face, trying to bring the blood back into his brain and away from the other part of his body. “Just need to cool down a second.” He chuckles, and your responding giggle has him glancing at you, a mix of humour and longing in his eyes.

You then shuffle towards the bedroom door and unlock it. Hust as you were about to slip out, however, you hear your daughter’s voice from the hallway.

“I’m on it,” Olivia says with a casual wave, striding past you and disappearing into Bobby’s room. You stand frozen for a moment, blinking in surprise. An amused huff escapes your lips at her deadpan tone, and you follow her into the room, pausing in the doorway as she approaches the cot where Bobby, still barely one, whimpers softly.

Lately, Olivia had been asserting herself into a more adult role, taking on the responsibilities, or trying to, in helping you raise her little brother. It was most likely a phase, possibly out of curiosity. But it had been amusing, yet endearing, to witness. The instant he sees Olivia, his green eyes grow wide, and his crying stops, replaced by quiet sniffles. You watch in awe as, without hesitation, he reaches for her. His chubby little fingers curling around her outstretched hand. “It’s okay, little one,” Olivia coos, her voice soft but steady. Your heart melts at the sight, your chest warming with an overwhelming sense of affection. Dean’s hand on your back startles you slightly as he moves up behind you, now dressed in sweats and a simple t-shirt.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he mutters under his breath, eyes fixed on the tender scene. But the moment didn’t last long before his usual humour slipped back in. “Guess we won’t need a babysitter after all.” He mutters under his breath. You nudge him gently with your elbow, shaking your head in amusement.

“Mommy, I think he wants milk.” Olivia glances up at you, as if she'd just held a silent conversation with her brother. As soon as she said ‘milk,’ Bobby starts to croon again, his little body wriggling with anticipation.

“I think you might be right,” you reply with a tender kiss to the top of Olivia’s head. She steps aside as you move toward the cot, gently picking up Bobby and cradling him against you.

You cross the room and settle into the rocking chair in the corner, easing yourself into a comfortable position before you open your robe enough to let Bobby nurse.

Olivia comes to stand beside you, her eyes wide with fascination as she watches. You never made a point of hiding it from her—breastfeeding was just another part of life, nothing to be embarrassed about or shielded from her.

Dean stays by the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching the quiet scene. His heart felt full, a sense of peace settling over him like nothing else. This moment, these simple, sacred moments, were more meaningful than anything else he’d ever experienced.

“Maybe next time.” Your earlier spoken words repeat in his head, Yeah, there would always be time for that, to rekindle a flame, but this moment right here? He realises, with bittersweet clarity, that they were fleeting.

One day, this serenity would slip away, and yet, here it was now—unfolding before him, a beautiful reminder of everything that truly mattered.

AN: I hope you all enjoyed this smutty little snippet into the ACM family. Want to read more from the ACM family? Click here! And as always let me know what you think and thank you for reading ❤️

Also, if you would like to be tagged in my work, click here and I will be sure to add you to the list 😘

Dean Winchester Taglist:

@bettystonewell , @lyarr24

#supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader smut #dean smut #A Christmas Miracle masterlist #spn #original characters #spnfamily #spnfandom #spn fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #jensen ackles #abbalina writes

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 3 days ago

Text

@zepskies

Jumping right back in to part 3!

Accurate depiction of me knowing what's about to happen to the readers dad. 👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻

And:

“Go, get out of here!” he shouts and waves you off. “What? What is it?!” you yell. He shakes his head, like he’s unable to answer your question. “Run! Run and don’t stop!”

“So there’s a chance he could still be alive,” you say, in a brighter voice. Dean gives you a measured look, dragging a hand over his mouth. “Look, I’m gonna be straight with you,” he says. “It’s been months, right?” You nod, though you realize what he’s saying. Don’t get your hopes up.

I won't get my hopes up. I will be just as devastated now as when I find out that he is gone for good. 😭

Also I love that you said her mother refused to "entertain anything else" because Dean's job description is literally "anything else" lol. And it really is a wonderful thing (not wonderful like good but you know what I mean) that Dean and the reader can further connect on. Her knowing what Dean really did for a living and him being brave enough to risk his life on the possibility of "a chance."

“I appreciate the thought, but trust me. I’d rather you look out for you,” he says.

It's too late for that kind of talk sexy mountain man. You're stuck with her and she is not going to let you go that easy.

Am I trying to hide my emotions over Dean going into the wilderness alone to face a wendigo with humor? Yes, yes I am.

You try to fill up your time in other ways, like attempting, and failing, and trying again more successfully to make bread from scratch. You haven’t binge-watched every season of The Great British Bake-Off for nothing.

It's a whole vibe 🍞

Side note: I did have to look up what nesting was in the A/B/O universe, but that is so cute. 😭

After you manage to clamber back onto your feet using the crutches, you put together some supplies, including the extra med kit in case he’s hurt. (Or in case something happens to you while you’re out there.) This is a bad idea, you think, even as you heave on your jacket. Then, you hear the sound of a lock turning, before the front door shoves open.

Oh goodness, yes it was a bad idea and I am so happy that Dean showed up when he did, because my anxiety for this reader was THROUGH THE ROOF. I mean yes, go get your man, but gurl please it's snowing and you've got a broken ankle. At least catch a bear or something to pull you on a sleigh lol. 🤣

Your lips tremble. As that horrible realization dawns, you break down into tears. You already know from his tone that your father was dead when he found him. Dean guides you down to him by your shoulder and wraps his arms around you. You bury your face into his neck, and your body shakes with quiet sobs.

See this is why I don't get my hopes up because OH MY SWEET GOODNESS I'M CRYING 😭 But at least Dean is there now to wipe away her tears. AND my tears will soon be dried with the fires of their passion so... LOL 😂

He finally drags you to him in a kiss. It’s heady and passionate, and also comforting. Your fingers wind into his hair, your nails scraping along his scalp. He growls as his arm tightens around your waist. You shiver in delight.

See I feel better already 🥰

“Do you know what your scent is to me?” you ask, in a voice slightly trembling. You glance at the fireplace that has dimmed to embers. “It’s better than that fire at full blaze. Every time I went camping with my dad, that’s what I loved the most. Sitting by that fire, talking, laughing, and for the millionth time, telling the story of when I gave my sister micro bangs in her sleep when I was ten.”

This is such a wonderful comparison to what it's like being around him for the reader. It holds the warmth and the feeling of home whenever you read it. I love it.

And also you know how much I love the continuing idea of Dean thinking that he's not enough and that the reader would never like him. I know that I always point it out when I read something of yours, but it really always fits him and you write it so well my friend 💚

“Look…even if that’s true, you don’t want this with me,” he says. His handsome face becomes marred by a frown, his brows knitting together. “I don’t even own this place. Besides my car, I ain’t got much of anything to give.”

I also love this bit, because Dean reduces himself to physical wealth here rather than seeing all the wonderful qualities of himself that we all love being something that he can give the reader. It really makes their connection all the more loving and real, because the reader isn't asking for Dean to give her things or to be rich, she's just asking FOR Dean. And I think it will be a beautiful and wonderful thing when he realizes that.

This chapter was so wonderful Alex! I loved every heart wrenching bit and I can't wait to read the next one my wonderful friend! ❤️

Against the Wind - Part 3

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: Merry Christmas! I'm dropping this chapter a day early for you guys. Now, here's the full story, and what Dean is going to do about it…

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates @jacklesversebingo

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.8K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, mentions of blood, hint of spice.~

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 3: Nothing Left to Burn

“We should start heading back,” you say, looking up at the mid-afternoon sky. It was starting to dip toward the top of the trees in the distance. “It’s going to take a couple of hours to get back before nightfall.”

“Yep, it’s about that time.” Your dad groans as he starts to haul himself back to his feet, where you two had been taking a rest against a tree. “Jesus, I need a new pair of knees. Help your old man, would ya?”

You smirk as you help the middle-aged alpha to his feet. His joints pop and his back cracks as he stretches his arms high.

“Damn, Dad. You’re creakier than the trees,” you quip.

He tosses you a wry look. “Just you wait. In a few years, after wrangling a couple of pups, you’re gonna feel my pain.”

“A few years?” you laugh. “Did I miss the part where I actually met a decent guy, let alone one worth mating?”

“Oh, you’ll find him,” your dad nods, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder. “Or he’ll find you, like your mother did with me.”

You follow his lead with your own rifle, falling into step with him through the forest clearing. It’s a beautiful day in late November. Already you can see the edge of frost on the shrubs and half-barren trees. The ground is littered with dead leaves painted in browns, oranges, and dappled with reds.

“You met her in college. It’s not like you guys defied fate,” you say.

“Yeah, but if she hadn’t walked into my psychology class by mistake, and stolen my latte at the campus café, maybe you wouldn’t be here,” he teases.

You huff and roll your eyes. Yes, your parents are a walking cliché. And by far, your dad’s the bigger sap.

“I’m telling you. Sometimes, the universe does us a solid,” he says, reinforcing his point with a literal pointed finger your way. You push it away from your face in exasperation.

“You might wanna watch where you’re going,” you say, “before you roll your ankle on another pebble.”

“You kidding me?” he exclaims. “That thing was the size of my fist! You’re lucky I didn’t break an ankle. Make you carry me all the way back to the car.”

You snort. “Right. Think I’ll just leave you for the bears…”

You trail off when a sound reaches you and your father. The sound of leaves crunching in the underbrush, quick and light. Your father’s shoulders straighten with alertness, the alpha’s head cocking toward the sound.

“Maybe I spoke too soon about the bears,” you whisper. He shakes his head.

“Nah, too light. It’s probably an elk.” He tosses you a smile. “We’ll have one hell of a haul to bring home, plus a good story to tell your mom.”

Your mother, the vegan veterinarian?

“Yeah, because she loves elk meat.”

“Would you quit being a smartass for two minutes? You go a little west. I’ll see where it’s at,” he says.

He quietly wracks his rifle and steps away from the clearing, farther into the woods. You do what he says, veering west. You don’t see the elk, and soon enough, you don’t see your dad either. You do hear a whistling on the wind, and the cold of it cuts right through your coat.

Unease prickles down your spine, though you don’t know why.

“Dad?” you whisper-yell, trying not to spook whatever animal might be out there.

A gunshot rings out, along with your dad’s voice in a shout. Your eyes widen in alarm, and you call his name, taking off in a run to find him.

You end up rising over a hill you hadn’t crossed before, but you see your dad below; you recognize his bright blue puffer jacket that Mom got him for his birthday. You call his name, and he looks up at you with fear in his eyes.

Not for himself, but for you.

“Go, get out of here!” he shouts and waves you off.

“What? What is it?!” you yell.

He shakes his head, like he’s unable to answer your question. “Run! Run and don’t stop!”

He moves further into the denser trees until you can no longer make him out. With a frustrated huff, you sprint down the hill and try to follow his tracks with your gun at the ready. On the wind, in the distance, you still hear his voice.

Until it cuts off abruptly, along with the terrible cracking of bone.

You gasp and halt in your steps. What the fuck was that?

Tears fill your eyes and blur your vision. Despite what you heard, you realize just how very alone you are in the clearing. Fear and adrenaline make your breath tremulous and shallow, but you can’t just give up. You search for a while longer, making yourself hoarse calling out to your father.

No matter what direction you take, you never find him.

“I ran back to town to get the rangers,” you say, brushing a couple of stray tears from your cheeks. You sniff, licking your lips and swallowing a hard lump of emotion in your throat.

Dean continues to listen intently with his brows furrowed.

“It was too late,” you sigh. “He disappeared. They explained it away, thought a grizzly bear got him, but I know it wasn’t a damn bear.”

You shake your head as the tears come harder and faster, all over again. Dean’s jaw clenches in sympathy.

“No one believed me about what I heard, not even my mom,” you confess. Your mother had been too distraught to entertain “anything else.” No matter how strongly you’d felt about your suspicions, you understood that she just wanted to put your father’s death behind her after his funeral. Part of you had stopped believing yourself.

A stronger part of you hadn’t been able to let it go, however. So you had to come back here and try to find any trace of your father.

When you finally run out of words, you see the proverbial gears turning in Dean’s eyes.

“What’re you thinking?” you hazard to ask. You can’t help but reach out and grab at his wrist. “Do you…do you believe me?”

Dean’s gaze softens a fraction. He lays his larger hand over yours.

“Yeah, I do,” he says. “I’m willing to bet on what took him too.”

He squeezes your hand before he lets you go and gets up from his seat. He soon returns with his father’s journal in hand. He reclaims his spot across from you, sitting close to your thigh on the end of the chaise. His gaze falls away from your face to the journal in hand, and he flips it open to a page he knows from memory. You suck in a subtle breath to steel yourself when he turns it toward you—to the very page that had given you nightmares the first night you read it.

Wendigo.

“Nasty son of a bitch,” he says. “It hibernates for decades at a time, but when it surfaces, it knows how to get through long winters like this. It takes a handful of people at a time, feeding on its victims slow.”

You feel sick at that, but still, his words elicit a sliver of hope.

“So there’s a chance he could still be alive,” you say, in a brighter voice. Dean gives you a measured look, dragging a hand over his mouth.

“Look, I’m gonna be straight with you,” he says. “It’s been months, right?”

You nod, though you realize what he’s saying. Don’t get your hopes up.

“But there’s a chance,” you insist, with tears in your eyes. Dean holds your gaze for a moment, and he nods. He squeezes your knee this time, then shuts the journal with one hand as he moves to stand.

You follow him on your crutches over to the kitchen. He pulls out a drawer and retrieves a folded-up map. Tossing the journal on the kitchen counter, he opens up the map and lays it out flat next to the sink. It’s a map of the mountain, and the entire forest surrounding the mountain of Big Sky. Dean’s eyes flick up to yours.

“Where did it happen?”

Dean has packed up his supplies and put on his winter gear. You watch him from the living room sofa, trying to hide your unease. You know he’s doing this for you, but there’s part of you that doesn’t want to see him leave, for his own sake, and selfishly for yours.

“Try not to go outside again unless you absolutely friggin’ have to,” he warns. “And if you do, don’t go too far. Make sure you take a weapon, preferably a gun and a knife.”

“Dean, I know,” you reply. You get up and hover by the couch while he finishes lacing his snowshoes and hooks his backpack on. You’re unable to hide your concern.

“You shouldn’t be going out there alone,” you say.

Dean tosses you a grin. It has the shade of how he was with you before the “journal” incident—self-assured, a hint teasing.

“Don’t worry. This isn’t exactly my first solo mission,” he says, though his devil-may-care attitude soon subsides into something more serious. “If I’m not back inside a week, you need to ration out the supplies here as best you can. That new meat in the fridge should last you a while.”

By new meat, you have to assume he means the bear.

“When you’re healed up, you can make your way down the mountain and back to town with that map I left for you. Kitchen counter,” he says.

Your frown worsens. You step closer to him with the pretense of closing and locking the front door for him after he leaves.

“Dean,” you say, stopping him at the door. He turns to look at you over his shoulder. You hesitate, fidgeting slightly, but you gain your courage.

“If you don’t come back, I’m going to find you,” you warn him.

Dean frowns. He turns to you fully and tilts his head as if to say, come again?

“No, you’re not, Omega. You understand me?”

His terseness doesn’t scare you anymore. You glare up at him, quite literally standing your ground.

“You didn’t leave me out there when you didn’t even know me. You think I’d do that to you?” you counter.

At that, Dean has to pause, tilting his head slightly. He almost smiles at your stubbornness, and just like that, his annoyance dissipates. It softens him, making him reach for your arm in an assuring squeeze.

“I appreciate the thought, but trust me. I’d rather you look out for you,” he says.

Right now, you don’t really give a shit about what he’d rather, but you don’t say so. It’s written across your face anyway. Dean’s mouth tugs at a smile.

“All right, I’m out,” he says. “Save me some of Yogi in there.”

You huff, but you shut the door behind him after he steps out onto the porch, down the steps, and beyond. You move to the living room window and watch him get farther and farther away from the cabin.

Despite the crackling fireplace, you begin to feel cold inside.

After the first three days, you’ve managed to clean the entire cabin, top to bottom. With the “new meat,” you make a large batch of soup to last you throughout the week. You freeze a couple of servings for Dean.

For when he gets back.

Then you organize all of the alpha’s books by author. You wash all the laundry you can find and fold everything neatly on his bed, and you put away the couple of sweaters you’ve borrowed from him into your own dresser.

On Day Four, you create a nest of pillows and blankets in the middle of the living room floor. In your anxiety, it’s a reflex you can’t help. Your initial instinct was to nest in his room, but you thought that was too invasive of his privacy, so the living room was your next best option. At least his scent is still somewhat imbued into his favorite chair, and around his records. (You do steal another shirt of his to sleep with though.)

On Day 8, your worry becomes a living thing. You pace the living room and the kitchen on your crutches, probably wearing down the wooden ends of them while you debate what to do. Despite what Dean told you to do if he didn’t get back, you know you’re not just going to leave him out there. But the reality is, you have a problem of mobility.

With a frustrated huff, you decide to try setting your problem foot down normally. Your ankle hurts, a sharp pain shooting up your calf and nearly sending you to the floor.

“Fuck!” you gasp, both in shock and aggravation.

You know this isn’t just a sprain. At best it could be a fracture, since no bone is protruding under the skin. It still means you shouldn’t go after him either.

But you’ll have to try.

Then, you hear the sound of a lock turning, before the front door shoves open.

A yelp of surprise escapes you, though you soon realize that it’s Dean, looking worn down and ragged, but alive.

“Home, sweet home,” he says wryly, but he looks relieved to see you too.

You help him sink down onto the chaise, where he stretches out with a groan. He tips his head back on the cushion. His jacket is torn in a few places. Blood has dried on his cheek, his neck, and near his hairline, and you worry about where else he might be hurt.

You quickly go to the kitchen and pour a bowl of warm water and grab a hand towel. You bring it all back to Dean, where you set your supplies on the floor and sit down beside him on the cushion.

“Are you okay?” You try to calm down your racing heart (and the nauseous feeling in your stomach) as you help him work open his jacket, followed by his shirt. Discreetly, your eyes take in the expanse of his tanned skin and pebbling nipples exposed to the cool air, even with the fire roaring nearby.

“Yeah, just peachy,” he says.

You smile a little. You take the towel, dampen it, and begin to clear the blood from his cheek, his neck, and the upper part of his torso—even his scuffed hands. Then you squeegee out the blood in the bowl and continue your task. Dean subtly watches you, his gaze a bit softer than usual.

He eventually looks you over with a frown as he takes in the way you’re dressed, and then the backpack by the door.

“What, about to go for a little afternoon stroll?” His sarcasm turns to annoyance. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put until you can actually walk?”

Your mouth flattens into a line, but any anger you might’ve felt is waylaid by your relief. It brings tears to your eyes.

“I thought something happened to you,” you say.

Dean hesitates. Your hand has stilled on his chest. He softens a little more, grasping your hand in his larger one.

“I’m fine,” he says. “The job’s done.”

Your eyes widen. “You found the…thing? The wendigo?”

His mouth pulls at a cocky grin, tempered only by his tiredness, and the way he’s looking at you. “Sure did. Tried to take a chunk outta my ass, but a little aerosol deodorant and a lighter’s all you need to barbecue that ugly son of a bitch.”

You smile in amusement, but all too soon, it fades.

“Did you find my dad?” you ask.

Dean’s expression sobers as well.

“Yeah, I think so.” His face gentles. “Was he wearing a blue puffer jacket?”

Your lips tremble. As that horrible realization dawns, you break down into tears. You already know from his tone that your father was dead when he found him.

Dean guides you down to him by your shoulder and wraps his arms around you. You bury your face into his neck, and your body shakes with quiet sobs.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your hair. “Believe me, I am.”

He holds you close, warm and secure. He allows you to stay there as long as you need, where you feel safe, even if this world has become a colder, darker place.

After a few minutes longer, your intense sobs begin to subside. You don’t mean to, but you turn your nose into Dean’s neck, scenting him on reflex. It calms you down, but it has the unintended effect of arousing him. The alpha rumbles in pleasure.

You blink in surprise and lean back enough to see his face. Dean’s lips press together as he looks down on you; he seems embarrassed, but you also see the heat reflected in his gaze, so intense in those forest greens. Your face begins to warm in a blush.

He brushes your cheek with his thumb, collecting your tears there. You glance down at his plush lips again, your own parting with a breath. His hand moves to cup your cheek, framing the side of your face. Please…

He finally drags you to him in a kiss.

It’s heady and passionate, and also comforting. Your fingers wind into his hair, your nails scraping along his scalp. He growls as his arm tightens around your waist. You shiver in delight.

You press a hand to the center of his chest, giving you leverage to rise up and slide your thigh over his legs. There you sink into his lap. Your breasts pillow against his chest when you lay on top of him, your elbows digging into the cushion on either side of his head. His hands move down your body, feeling down your sides, squeezing your hips, and then your ass. You hum into his mouth and roll your hips into his. Already you feel him hardening through his jeans.

But somehow he breaks away from your kiss, even though your hands are still in his hair.

“Sorry…we can’t do this,” he says, with difficulty.

He sits upright and nearly makes you fall over in the process. He grabs your arm before you tip over, but he keeps himself at arm’s length from you after you’re forced to slide off his lap, sitting on the end of the chaise instead. Your eyes glisten with hurt and confusion.

“Why?” is all you can ask.

He doesn’t want to answer.

“Dean?” you ask, inching towards him. He raises a hand to keep you at bay.

“Just…it’s not a good idea, okay?” he says, with the clenching of his jaw.

That cuts into you even more. Your heart pulses with pain.

You wipe a stray tear from your eye, but you respect the distance he’s put between you two.

“The second I met you, I knew what this was,” you say. “I think you know it too.”

Dean shakes his head. His face betrays his wariness, his desire, and his obstinance.

You shake your head in dismay. “I know that’s not true.”

“I’m not bullshitting,” he says. “Listen…I’ve never had much. And what I did have, I found a way to lose. I’ve let my people down. Just about everyone I’ve ever…”

You can’t help but reach out a hand for him, your heart hurting, but he leans away, pressing himself back against the seat. It cuts even deeper into you; now though, you wonder if it’s because he feels the same gut feeling you do when he’s this close—close enough to touch, but almost afraid of the burn.

“They’ve been hurt, almost always because of me.” His voice shakes imperceptibly, with a wry, humorless turn of his lips. “So take it from me, sweetheart. You’ll wanna steer clear.”

“Dean,” you say. You expel a breath, digesting his words, while thinking of what you want to say.

“I’ve never not felt safe with you,” you confess. “Even when I screwed up and drove you crazy, I’m sure, I knew you’d never hurt me. The same way I know…”

You reach out a tentative hand to lay in the center of his chest, over his heart. Your thumb brushes the edge of his strange tattoo, over the dark ink in his skin.

“You’re my mate. My one, true mate in this world,” you say, meeting his eyes. “And I want to know you.”

You see inner conflict in the depths of Dean’s eyes, dark green and troubled. You take a chance and lean in, brushing your cheek against his, nuzzling, laying a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Omega,” he warns, but the grit in his voice has little heat.

Or at least, it’s heat of a different kind, as his strong hands once again find your waist. They hold you still, but also hold you to him. Your gentle affection is making him ache, deep in the shadowy cavern of his chest. He’d never admit it, but loneliness had set in there, burrowed deep with a stronghold on his heart. Without knowing, you’ve been carving it out with those gentle hands.

You now slide your hands up his chest and over his shoulders, warm palms on his skin.

“Alpha, I want to know you,” you insist. Quiet, but steady, your voice is a mere brush of words near his ear, against his cheek. “Please.”

Dean’s brows furrow as he briefly shuts his eyes tight. With your whispered plea, the brittle chain of his restraint finally snaps free.

He cradles the back of your head and guides you back into a feverish kiss.

AN: Sorry to cut it off there lol, but the big (steamy) finale is coming up next week! Perhaps a little earlier than Friday. 😘

Next Time:

“Were you nesting, Omega?” he teases, between the sinful meetings of his lips with yours. You hum your affirmation before his tongue swipes across your lower lip, seeking entrance.

You open yourself to him in more ways than one; you slip your hands across his naked shoulders and explore the smooth planes of muscle, the dips and softness in between. You encourage him to lower down, to cover you with the length and broadness of his frame. His weight is a welcome one between your thighs and against the softness of your body.

“Was worried about you,” you whisper a confession against his lips. Dean briefly pauses, meeting your eyes.

“Thanks for waiting up,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

Your lips curve upwards in return.

▶️ Keep reading: Part 4 (Finale!)

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studiogrimm810 · 2 days ago

Text

Dreams Come True

pairings: (pining) sam winchester x gn!reader, dean is kinda there

summary: the brothers request your help with hunting a djinn and after being under its manipulation, you realize you can't ignore your feelings for sam forever

warnings: angst, graphic depictions of crime scene images, open but happy ending, unspoken feelings

word count: 5,138

A/N: i don't know how to write shorter stories. pls send help, thx

———————

As you pulled into the parking lot of some dingy diner you scanned the area in search for a particularly sparkling Impala that stood out like a sore thumb. Upon the confirmation of the vehicle, you knew Sam and Dean were waiting for you inside. It had been a few months since you'd last seen the brothers and it caused a low churning in your stomach, a sickening curl to your intestines that made you nauseous. You love the Winchesters, you truly do, and you would drop everything if they needed a hand like now, but your problem was in fact that you loved one specific Winchester a touch too much. It was exhausting.

Ever since you could drive, you have been on your own. Your parents weren’t much help to your development, and honestly the only real reason you’re as functioning as you pretend to be is because of your Uncle Rufus who stepped up in raising you. He kept an eye on you when his brother failed but you had always had a sharp sense of independence. So, the second your uncle's friend, Bobby, fixed you up a car to claim as your own, you were gone.

And you pretended it didn’t hurt when Rufus didn’t put up a fight.

The forced and minimal choices of your life lead you to be fiercely independent and taught you not to rely on anyone for a thing. You had your own car, your own way of living, and your own set of personal, strict, rules that you follow to a T.

Rules that come so close to being bent in the presence of one, Sam Winchester.

You force yourself out of your car and through the parking lot to the lightly rusted doors smudged with greasy finger-prints. That’s it, next time you get to choose where you and the boys meet up. Surely the food here is good, and the waitress who is taking Sam and Deans drink order looks kind enough, but being on the road most of your life leads you to have a distaste of cheap and greasy spots where their healthiest item on the menu is probably the tomatoes that top their hangover burgers.

Sam and Dean have sat on the same side of the booth and they both smile warmly as they spot you enter the diner. The stale but warm air laced with french fries and left over maple syrup from breakfast washes over you and your mouth waters at the thought of a sweet dessert topping that’s become socially acceptable first thing in the morning.

Eh, maybe this diner isn’t so bad.

Making your way to their delicately selected booth, your stomach twists in a tight knot again at the sight of Sam. A beautiful splitting smile that cracks his face to allow little beams of whatever the fuck makes him so stunningly happy at this moment is partnered with a trademark dimple threatening to suck you in and never loosen up. You smile back at both of them.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dean beams as he and Sam stand in unison to greet you. Dean hugs you first, a firm grip that’s a little too tight because he knows you can handle it and he doesn’t really want to help himself. “Missed ya,” he pulls away to ruffle your hair and you try to glare at him while swatting away his hand but you can’t wipe off the smile these two have infected you with.

Sam is next, wrapping his strong arms around you. “Been too long,” he utters out with a slight groan that often accompanies a hug like this, but maybe it’s also because you can tell he had more to say. His arms are big and encompassing, wrapping around you like a cloak that shields away just enough of the outside hustle and bustle to let it just be you two in this moment. It’s so protected and safe in this moment that you can’t help but reply with an equally weighted echo of, “too long.”

After warm hugs that seem to stop time, the boys sit back in their spots and you take the roomy booth opposite of them. Dramatically stretching out your arms, you shoot them a sly but innocent smile. “Good choice in table, boys. ‘S comfy,” you yawn involuntarily.

“Glad you’re livin’ it up, your highness,” Dean teases, tapping the table idly as the waitress returns. You control the attitude threatening to manipulate your face as Dean gives the poor woman googly eyes masked with a quite dashing smirk.

After a harmony of simple orders, the waitress smiles out of obligation for a tip and heads to her next table.

“How’ve you been?” Asks Sam, and damn him. He just has to keep watching you with eyes that are warmer than the coffee Dean insisted on having this late. You settle in your seat, leaning back and running your nails along the beveled edge of the table.

“Good, same old, same old,” you shrug. It really has been quite boring with you recently. You worked a case a few states over, then picked up a few odd jobs to rake up some money again to get you through another case.

“How’s the Toyota?” Dean looks out into the lot for your white sedan parked across the lot. It had been an inside bit between the two of you, he liked to tease you for sticking to such a confident opinion that your little ‘match-box car’- as he coined it- was in fact a more comfortable and reliable ride than his baby. You really didn’t have such a strong opinion, but for the way it ruffles his feathers, you’d die on this hill.

“As good as ever, and grandpa?” You tick your head to the 40 year old car in the lot. Dean clutches his chest with an offended inhale and twisted look of hurt at the Impalas nickname, gifted by you.

“Immoral,” Dean’s face is straight with a flash of cocky know-it-all holding his chin high.

One day you’ll admit that the common denominator between the two cars would most definitely be the servicer of Singer Auto Parts. The man performed miracles on any old hunk of metal you took him.

“Okay, okay, put the measuring tape away,” Sam chuckled, enjoying the bickering between you two. Dean bit back a ‘they started it’ and just took a far too big gulp of his coffee to shut himself up.

“How ‘bout you two? What made you call me out here tonight?” You ask, looking out the window that overlooks probably 80% of the town that is really only a grocery store, a main street with a handful of vendors, and a couple other buildings that you didn’t take the time to specifically identify at the moment. Sam’s warm smile that tore all eyes from the moon cast high in the sky melts down to his polite not-so-fantastic-news smile.

“We’re tracking a Djinn,” Sam explains, pulling out a few books, topped with John's journal, from his computer bag. He sets out the books and snatches one specifically to flip through and turn for you to look at. You scanned the page: silver, lambs blood, poison, dreams? You had vaguely heard about Djinn before but you never really took them seriously. It was one of those creatures like fairies that just seemed so out of your league that you never put too much time or effort into researching it.

“Thinking it’s going along I-81, collecting victims where it can and bleeding ‘em dry,” Dean explains, his own expression turned serious as well. He tracks his finger along certain lines in the text that highlight an important note: ‘Djinn use a poison through physical touch to incapacitate their victims and keep them in a comatose state as they drain their blood over any given period of time. Djinn often give their victims a false reality that some describe as “too good to be true” to keep their bodies calm, stable, and comfortable in such a neglected state of being.’

“They feed on blood? Like vampires?” You ask, cringing slightly. Although you envision yourself to be a strong, smart, quick hunter, blood is your downfall. You make a point to avoid vamps by yourself for this very reason and the boys know this, so they must really need help if they’re asking for your assistance in a case like this.

“Kinda, yeah. Same diet, different harvesting,” Dean shrugs, making the connection for you that makes you want to gag. You force down a few sips of water to settle the tickle in the back of your throat before continuing.

“So how are you tracking this thing? Like how do you know someone has been its victim?” You ask, wondering what the physical proof left behind on a person was inflicted by such a creature was. Sam shuffles through the stack of literature, pulling out a dull, manilla folder and setting it in front of you.

“It’s sloppy, doesn’t clean up after itself at all,” Sam’s hand rests on the top of the folder, holding it closed so that you don’t open it too fast. “It leaves its victims strung up,” Sam explains, removing his hand but still watching you with a silent warning at the contents behind this thin veil. You open the folder and immediately cringe, your head turning to look away but your glued eyes prevent you from turning too far. The first image is a young woman, probably couldn’t even legally drink, with her wrists tied above her head. She’s dirty, bruised, decayed. An IV still connected her neck to a metal frame next to her that would supposedly host plastic blood bags. “Some Djinn passively feed, others drain to save for later.” You swallow thickly as you realize the IV was to rid her of her own blood.

The thought is sickening.

The image is beyond words.

But you persist. Your now unsteady fingers reach to flip the image, finding a police report behind it. The woman was 19- just a girl. Your chest aches, this really is the hardest part of the job- the loss. Her name was Amani and she was going to college for journalism. She was reported missing when she didn’t show up for her editorial meeting on campus. Her boyfriend reported it. Her parents followed up. There was an image attached, from her and her boyfriend on Valentines Day. She looked so happy and so full of life.

You close your eyes to get a hold of yourself. You swallow down your emotions, opening your eyes again to flip the pages again.

The next picture was of another woman, displayed in a similar manner. Her blonde hair stained with rotted blood and you almost mistook her for a brunette. Smeared makeup lined her vacant eyes and a beautiful necklace rested along her clavicle. Turning the page, you learn this woman's name was Eliza, a 39 year old mother of four. A portrait framed a lovely family. She wore the same necklace and you assume it was a gift from her husband who stood tall and proud next to her.

You closed the folder, unable to take in any more. You nodded lightly, looking between the boys. “I’ll help, just tell me what I need to know,” you state. The hardest thing about this job was also your biggest motivator. Preventing this awful fate from befalling another innocent family.

You felt that it was too late for your own chance at love, life, happiness, but that it was now your responsibility to make sure that was an option for as many people as you could save. You felt it was your one true purpose.

This was something that Sam admired about you, your relentless need to help others. To use your knowledge for the betterment of others. Yet, it was still something he wished you were more selfish with. He could tell the effects that the stories and images of these poor victims had on you but you ignored your own limits and boundaries to fight for those who still stand a chance. It was a horrible hero’s curse, really.

Sam’s smile reassures you, even if it’s the sweet, pitying one that he offers those in distress, because something in the glint that shines in his eyes tells you a truth you want to ignore.

“We can kill it with a silver dagger dipped in lamb's blood. We just need the blood,” Dean pulls out his phone to check his messages. “Which is ready for us, courtesy of Frankie,” Dean tips up his phone as if to cheer. Frankie was another hunter friend in rotation, he wasn’t really someone you would team up with, but you’d accept his tools and supplies anytime.

Sam packs up his stack of books, stuffing them in his bag. “Dean has to drive out about an hour to meet Frankie, you and I can stick back and I’ll catch you up on the lore.” Sam offers, zipping his bag up and shoving it aside.

———

The rain outside was persistent, heavy, and unforgiving. You stood at the motel window, glaring out to your car getting a half-assed wash that it so desperately needs. After packing in as much Djinn knowledge as you could get, you and Sam decided to call it quits for the night and wait on Dean.

“So what’s the plan? Do you know how to find where this thing is going to be next?” You asked, turning over your shoulder to spot Sam who was cleaning up his gun, shiney metal parts lined neatly on a cloth next to him.

“We have a hunch, another woman disappeared from her workplace last night. Amani, the college student, was found in an abandoned greenhouse that no one used anymore on campus. The mother, Eliza, was found in some old stock room at the animal shelter she volunteered at. The woman who disappeared last night, Carmen, worked at a museum as a tour guide. There’s a ruined exhibits graveyard in the basement, I’m betting she’ll be there,” Sam explains, continuing to clean his gun. His hands flow in precise motions over the weapon, cradling it and caring for it like a delicate piece of glass.

“Are we checking it out tonight when Dean gets back?” You ask, moving to sit on the free couch that will end up being your bed. Sam glanced out the window that you no longer silhouette, checking for headlights, before returning to finish reassembling his gun.

“Yep, that’s the plan,” Sam nods, setting the pristine gun on his bedside table and putting away his kit.

Once he’s finished, he stays sat on the edge of the bed, glancing over at you as you pick at the tears in your jeans. You couldn’t get those images out of your head and you itched to save Carmen before it’s too late.

“How’re you feeling?’ Sam asks with kind words that don’t mean to pry but just to chip what he can. He knows how much time you spend alone on the road. You’re such a sheltered and lonely person but he doesn’t want that for you. Sam can see past the tough exterior and into the shell of just a person who craved to be loved and taken care of. He wanted to be that person for you.

“Antsy. Dean should be back by now, no?” You ask, continuously picking at your jeans but gazing out the window once more. Sam follows your lead, nodding in agreement but returning his main focus back to you.

“He’ll be more careful in the rain,” Sam explained, his soft eyes holding room for the tension he captures behind them. “The others had been missing for at least a week before they passed, we have time,” Sam assures, hoping that you don’t stress yourself out too much over this.

“Talk to Bobby recently?” Sam continues, missing the small talk that you two haven’t really shared yet. He can tell you’re more tense than usual, it’s like you’re distancing yourself. You look up from your knees, the messy pit that makes you sick stirring in you yet again as his eyes match yours.

“Last week, just to check in,” you said, offering a suspiciously less amount of information than usual. Your leg bounces against its prop on the coffee table before you.

“You can talk to me,” Sam urges, keeping his eyes on you as you dart from your knees to the window and then to him. You don’t know what’s with you right now specifically, but the tension of the unspoken feelings bubbling under your ribs is becoming a real bitch.

“Just a stressful few weeks, nothing I can’t handle,” you smile assuringly. He can see right through it, but he decides to let it go for now since the familiar rumble of the Impala growls outside, awaiting its two passengers. Sam lets out a defeated breath, standing and grabbing his coat and gun. You jump to your feet, ready to get this show on the road. You slip on your own coat and check yourself over to make sure you have everything you need.

“What’s a little more stress, huh?” Sam jokes sarcastically, making a mental note to keep an extra close eye on you. You scoff a dry laugh, leading the way to the Impala while Sam locks up the room. The ten feet to the vehicle being enough to soak halfway through to your skin.

“Fuckin’ rain!” You exasperated, sliding into the back seat and letting the comforting heat of the Impala warm you right back up.

“Tell me about it, can’t see a damn thing,” Dean complains, his wipers on full blast and his defroster bellowing a low hum through the car that you had to speak over.

Dean’s years and years of constant driving cause for good reflexed and skilled roadwork as he navigates the slick roads, leading you three to the main event.

After a pop-quiz and mostly dried clothes, Dean pulls the Impala around the museum and to the back entrance that neighbors cellar doors that lead straight down. Once everyone is caught up, loaded with the proper weapon, and ready to get soaked again for a measly few feet of travel, they pile out of the car and to the latched and locked doors. Dean skips the pleasantries of Sam simply picking the lock and just shoots straight through the already rusted metal.

Dean descends first, followed by you, and finished by Sam.

The room is inky black and thickly dank, the moisture almost making it difficult to breathe. Echoing drips of supposed leaks from the rain sing around the trio, making it nearly impossible to locate one specific stream. Dean kicks on his flashlight and you and Sam follow.

“Stay close, stay alert,” Dean instructs, going to look up a nearby hall while Sam checks a few closets and you scan the main area for clues. There are dozens of totes down here full with scrapped art supplies, broken furniture, and piles of betrayed books. Nothing is standing out, though, so you follow behind Dean who has progressed up the hallway. Sam watched both yours and his brother's backs.

A loud clunk echos from the opposite side of the basement but the echo makes it bounce around to the main room you three had landed in. Sam jumps to double check to make sure that behind them was clear and Dean retreats from the room to see what’s going on. You shrug at Dean's raised brow and progress further into the hall, taking the lead.

You turn down a corner to find an even longer hallway with more off-shoots that basically make this place a maze. You sigh heavily, dropping your light a tad and look back at the brothers who have closed the distance between you surprisingly fast.

“There's too much ground,” you whisper to them both. Sam’s face contorts into a ‘no way, don't even think about it’ but Dean's interruption stops Sam from speaking his protests.

“They’re right, Sammy, we’ll cover more ground,” he whispers, trying to reason with his brother, “just stay close, no more than shouting distance,” Dean lays it out like he’s your father, but you listen because you trust his judgement. At the moment at least.

You have a hard time being too far from Sam, though. Seeing the aftermath of the Djinns' torment makes the uneasy swirl in your stomach worsen, but this time it isn’t at the ball of nerves that Sam's presence tweaks, it’s the thought of him being strung up there like a piece of meat. You have to rationalize that Sam is a grown man. You have to take a deep breath and assure yourself that he can handle this. After all, it is him and his brother who invited you to this hunt. You were the novice here.

After scanning over a few rooms, you progress further down the hall, and the further you go, you start to hear it. Soft whimpers, like helpless cries, sirening you to a room at the far end of the hall. You know you should grab one or both of the brothers’ attention, but you can’t help yourself. The images flash again- desiccated husks of once lively people dangling like a crude ornament. This has to be Carmen and you have to help her.

Your heart races as you get closer to the cracked door that pours out the skin-crawling whines. As you turn the corner, there she is. You're halted for a moment, frozen as you take in her state. A poor woman with her hands bound above her head and a dried trail of blood staining her temple. She has a similar IV but she isn’t still like you imagined, it’s almost like she’s experiencing sleep paralysis.

The poison is running out. Sam told you about this, you remember. The poison inflicted by touch only lasts so long and the Djinn needs to come back to dose its victim again. The Djinn will be back soon if it isn’t stalking around already.

You really should’ve grabbed the boys’ attention.

It’s too late for that now, though. You fish out your pocket knife, flicking it open and approaching the zip-ties that cinch Carmen's wrists.

“You’re okay, I’ve gotchyou,” you murmur quietly, hoping to god she can hear you just a little bit. Just enough to know that she’s safe now. You look around the room, keeping an eye out for the Djinn. You support most of Carmens weight into your side, stepping cautiously back out into the hallway. You almost make it past the barrier but a low growl from behind you makes you jump.

The figure behind you is a dark frame, shadowy and devoid of any light under the glowing blue tattoos and beams of eyes. It’s like the creature is pure nothingness despite its veins of sapphire lining its figure. As it steps out into the light, moonlight floods in just enough that you can actually see past the light-polluted skin of what looks to be just man. Well, a man that’s almost eight feet tall and glowing like he just stepped out of the Chernobl blast.

Carmen starts to stir, muttering something incomprehensible, but you ignore it because there is no time anyways. You stumble back, the Djinn looming over you. You manage to set Carmen down gently enough to leave while you lead away the creature that lurks closer and you can tell it’s furious with you. You can see it in his eyes. The cool blue that should be a calming, and if anything- dull, color instead pierced through your chest like an alarming red. You take bigger steps back before flipping a table in your path and darting the opposite way.

The piercing metal followed by an angry growl was definitely enough to get the boys’ attention and startle Carmen to be fully conscious again. The brothers call after you, their words dying in their throats as they round the corner to see Carmen on the ground. Somehow, during your short-lived rescue mission, you managed to settle your coat over her shoulders. Sam instantly recognizes that it’s yours and while Dean quickly crouches to her aide, Sam flashes his light to the mess of a spilled table on the floor. A few paint bottles are still rolling along the cement.

“Dean, get her out of here, I’m going after them,” Sam says without looking Dean's way at all. This time it’s Deans protests that go unspoken.

—---

Freshly ground coffee is Sam's specialty after being gifted a gourmet coffee bean grinder for Christmas. Ever since then, he’s gotten up before you, just like usual, but spent the better half of his morning crafting the perfect blend of coffee that you got to taste test along with blueberry and lemon muffins that Dean and Cas brought last time they visited.

Your guilty pleasures usually starred your mornings, overly sweet breakfast items followed by way too much caffeine from many taste-tests, and even a special morning delight from yours truly.

Your mornings were the absolute highlight of your day and a great way to start the day too.

Comfortable footsteps climb the steps outside of your bedroom door, and soon, Sam’s large figure spills through the frame, filtering in like an early sunrise. Sunshine that is hopeful, trusting, blindly accepting of things to come. His eyes rake over your body that’s half out of the blankets due to overheating from the night and he looks along the sleeplines you have acquired on your thigh, up your hip, and stretching out to your lower back. Exposed, lush skin, calling him in like a lustful sin.

“Good morning, my love,” his voice wakes you up enough to smell the mouth-watering blend of fresh coffee and warm muffins. You prop your head up just enough to smile fondly at him as he sits on the open bedspace by your legs. He sets the muffin wrapped in a paper towel on your bedside table along with your steaming coffee.

“What’s the concoction today?” Your sleep-dampened voice makes Sam smile a bit brighter. His hand rests on your exposed leg, running his palm up your thigh, over your underwear and back down.

“I mixed some of that Brazilian blend with the last of the hazelnut dark roast,” he tilts his head so his face is level with yours, still running his lightly calloused hand up your skin, untainted from the survival of The Life. You hummed in delight from the goosebumps that blessed your silky skin and also in anticipation at the mention of one of your favorite flavors.

You close your eyes to stretch and Sam just watches as your body twists to land on your back, but as you go to sit up, his face falls into a grimace as his hand quickly comes up to pin you down. You’re fully alert now, heart racing.

“S-Sam.?” You test, unsure of why he’s acting this way so suddenly.

“N-No, don’t go, you can’t leave me,” he shakes his head, a heartbreaking expression painting his gorgeous face.

“I’m not going-.”

“You need to wake up!”

Another Sam echoes in your head, and your own face contorts in confusion. Your heart is aching.

“Don’t go, please,” the Sam that pins you down begs.

“Please come back to me…”

He sounds broken, scared, so lonely. You shake your head, shoving Sam off of you. He looks offended, hurt. But this isn't right. No, Carmen, The Djinn. No.

No.

The poison.

The facade.

No.

The poison.

“C’mon, you’re okay. You have to be okay,” roughly calloused hands run over your cheek, a thumb tracing under your eye. You’re dizzy and disoriented, but you already can tell that this is what’s real. This Sam is real. The fogginess in your ears clear up as the pattering of rain fills the noise. When you can pry your eyes open enough, you see Sam crouched in front of you. He breathes out a heavy puff of air, a soft laugh escaping his lips. An expression that is strictly joyous lights up his face like a guiding moonlight in the dead of night. The kind of light that exposes the danger of things, and the price at which they come.

It’s the kind of light that floods everything about your dream downstream, carrying away the silly scenario. The kind of life that people like you and him never get.

“You’re okay,” he repeats, but this time he believes it.

A crack of thunder lights up the sky. A shocking mix of light you don’t quite understand. It’s not a beacon you can fizzle down to some self-justifying reason because it’s just a simple flash of electricity. It’s a crack in the storm above. It’s not some metaphor to make you feel better about your choices. It is a singular bolt that shatters through the night sky, starting you because you didn’t expect it.

Just like you didn’t expect the man in front of you to be the man that he is. He isn’t some ignorantly blissful lazy morning, and he certainly isn’t some moody, grey reflection of light that pulls at your dread. He is simply the split second vein of light that came out of the nowhere storm that is your life. But unlike the crackle of light in the sky that disappears before it’s even heard, he’s not flickering away because he found his conduit that will house his stay.

It’s him.

It’s you.

And you realize that you’ve been a fucking fool.

You push up to hug him tightly, eyes wide and heart still racing.

“Sam.” His name blesses your lips for the first real time. This time you’re accepting it, you’re allowing it.

His arms secure you close and he buries his face in your neck, taking in your scent. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment the boundaries between you two broke, but you knew they were crumbled to dust by the way he held you.

One of his hands wrapped all the way around your back to rest against your ribs on the opposite side and his other cradled the back of your neck.

This wasn’t a hug out of just a close call, this was a hug that made up for lost time. It wasn’t just the rush of saving your life, it was the flood of allowing yourself to feel what you so desperately have been hiding for too goddamn long.

This was a brand new hug with murmurs of brand new names and a brand new set of rules for the both of you.

This was the start of you.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

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