#Sam Fanfic

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Imagine...How Sam Comforts You On A Bad Day

Pairing: Sam x reader

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Sam noticed you were still on the same page of your book as when he’d left over half an hour ago for his run. You seemed to be staring off into the distance, even if your back was to him. He knew he smelled and needed a shower but he didn’t want to let you stew for another half hour either. He let himself go to you and take the book away, marking it for you and setting it on the table. You didn’t look up and he bent down instead, picking you up, letting you wrap your arms around his shoulders, legs around his waist. He hummed and carried you away to the bathroom, setting you down on the bench. He shut the door and tore off his clothes quickly, going to you and tugging down your pants. You looked up at him and he leaned down, kissing you, soft and slow. This wasn’t one of those kinds of showers.

You forced a half smile and finished undressing, Sam leaving your side for only a brief moment to turn on the water. He took your hand when your clothes were gone, pulling you over and under the water. He let himself get wet and adjusted the shower head so it sprayed wide, covering the two of you. He reached over to the shelf, picking up his body wash and squirting some in his hands. Sam didn’t wash himself off though. He put his soapy palms on Y/N’s shoulders, sliding them down her arms slowly, his large hands quickly moving and touching every square inch of skin. He turned her around and began to massage her back, rubbing her shoulders, working out a knot and hearing her moan softly at the tension releasing.

Sam watched her untense more and more, closing her eyes and letting him spin her around, covering her head to toe. While she rinsed off Sam used the opportunity to clean himself up, smiling when she stretched out and hugged herself. He got the soap off and picked up the shampoo bottle, humming as he poured it into the center of his hand. She turned without asking, Sam rubbing it into her scalp with a big smile.

When they were both finally clean, Sam wrapped Y/N up in a big bath sheet, using one for himself and carrying her down into their bedroom. She lay back in bed, all wrapped up when Sam tossed one of his shirts at her to wear for the rest of the day. She smiled at that but rested her head on her pillow and closed her eyes.

“Alright, baby. A quick nap never hurt either.”

_______

[imagineteamfreewill]

Powerful Magic

Title: Powerful Magic

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 13.7k

Warnings: Brief language, witches, magic/curses, frequent mentions of death and dying, crying, very light blood, angst, fluff

Summary: While on a witch hunt in Boston, Sam puts his life on the line to save Y/N. When he begins to suffer from the effects of the magic the next morning, they’re forced into an impossible situation with no way out. 

A/N: This is a commission for the lovely @park-simphwa. Thank you to them for giving me such a fun prompt to write, and thank you to everyone who supports me in a million other ways. As always, I hope you enjoy this story!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

You aren’t expecting to run into anyone on the grocery run, least of all your old hunting partner, but life’s been throwing fireball after fireball at you lately, so you really shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been years since you’ve seen Jason, and somehow he still looks exactly the same, maybe with a few more wrinkles and scars. His hair is still greasy and cropped close to his skull, and you can smell the cigarettes on him even from where you stand a few feet away. His boots are caked with dried mud that sprinkles across the tile of the grocery store every time he shifts his weight or takes a step to get out of someone’s way, which is often because he’s always been the type of guy that thinks of himself first and others second.

Smiling tightly, you yank your cart closer to the shelves of jarred salsa and bottles of colorful sodas to make room for people trying to get by, and you use that movement to look over your shoulder. There’s no sign of Sam or Dean.

Damnit.

“So, how’ve you been?” Jason asks. “You look good, Y/N.”

You nod. “Good, fine. How about you? Are you still…?” You don’t dare utter the words aloud, but Jason gets the hint. He nods.

“Still in pest control. It keeps me busy.” He grins, and you try not to grimace at the yellow tinge of his teeth. How had you ignored all of his red flags for so long? With the exception of your last hunt together, it’s not like Jason was necessarily a bad guy, he was just gross and inconsiderate. On top of the constant smoking, he always took too long to shower after coming back from hunts. You know for a fact that he only brushed his teeth once a week. Plus, you don’t remember ever seeing him do laundry, though logically, he’d done it at some point… Right? Or maybe you’d just gotten used to the stench.

“There you are,” Sam’s voice in your ear makes you shiver, but his hand on your lower back warms you right back up. “I was looking for you.” He pauses. “Who’s this?”

You glance up at him, smiling in relief. Sam doesn’t smile back. His face is a hard mask of protectiveness, one that you’re always grateful for, even if it’s being wasted. You know that he’s amping it up a little just because you were approached while he was out of sight. He’s always a little more protective when he thinks you’re getting hit on by some creep. You can’t count the number of times he’s pretended to be your boyfriend to help you avoid men hitting on you at the skeevy dive bars that you always seem to find after hunts. Part of you should be offended that he’s stepping in instead of letting you handle it yourself, but you know he doesn’t do it because he doesn’t think you’re capable. Sam does it because you shouldn’t have to fend them off on your own. You shouldn’t have to be in that position, but because you are, he’s not going to let you be there alone.

“This is Jason. He’s an old coworker, from before I joined up with you and Dean. Jason, this is my…”

You hesitate, instantly knowing that you shouldn’t. You and Sam are just friends. It doesn’t matter how badly you want to be more than that, or how easily the two of you fall into the rhythm of a fake relationship, both for a moment in the grocery store or for a week-long hunt. It doesn’t matter that Dean insists his younger brother likes you. It doesn’t matter what Sam said the one time you’ve seen him really, truly drunk. You’re just friends.

“—friend,” Sam finishes. He holds out his right hand, and his fierce expression has been replaced with a polite smile, though you can tell it’s fake. You know him well, but for a second, he almost looks a bit jealous. “Sam.”

Jason shakes his hand with both eyebrows raised. His smile had faded the second Sam approached, but now he seems uneasy. “Sam. And… Dean?” He glances between you and Sam. “As in…?”

You cut him off with a quick, “I’m so sorry, Jason, but we’re really cutting it close on time.” His mouth snaps shut and he has the decency to look chagrined. Anyone with any common sense in the hunting world knows not to name names, especially last ones. You never know who might be listening.

“She’s right. Dean’s waiting on us, and we’ve got to get back on the road. It was great meeting you,” Sam adds. “Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine.” His hand drops from the small of your back. You try not to let your disappointment show.

With one last smile and a promise to keep in touch, even though all three of you know that you won’t, you make a u-turn with the cart and walk with Sam toward the checkout lanes. He doesn’t say anything as the two of you unload the items onto the belt, nor does he say anything as the items are scanned and bagged. Your stomach churns as the tension crackles between you. Why had you hesitated? Why had you acted so weird? Had Sam really been jealous, or did you just imagine it?

Chill out, you think as you load the bags of groceries into the cart. Sam pulls out his wallet and swipes his latest fraudulent card, then takes the receipt. You watch out of the corner of his eye as he tucks the card into the left hand pocket, the one he reserves for cards he’ll need to ditch soon.

You’re going to make this worse if you don’t relax.

You follow him out to the Impala, pushing the cart slow enough that you won’t run into him if he stops. Dean is already leaning against the side of the car. He has an energy drink in one hand and his phone in the other. Whatever else he decided to buy has already been loaded into the trunk. He glances between you and Sam as you get closer, clearly sensing something is off, and you watch as he straightens and deposits his phone into the pocket of his jacket.

“Everything okay?” Dean asks.

Before you can answer, Sam nods. “Yeah, all good. They were out of the soup you wanted.”

Dean grumbles to himself and opens the trunk, then helps you unload the groceries. His three bags of purchases are already tucked into the back, and you’re careful not to load anything on top of them in case he bought something that could get squished. As you work, Sam goes around to the passenger side and takes his seat, shutting the door behind him.

“What happened?” Dean asks you. He rearranges some of the bags you’ve put onto the trunk’s false bottom. Though there’s plenty of noise to talk over in the busy parking lot, he keeps his voice quiet enough that Sam won’t be able to hear it through the backseat. 

You don’t meet his eyes. “Nothing. Just ran into an old partner of mine, that’s all.”

“Partner?” You can feel his gaze on you, and your cheeks grow warm.

“Not like that,” you huff. “We were just… partners. For a while, it could have been something else, but it never happened.”

“Why not?”

Unloading the last bag, you glance up at the storefront, where Jason is exiting. He’s only got two bags in hand, but there’s a six-pack of beer tucked under his arm. He already has a cigarette tucked between his lips. Dean looks past you and grunts a little.

“If that’s him, I can see why.”

“Be nice,” you tell him.

“Was he at least a good guy?” 

You shrug. “He wasn’t bad. Just kinda gross, that’s all.”

Dean grabs your arm before you can walk away with the cart. You look back at him, and he’s watching you with the same protective glint in his eye that Sam had inside the store.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Did he say something to you in there?”

“No. That’s not why it was weird.”

“I gotta know if something happened, Y/N. If I’m gonna ride in the car with the two of you—”

“I hesitated, okay?” you answer, yanking yourself free from his grip. Your cheeks are definitely hot now, and it’s not the sun. It’s still cloudy from last night’s storm. “I went to introduce Sam and I hesitated.”

Dean is staring at you like you’ve just broken into song. “You hesitated?”

Sighing, you look up at the clouds, willing yourself not to be so embarrassed by this. It shouldn’t be this big of a deal. 

“Yes, I hesitated. Instead of just saying that his name was Sam, I said, ‘This is Sam, my….’” You gesture with the hand not holding the cart, letting the unfinished sentence hang in the air.

His face twists. “Oh. Rookie move, Y/N.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“So what did you end up saying?” Dean asks.

“I didn’t. Sam finished and said he was my friend.”

“And you want to be more than friends.”

“I didn’t say that,” you quickly reply, but you look away, and your cover is ruined.

“Why don’t you believe me when I tell you that he likes you? You two are driving me insane. I’m going to lose my mind before we ever get to Boston if this keeps up.”

You roll your eyes and head towards the cart corral, then push the cart in with the others. Dean’s already in the driver’s seat by the time you start walking back, and he starts pulling out of the spot as soon as you have the back door shut. Sam doesn’t say anything. You cast him a quick glance, but that’s all you risk as you settle into your usual spot with the book he’s loaned you. It isn’t one you’re particularly interested in, but you’ve traded books for the trip. You’re fairly certain that you got the short end of the stick. Despite the years of friendship under your belt, he never takes your book suggestions. Then again, you don’t take his.

The universe finally takes mercy on you, and the rest of the drive to Boston goes by faster than expected. You have one overnight stay in a motel, but the boys decide to get two rooms instead of one, so you get a queen size bed and the bathroom all to yourself. 

Once in Boston, you check in to a second motel, then head out to get your bearings. The person who sent the information to Dean had only given you the address for the hotel where the witch is supposedly hiding out, plus the names of two of the victims. Sam decides to look at some old, non-digitized records of the hotel, so you go with him, knowing that if you go with Dean, you’ll most likely end up at the morgue. You’re not really in the mood for a dead body. You’ll take an afternoon with your best friend over that any day, even if your best friend is currently giving you the cold shoulder.

You’re in one of the reservable rooms at the library, looking over the papers and logbooks spread out over the table, when Sam finally brings up the grocery store incident.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you look up from the patron log you’ve been carefully sorting through.

“Yeah, why?” You try not to seem surprised that he’s asking, considering he hasn’t said much of anything to you since you left the grocery store over 24 hours ago.

“You’ve been quiet since we ran into Jason.”

You shrug a little and look back down at the page, then flip it over to look at the names listed on the back. “I’ve been reading the book you loaned me.”

“It’s not that,” he says. “This is your ‘I made a mistake’ quiet.”

Not knowing how to answer, you keep your eyes on the book in front of you. Sam stares at you, and you can feel him watching you as you gingerly turn the page again.

“I don’t want to press—”

“I haven’t seen him in a while,” you finally say, still not looking up. It’s the truth, even if it’s not the whole truth. “It just… caught me off guard, that’s all. It’s not every day you run into someone that almost got you killed, you know? And then I was flustered when I introduced you, and I panicked. I was worried that maybe you were offended because I got all tongue-tied.”

He’s quiet for a second. You risk a glance in his direction, only to find that Sam is already watching you.

“What?” you ask. You fidget with the corner of the paper for a second, and then you have to force yourself to release it before you damage the time-worn parchment. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean—”

“No, that’s not it,” Sam interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not offended, Y/N. I don’t think you could ever offend me.”

The tension between you breaks, and you grin at him. “Oh yeah? Not ever?”

He laughs and pulls his laptop over to where he’s sitting. “Well, maybe if you—”

“No, you can’t take it back now!” you laugh. You scoot your chair closer to his, closing the palpable gap that had been left between you. Sam shifts his stuff to make room for you, and you smile wide, happy to have your friend back. You try to ignore the way your heart leaps into your throat for a brief moment after his hand brushes yours.

You continue researching, but only a couple minutes have passed before Sam clears his throat and speaks up again.

“So, you and Jason,” he starts, and you close the logbook. There’s nothing useful in it and you add it to the growing pile of books you’ve finished.

“What about me and Jason?”

“Were you ever… together?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Like, dating?” Sam nods and you grab another book, not wanting to look at him when you answer, “Yeah, for a little while, right before we split.”

“Ah.”

“Mm-hmm.” You open the book, silently hoping he doesn’t ask any more questions about Jason. The two of you have never really talked about any of your past partners. It’s a sore subject for Sam, so you’ve respected the territory, even though you’ve come dangerously close on a few occasions. You usually don’t mind, considering you’d have to lie if he asked if you were interested in dating, and he can always tell if you’re lying.

“You said he almost got you killed,” Sam says, his voice a little softer. His fingers stall over his laptop keyboard, and the screen goes black.

You look up from the book and he’s watching you carefully, gauging your reaction. He knows how hard it can be to discuss the past, and you’re in public. It’s not exactly the safest place for a hunter heart-to-heart. These kinds of conversations are best held in the bunker, or late at night in a motel room.

After a second, you nod. “Yeah. He… He used me as bait, and I didn’t know that was the plan. And then, while he was waiting for them to approach me, he got drunk. He showed up much, much later than he should have.”

You have to look away and swallow the lump in your throat. Under the table, Sam finds your hand and squeezes. 

“I promise to never do that to you,” he tells you, with such conviction that tears spring up in your eyes.

You squeeze his hand in return, blinking quickly to clear your vision. “I know.”

“I will always keep you safe, Y/N. You know that, right?”

Nodding, you look up and take a steadying breath, then smile a little. Sam’s expression doesn’t change. He’s not smiling back at you. Instead, he’s staring at you with an unmatched ferocity, and your smile fades.

“I know,” you gently reply. “I’ve never doubted that.”

You and Sam stare at each other for a long few moments. The other patrons in the library continue to go about their business, and he holds your hand under the table until his phone chimes loudly and several people look over. Sam pulls away first, reaching for the phone. You turn back to the book, feeling like a rug’s been pulled out from underneath your feet. 

What was that all about?

You and Sam have spent countless hours alone together, even going so far as to pose as a couple on a hunt, but it’s never felt like this before. He’s never been so adamant that you know he cares about you and your safety, and he’s never asked about your past love life. Sam’s a passionate guy, too, but you rarely see this side of him. His passion is normally directed toward hunts, or toward the academic subjects and topics he studies in his free time.

“Dean’s got a lead,” Sam relays, staring at the message on his phone. He texts back a response as you nod and begin to pack up. He puts his phone away and starts to help, and you finish cleaning up together, bumping elbows and hands as you stack the materials the way they’d come. Sam carries them back to the circulation desk before you can offer to help, leaving you to follow behind. You don’t mind.

As soon as the three of you are together again, Dean drives to the abandoned hotel and parks in an alley, far enough back from the street that you won’t be easily seen. You unload the guns and witch-killing bullets while they compare notes. You listen in silence as you load all three weapons. The whole thing sounds very straightforward.

“Ready?” Sam asks, and you nod, holding out his gun. He takes it and gives it a quick once-over before nodding his approval. Dean does the same.

You decide to head into the hotel through the old maintenance entrance. The two victims had been found just outside the door, and you quickly discover that it was the right choice. Dean taps on your shoulder only a minute after you enter the building, then points at a bookshelf half-full of spell ingredients. Jars of all shapes and sizes hold everything from small animal bones to a shimmering blue liquid that reminds you of the “potions” you would make using various soaps and shampoos as a kid. It’s one of the few memories you and Sam have in common from your childhoods, though you made yours at your house and his toiletries came from a long string of motels. 

There’s another tap on your shoulder and you glance behind you at Sam, who gestures to your left with his gun. You turn down the hallway, following the sound of shuffling that you hadn’t heard before. It gets louder as you get closer, and then the person begins to chant. Her voice is deep and rich, and without realizing it, you’re lowering your gun. All you want to do is listen. The Latin is almost melodic.

“What are you doing?” Dean hisses. He pulls you away from an open doorway by the collar of your jacket. You stumble and blink at him.

“She okay?” Sam whispers. 

“I have to…” You struggle to voice the burning desire inside of you, the little voice in your head telling you to find the witch. Deep down, you know that it’s dangerous and that you’re being affected by whatever spell she’s performing, but your hands move of their own accord, pushing the boys out of your way. 

Stop! You have to fight this, you think, but it’s as if your conscience is behind a thick glass pane. Your own thoughts feel muffled and far away. They’re useless against the effects of the witch’s magic.

Sam reaches for you, and you dodge him as you duck into the next room of the hotel. It’s an old ballroom with high, vaulted ceilings. A dusty chandelier with cracked crystal pendants hangs precariously over the center of the patterned dance floor, and cobwebs are strung up in every corner. Broken tables and chairs are pushed against one wall, and boarded up windows separate you from the garbage-littered street outside. A balcony winds around two of the walls, with the staircase behind the witch. The banister is made of marble columns and a dark wooden handrail coated with a thin layer of dust. Lit candles litter the floor, and beneath the chandelier, the witch stands surrounded by metal bowls of ingredients and a sigil painted in white.

She reaches out a hand for you when you enter. You’re in a daze, and as your feet carry you closer to her, your gut churns. Something inside you is screaming—every hunter’s instinct you have is telling you to lift your gun and shoot, but you reach down and place your weapon on the dusty tile instead. 

Chanting louder, the witch’s eyes begin to glow a vibrant red. An aura around her does the same, and your breath hitches at the sight. 

This is wrong!

She smiles then, beckoning you with her fingers, and the sudden onset of nerves dissipates. You smile back, taking another step. 

“Y/N!”

Dean’s voice makes you blink, and you flinch when a gunshot goes off behind you. It hits the banister behind the witch. Her volume increases again, reeling you back in as she pulls a thin, jagged knife from a sheath at her hip. Letters etched onto the blade glow red as well, and your eyes are drawn to it. Your mouth feels dry as you shuffle forward, entirely focused on the weapon in her hand.

“That’s it,” the witch coos, now finished with the incantation. “It’s alright, dear one.”

“Y/N, don’t!” Another shot rings out, but it sounds far away as you step closer. You’re almost to the edge of the sigil. Two more steps and you’ll be within her reach.

Someone grabs your arm, yanking you backwards. She screams a horrible scream, one that makes you shudder and cringe as an arm winds around your stomach, pulling you even further away. Your feet drag across the floor and you cling to the arm of whoever’s holding you. You’re torn between fighting them and letting yourself be rescued, but then the glow from the witch’s eyes fade. You gasp for air, feeling her hold on you relax.

“Dean,” you croak. You can’t see his face, but the feel of his jacket against your palms is familiar and comforting. Your throat feels raw, as if you’ve been screaming for hours. You go to say something, to warn him that her spell is almost finished, when the red light concentrates at her fingertips. “Dean!” 

There’s a flash of red. You close your eyes, turning your head away as Dean pulls you harder against him and whirls around so his back is toward the witch. Over the witch’s shout, you hear Sam yell something, and then there’s a heavy thud.

“Sammy!” Dean releases you, cursing, and you fall to your hands and knees. 

You yelp when you hit the floor. Your bones immediately ache from the impact, and you stay there for a minute. You know that you’ve messed up. Guilt blooms in the center of your chest and tears well up in your eyes. You feel weak and, for a second, violated. You should’ve been able to resist the witch’s magic.

Get it together, you silently order. You have to focus. You can feel bad after you kill her.

“Y/N!”

Looking over, you see Dean crouching beside his brother, who’s laid out on his side. Sam’s eyes are closed and your chest tightens.

“Sam!” you cry, and you scramble over to where he lays just outside the witch’s sigil.

Dean rolls him onto his back, and you kneel beside him, cradling his face in both hands as you search for any sign of life.

“Sam? Sam, wake up,” you plead.

“He’s still breathing,” Dean tells you. “She knocked him out with whatever that was.”

“Please, Sam. Please, open your eyes.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding, and you’re crying by the time he inhales sharply through his nose and blinks his eyes open. They immediately focus on you.

“Thank God,” you sob, and you throw yourself on top of him, hugging him tightly. Sam’s hand comes up to pat at your back.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Sam grunts and winces as you pull back to look at him. “I think so,” he says after a second. “Did you get her?”

You shake your head and take a shaky breath, wiping at your cheeks and eyes. You sniffle for good measure, then say, “She got away, but she hit you with something. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

He shakes his head back at you, then closes his eyes. “It’s not your fault. She was more powerful than we thought,” he tells you. With his eyes still closed, he feels for your hand. He squeezes it when he finds it, and you squeeze back, just like you had in the library.

“You sure you’re okay?” Dean asks. “You hit the floor pretty hard.”

“Just give me a minute.”

After several minutes, Sam slowly sits up. You and Dean help him to his feet, and then the three of you make your way back through the hotel to the car. Sam seems mostly himself on the drive back to the motel, but you’re on edge. You watch him carefully, cataloging anything that’s even slightly out of character.

“We’ll have to keep you awake tonight, make sure you don’t have a concussion,” Dean says as he sheds his jacket. He throws it over the back of one of the dining chairs.

“I definitely have a headache,” Sam replies. He moves slowly and stiffly, and you don’t blame him. You’ve been thrown to the floor dozens of times. It never hurts any less.

“I’ll take first shift,” you tell Dean. “Clean up and get some rest.”

He nods and heads into the bathroom while you help Sam get settled on the bed. You take his jacket from him, carefully noting how he winces when he moves his right shoulder, and drape it over the second chair.

“It’s a good thing we’re friends,” Sam says. He takes off his socks and shoes, then positions the pillows behind him so he can sit up against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him.

“Huh?” Your heart skips a beat. What’s he talking about?

“It would really suck staying up with me,” he clarifies. “If we weren’t friends, that is.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You smile a little before plugging in your phone. “You want some water?”

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

You freeze, fiddling with the lid of the ice bucket. You’ve got your back to him, so he can’t see the way you close your eyes, but he’s caught on to your lingering guilt much sooner than you hoped he would. You were hoping that Dean would at least be asleep before you had to have this conversation.

“I’m fine,” you answer. You grab the bucket and turn, giving him a forced smile. “Just tired. I’m gonna go get some ice.”

Sam swings his legs back over the side of the bed. He tries to hide his wince, but you catch it. You always do.

“I’ll come with you,” he says.

“You already took your shoes off.”

“What’s a little tetanus between friends?” He smiles at you and stands. You step closer, ready to steady him if needed. He’s fine, however, and he takes the ice bucket from you before gesturing toward the door.

Unable to argue, you lead him outside. The two of you walk in silence until you hear the door click shut. You’re already several rooms down, but the motel is larger than most, and the only working ice machine is in the tiny vending machine room at the far end of the building.

“What happened back at the hotel?” Sam asks.

You know he won’t judge you, but you keep your gaze forward. You don’t want to see his expression.

When you haven’t replied after passing several rooms, he gently asks, “Y/N?”

“I don’t know,” you finally admit, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets. You’re glad you kept it on. There’s a receipt in one of the pockets and you crush it into a ball as you continue, “Whatever spell she was doing… It’s like it was directed at me. I didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too late, but by then I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t control myself. I was just—”

You inhale sharply and stop walking, looking up at the dilapidated roof covering the motel walkway. You’re blinking away tears again, and you hate how weak you feel. 

“It’s not your fault,” he says. He moves to stand in front of you, blocking the sun as it sets over the motel parking lot. “She was more powerful than we anticipated.”

Sniffling, you cross your arms over your chest and stare at one of the support columns off to the side. “I know.”

“You’re still you,” Sam says.

“What?”

“You’re still you,” he repeats. “No matter how her magic affected you, you’re still you. You’re not any less strong or smart or tough than you were before we went into that building.”

Tears truly well up at his words and you look up again, letting out a weak chuckle. “How is it that you know exactly what to say?” You wipe at your eyes and take a shaky breath to try and steady yourself.

When you finally meet his gaze, Sam answers, “Because I know you better than anyone else, and because I’ve been where you are. And you know what you told me the last time I was doubting myself because of all the crap I’ve been through?”

You sniffle and force a wobbly smile, remembering the late-night conversation you’d had months ago after he’d had a particularly awful nightmare. “That you’re still you,” you repeat. “And that we’ll always be friends, no matter what.”

Sam smiles back. After a second, he tilts his head to the side, toward the door to the vending machine room. You nod and start walking again, and he falls into step beside you. The silence that settles between you is comfortable again, and the knots in your stomach have loosened with his reassurance.

You get back to the room to find Dean already asleep, face-down on the bed. Sam climbs back into bed as well, and you fill up both your and his water bottles with ice water. He takes it with a silent, grateful smile. You slide under the covers beside him, intent on researching the witch on your laptop while he reads on his phone. You probably should yell at him for staring at a screen with a possible concussion, but you both know that he’s had so many that a few hours in front of a screen won’t kill him at this point.

Dean wakes up a few hours later and switches places with you. Though you know you should probably shower before you sleep, resting up is more important if you’re going to find the witch sooner rather than later.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Dean. Just tired.”

“Maybe you should hang tight for today, try and get some sleep while Y/N and I do a little more research.”

You blink your eyes open and immediately squint. Dean must have every light in the motel room on. You swear he does it to spite you, and you groan in protest.

“Good morning to you too,” he teases, stepping into your line of vision.

You throw a pillow at him, and Dean catches it with one hand, laughing. You grunt and push yourself up with one hand, using the other to rub at your eyes.

“How’d you sleep?” Sam asks.

Yawning, you start to answer, but you stop as soon as you see him. Sam looks awful. His skin is pale and drawn, and the bags under his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen. He gives you a weak smile.

“We’re heading to the diner down the street for breakfast,” he says. “You wanna come with?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Dean replies. He pulls on his jacket and digs the keys out of his pocket. “Except back to bed.”

You sit up a little more, frowning. “You sure you’re not sick?” you ask Sam. “I mean, I’ve seen you when you’re tired, but you look…”

“Like he’s been hit with a spell,” finishes Dean. “I’ve already told him that, but he says that the witch didn’t say anything when she hit him with that freaky red light.”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam says. He stands from the side of the bed, but he instantly starts to sway. You’re on your feet in a split-second, steadying him with a hand on his arm.

“Maybe you should stay here,” you quietly suggest. You glance over at Dean, who holds up his hands.

“I’ll be in the car,” Dean tells you, and you nod. 

You and Sam stand in silence until Dean’s gone and the door shuts behind him. Then, you look at him with as stern a look as you can muster having just woken up.

“Be honest.”

“I’m tired.”

“Sam.”

He sighs.

“Sam.”

“I’m… exhausted. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this tired in my life, and I want to sleep, but I’m scared,” he admits.

Your eyebrows push together as you frown even harder, and you guide him to sit beside you on the edge of his bed. “Why are you scared?”

“The witch didn’t say anything when she hit me with whatever it was, but we also know that her magic was strong enough to affect you from several rooms away,” Sam says. “If she did something to me, we have no clues as to what it is.”

You hum a little, mulling over his words for a second before looking over at him. “What if I gave Rowena a call? Had her come check you over, see if there’s any kind of lingering effect we haven’t seen yet?”

Sam takes a deep breath, then exhales and shakes his head. “We already owe her.”

“It’s a price I’m willing to pay. You’re my best friend, Sam. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Because I wouldn’t know what to do without you. Those words go unspoken, but you hope he hears them regardless.

Nodding, Sam replies, “Okay. Okay. I’ll… I’ll give her a call.”

“No, I’ll do it. You should rest. I’ll keep an eye on you,” you assure him. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, Sam.”

He smiles just a little bit, though you can tell it’s only for your sake. “You always do.”

You get up to grab your phone from where you’d left it charging, and Sam slowly lays back on the bed. As you type out a text to Rowena, you try to remember if the witch really hadn’t said something, or if you’ve just forgotten it.

“I’m gonna text Dean and let him know to go ahead without me. Do you want him to get you anything?” you ask. He doesn’t reply. “Sam? Did you hear—”

Turning, you stop when you see Sam has his eyes closed. For a second, you worry that he’s dead, and you hold your breath as you wait to see his chest move. When it does, you exhale heavily.

He’s okay, you reassure yourself. He’s going to be just fine.

You shoot a quick text to Dean with your order, plus a few things that Sam might want, and Rowena replies as soon as you’re done. She’s nearby. 

The rest of the day goes by uneventfully. Sam sleeps for an hour or so at a time. Every time he wakes, he looks more tired than before, and the smaller-than-usual meals he eats don’t seem to help him at all. It’s hard to tell since he’s been in bed most of the day, but when he gets up around dinnertime, he looks thinner. 

Dean’s pacing the length of the room by the time Rowena shows up at the door, and you’re in even worse condition. You’re pretty sure that if she’d shown up any later, he might actually have relented and taken Sam to a hospital. You caught a glimpse of his phone when he passed by and he had the directions already open on his maps app.

Rowena stands beside the bed and moves her hands over Sam’s chest. He’s awake now, and he stares straight up at the ceiling as she works. A soft glow emanates from her palms, but as you watch from a few feet away, it strengthens, turning from golden to crimson to a vibrant purple.

“Well?” Dean asks. He shifts in place by the small dining table. His fingers twitch and he makes a fist with one hand. “Is he alright?”

She drops her hands and turns to face the two of you. Sam sits back up against the headboard, and you glance over at him. His eyes are bloodshot, as if he hasn’t slept in days. You’ve seen him look like this before, but it’s never been this concerning. He’s never managed to look this ragged so quickly.

“It’s a siphoning curse,” she explains, adjusting the jacket she’s wearing over her black jumpsuit. 

“Siphoning?” Dean questions. “Siphoning what?”

“Life.”

You suck in a breath. It’s cold against your teeth, and Sam meets your eyes. There’s recognition in them, and not in a good way. A lump forms in your throat as you turn back to Rowena.

“Life?” you ask her. “But… Then…”

“I’ll die,” Sam finishes.

You blink. Your eyes burn and you frantically shake your head, taking a deep breath. Inside your chest, your lungs stutter as you try to compose yourself.

“No,” Dean says, shaking his head. “No. There’s got to be a way.”

Rowena purses her lips a little. She clearly knows more, and you take a step forward, clenching both hands into fists.

“Tell us,” you demand. “Tell us!”

You don’t mean to scream—you really don’t—but it just comes out. Dean reaches for you, grabbing your arm and looking toward the door with wide eyes as he listens for a response from anyone nearby who might have heard. Rowena doesn’t react. Swallowing thickly, you look from her to Sam, who has his eyes downcast and his hands folded in his lap. If you didn’t know any better, you might think he was sleeping, but the way he grimaces as you yank your arm from Dean’s tells you that he’s awake and listening.

Your throat feels raw and you swallow again. “How long?” you croak. 

“A week, at most,” Rowena adds. “It’s likely he will be unconscious for the last few days. It takes a lot of energy to stay awake, and his body will try to conserve as much as it can before it fully shuts down.”

Dean mutters a curse and shakes his head again. “No. There has to be a way. A counter-curse?”

Rowena shakes her head, and this time, her expression is almost apologetic. “I’m afraid not. Whoever cast this spell is very powerful, and it would take extremely powerful magic to reverse the curse.”

You look from her, to Sam, to Dean, and then finally back at her. Rowena is the most powerful witch you know.

“Can you reverse it?”

“I’m sorry, dear,” she replies, meeting your gaze. Her lips press together in a sad smile. It’s the first show of genuine emotion you’ve seen from her, and it’s not enough. “But this is beyond even me.”

“And if we killed her?” Dean asks.

“It won’t have an effect. You still need the magic to reverse it. Not even the caster herself can reverse this particular curse once it’s taken hold.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Go home,” Sam finally says. It’s so quiet that you almost miss it in your hurry to ask about recruiting another witch to help you, but you stop with your mouth open. Sam opens his eyes and sighs softly. “We go home.”

“Bullshit. I’m not taking you home just so you can die!”

“Dean. Enough. You heard what she said.”

Rowena looks between Sam and Dean. After a moment, she says, “I need a moment alone with Samuel here.”

Immediately, Dean is on guard. He straightens up, standing tall as he stares her down with enough ire that you want to shirk back, and you’re not even on the receiving end of his glare.

“I might be able to give him some more time,” she gently adds. With more confidence than you think you could muster if you were in her shoes, she places a hand on Dean’s arm and takes one step forward, guiding him toward the door.

“One of us stays,” Dean answers, nodding his chin in your direction. 

Rowena nods, agreeing, “Y/N is welcome to stay, but you have a habit of riling him up. Big brothers always have a way of doing that, in my experience.”

“I need to know what you’re doing before you do it. No funny business,” he adds.

She nods again and gestures with one hand to the door. “Let’s talk outside.”

You stand by the dresser, watching as she leads Dean out of the room. He exits with one last look over his shoulder at Sam, but Rowena pacifies his worries with words too quiet for you to hear. She gives you a strange look before she follows him out and closes the door behind them.

You stare at the door for a second, then at the window adjacent. The white horizontal blinds have gaps in them after years of use, and you’re able to see Dean, then Rowena, as they move to the side to talk. Eventually, they walk away, most likely to the Impala for spell ingredients. Sam’s been keeping a small travel case in the trunk for the past year or so, especially since you’ve been away from the bunker more and more often.

As you wait for them to return, your gaze drifts back to Sam. He’s watching you.

“What?” you ask after a second.

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” You wipe your cheeks with both hands, unsurprised that there are tears you hadn’t initially registered. “I probably look a mess right now.”

“Not any more than me, I’m sure,” he replies with a wry smile. You both fall silent for a minute before he continues, “You’re gonna be okay, you know.”

“What?” Your voice cracks. You hate it.

“Without me.”

You inhale through your nose and push your hair back, doing anything to keep your hands busy. “Don’t— Don’t talk like that. Rowena said she might be able to give you more time. We’ll find something, Sam. You’re not going to die.”

“I was going to die eventually. Everyone does.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” he asks.

You look up at the ceiling, staring for a few seconds at the circular brown water stain that stretches several feet into the room. You’re lucky it hasn’t rained in Boston since you arrived, judging by the darkness of the stain. The dark brown is unchanging, but it’s not enough to steady yourself.

“I don’t want to live without you,” you finally say, your voice trembling.

Sam doesn’t answer, and when you look down at him, he’s wiping tears from his own face. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look truly upset since Rowena broke the news.

Maybe it’s just finally settling in, you think.

His chest shudders as he takes a breath and it’s enough to propel you forward, to move you to his side. You stand beside the bed, staring down at him until he reaches for your hand. He grabs it with more strength than he’s shown all day and you suck in a sharp breath, tears welling up in your eyes all over again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sam,” you whimper, and you use your free hand to wipe them away, but he shakes his head. He pulls you down until you’re sitting on the opposite side of him. Your legs are draped over his and your feet dangle over the edge of the bed. You lean against his shoulder and start to cry in earnest, and Sam holds you. He doesn’t ask you to stop, and for that, you’re grateful.

Your cries have petered out by the time Rowena and Dean come back into the room. You can’t bear to make eye contact with them as they return, so you stare at where Sam is holding your hand atop your knees. Besides letting out the occasional sniffle, you simply listen as Rowena explains her plan to help extend Sam’s life. It’s a complex spell, one you’ve never heard of. She claims it will only add a few days, essentially putting off the point where he’ll become comatose, but it’s more hope than you had before. Sam asks questions about the ingredients and the text and the magic, which Rowena answers somewhat impatiently. Dean is strangely quiet.

“You’ll have to move for the spell, dear,” Rowena gently instructs.

Nodding, you clumsily pull your legs from Sam’s lap and move to roll off the other side of the mattress, but Sam grabs your hand before you get too far. You look back at him, confused.

“Stay,” he says. “Please.”

After a second, you nod again, then settle against the headboard beside him. Sam carefully lays down on his back. He rests one arm in the space between his body and the edge of the bed, but he takes your hand with the other. You rub your thumb over his as Rowena takes her place on the other side of him and begins to mix the spell in the small copper bowl they’ve retrieved from the Impala.

She chants, her eyes glowing purple, and Sam squeezes your hand with a grunt. His grip is almost bone-crushing and it takes everything in you not to yelp.

Stay strong, you urge yourself. He can’t help it.

The glow of Rowena’s eyes grows so bright it’s blinding. You look away, closing your eyes and gritting your teeth as Sam squeezes your hand even tighter, but then suddenly, he releases you.

You open your eyes and look over to see him passed out beside you. The purple light is fading and your heart leaps into your chest.

“Sam?” 

“Sam!” Dean cries. He pushes Rowena backwards onto the other bed and pulls his gun on her. “What the hell did you do to him?”

She holds up her hands in defense as you shake Sam by the shoulder, then pat his cheek. “Your precious brother will be fine,” she soothes, a small smile on her face. “The spell takes some time to activate, like I told you. He’ll look better when he’s awake again.”

“And we’re supposed to believe you? Just like that?” Dean gestures a little with the gun, but it stays pointed in her direction.

Rowena scoffs. “Don’t forget that you came to me, Dean Winchester. You already owe me for the spell.”

You’re gentle as you check to make sure Sam’s still breathing. He is and you sit back on your feet.

“She’s right,” you say. “He’s still breathing.”

Raising an eyebrow, Rowena stares Dean down until he lowers the gun. She gives him a satisfied smile when he reluctantly tucks it back into his waistband, then stands and dusts off her hands. 

“Now,” she sighs, smoothing the wrinkles in her jumpsuit from where Dean had shoved her. “I believe some payment is in order.”

Dean turns around to look at you. For a second, you stare at each other, and you have the brief thought that he might do something stupid, or crazy, or both, but then he grits his teeth and his jaw clenches. That’s when you know that he’s fighting the urge to pull his gun back out. The only reason he hasn’t is because Sam’s life is already on the line. One bad choice could lead to Rowena casting another curse on him.

“Go,” you quietly urge. “I’ve got him.” You nod in encouragement, and Dean returns it with one terse nod of his own.

You carefully move Sam’s hands to rest on his stomach, then sit beside him as Dean leads Rowena back out to the Impala. Whatever he’s giving her as recompense for the spell, it must be valuable, because he comes back in with clenched fists and muttering curses under his breath. He begins to pace the length of the room again. You don’t interrupt. Your chest aches and an empty feeling grows as you think of what life will be like if you can’t save Sam. Dean’s jaw is still clenched, and you know he’s doing the same.

“We—” He stops by the door to the bathroom, lifting a hand, but he drops it back down by his side. “Y/N, we have to find something.” His voice breaks and a lump forms in your throat, just as tears form in Dean’s eyes.

You nod. “I know.”

“We’ll— I’ll give Jody a call, and Garth. Maybe they’ll know of another witch that can help us.”

You look down at Sam and inhale shakily. With one hand, you adjust the sleeve of Sam’s t-shirt.

“I’m gonna take him home,” you tell Dean, not looking up.

“What?”

“He said he wanted to go home. I’m gonna take him home.”

“Like hell you are!”

Finally, you look up and meet Dean’s eyes. You have to take a second to breathe when you see him. You’ve been with Dean Winchester for plenty of hunts, but he’s never looked this afraid. He’s a man that laughs in the face of danger, not one whose hands tremble when he thinks about his brother dying.

“We have to try, Y/N,” Dean says, and he’s staring at you with eyes so wild that you find yourself gripping the motel sheets crumpled beside you. “I can’t just let him die. Not like this.”

You have no response. Dean will just argue if you try to reason with him, but you know that Sam isn’t one to prolong the inevitable. It doesn’t matter how terrified of a future without him you are. If he’s made his peace with it, then you need to consider doing the same.

Even if it kills me too, you think.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Okay.”

Dean swallows thickly, then nods once. “I’ll start calling. See what I can find.” He’s just looking for a reason to leave the room so you can’t see past his hardened exterior, and you both know it, but you don’t argue. 

You stare at the edge of the bed, just behind where he’d been standing, as he starts to leave. He’s made it to the door when you lift your head and look over at him.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Someone needs to be in the bunker. It’s better if he goes with me than with you.” Before he can argue, you continue, “What if you need to check something against one of the books? Or if you need an ingredient we don’t keep in the car? What’s your plan then? Sam knows both the library and the storage rooms better than both of us combined, and he’ll be able to rest when he needs it. Plus, if I need to, I can try and recreate the spell Rowena cast to give him extra time.”

Dean is quiet for a minute, but you see him nod through the gaps in the metal floral divider that separates the door from the rest of the room.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Then you two should get going. The sooner you’re there, the better.”

You’d driven together in the Impala, but it doesn’t take long for Dean to hotwire a car from the farthest row of the motel parking lot. The backseat is, mercifully, big enough for Sam to lay down without being at too strange an angle. You and Dean drag him from the room to the car together. You’re lucky that it’s getting dark and no one is out to watch the ordeal.

Dean loads your backpack and Sam’s duffel into the trunk. Then, he sends you off with a simple, “Drive safe,” and a hug. He holds you a little longer than normal, but you’re not opposed. It’s nice to know that you’re not alone in this.

The drive is uneventful. Sam sleeps for most of the night. He only wakes up a few times during the day for food and bathroom stops, and though he looks better since Rowena’s spell, he’s lost muscle mass and he still looks exhausted. You have to support him on the walk across the street to the motel the following night, but he falls asleep again almost as soon as he’s in bed. His sleep seems to be dreamless, and for that, you’re thankful.

You, on the other hand, don’t sleep much. You probably should, considering you haven’t slept in 24 hours, but your brain won’t turn off. You spend most of that night awake, listening to Sam breathe, texting Dean about his progress, and doing what research you can online. At some point you actually do fall asleep, and you wake to the sound of Sam stumbling across the room to the bathroom.

He’s getting weaker, you think, and you lay on your back, listening to the sound of the toilet flushing and the sink running as you stare up at the ceiling. You’ve cried so much over the past few days that the thought of crying now is exhausting. You just don’t have the energy.

It’s not a strange occurrence for you to lay in bed and listen to the boys move around a motel room. There have been plenty of mornings that Dean has gone out for food while Sam showers after his run, leaving you to soak up a few more minutes of sleep under the covers. Now, you can’t help but feel a little nostalgic for all those mornings. You don’t have many more with Sam, and Dean can be unpredictable when he’s grieving. You’re not sure if he’ll go off on his own or if you’ll be able to stick together.

When the door creaks open, you turn on your side and meet Sam’s eyes. His face, which you’ve come to associate with bright mornings just as much as the sun itself, is gaunt. It’s a harsh reminder that you’re losing him bit by bit. His cheeks and eyes have begun to sink in as well, as if his body is collapsing inwards, like a black hole. The effects of Rowena’s spell seem to have been short-lived.

“Good morning.” He’s leaning against the open door frame of the bathroom, and he’s managed to pull on a pair of clean pajama pants and a t-shirt. 

You try not to let your bad mood show. “Morning. How’re you feeling?” you ask.

Sam shrugs a little and his gaze wanders to the digital clock on the nightstand. You have no idea what time it is or how much you’ve slept. You’re lucky that your phone was plugged in when you finally fell asleep.

“Same as yesterday. Maybe a little bit more tired. Where are we?” asks Sam.

Sitting up, you yawn and stretch your arms above your head, then roll your shoulders and neck to try and release some tension. 

“Ohio,” you tell him. You roll over to grab your phone and check the time—it’s after eight, and you’ve missed half a dozen texts from Dean. None of them are useful. “We’ve only got one more day of driving if I can go straight through. It’s about twelve hours.”

“We can take shifts.”

You look over your shoulder and fix him with a look, raising your eyebrows. He doesn’t react and you stand, then toss your phone onto the bed as you pull your socks back on your feet.

“I’m not letting you drive, Sam.”

“I can do it. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not risking it,” you say, shaking your head. “I can’t risk it.”

“You can’t? Or you won’t?”

You falter as you rummage through your backpack for your last set of clean clothes. Sam is staring at you from the bathroom doorway, you can feel it, but you don’t look up at him. After a second, you slowly go back to searching. 

“Does it matter?” you finally ask.

He shuffles toward you and grabs your wrist, stopping you. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t move. Reluctantly, you look up and meet his eyes. They’re just as resigned as yesterday, and though it makes your chest ache, you can’t look away.

“If I only have a week—”

“You don’t know that, Rowena cast that spell—”

“—then I want to spend it with you,” Sam finishes, and you peter out, not even bothering to finish your claim that Dean will be able to find something to save him. You know it’s not worth it, not if Sam’s made up his mind.

He continues, “I want to spend it doing all the things I love doing with you. You’re my best friend, Y/N.”

You close your eyes and turn away, hoping he doesn’t see the tear that slips out and runs down your cheek. You hate this. You’ve never felt this helpless before, not even when you’d been held captive for a week. In that situation, you’d known that the boys would find you and save you. You have no way of helping Sam out of this.

“I want…” Sam trails off, and he tugs on your wrist to pull you into a hug. You wrap your arms tightly around him and press the side of your face against him, keeping your eyes closed. 

I wish it was me, you think. I wish it was me instead of him.

“What are you thinking?” Sam whispers. His breath ruffles the hair on the top of your head.

“This is all my fault,” you reply. You can’t tell him what you’re really thinking without him lecturing you, so you pick the next best option. It’s really not that much better, if you’re being honest.

“Don’t say that,” he says. He squeezes you once. “This isn’t your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault.”

“Sam—”

“No, I love you, and I’m not going to let you beat yourself up over this. It’s not your fault, Y/N. Okay?”

You nod. “Okay,” you quietly answer. It hurts to hear that Sam loves you. You know that he does—he’s your best friend, of course he loves you—but it hurts to know that he’ll never love you the way that you love him. He doesn’t have time to love you that way.

“I love you too,” you say after a moment. “I don’t…”

I have to tell him, you think. You start to pull away. Sam drops his arms, and he sits down as soon as he’s not touching you. The way he lowers himself to the edge of the mattress reminds you of some of the people you’ve seen in nursing homes while interviewing family members.

I can’t do this. He’ll just feel guilty.

“You don’t what?” Sam asks, and you look away.

“Never mind. I should get dressed,” you tell him. You turn back to the backpack and grab the clothes, then start heading to the bathroom with your clothes crumpled against your stomach. 

Sam reaches out with one hand and grabs your arm. “Talk to me.”

“Sam…”

“Please. I don’t want you to hide things from me because you think it’ll make me feel even worse. Trust me”—he lets out a wry laugh—“dying is the least of my worries right now.”

You freeze halfway to the bathroom, dropping your arms down to your side with your clothes clutched in one hand. After a second, you turn to face Sam, and you toss your clean clothes onto the bed behind him.

“That really doesn’t make this situation better,” you scoff. “I mean, come on, Sam! I’m about to lose the love of my life and he says that he’s not even worried about it? How’s that supposed to make me feel? Am I just supposed to be all, ‘Oh, okay! Let me tell you all about how I’ve had a massive crush on you—”

You stop talking the second you realize what you’re saying, which is much too late, and you snap your mouth shut. Sam stares at you with wide eyes and you stare back. Your heart is in your throat and when you finally feel embarrassed tears burning along your waterline, you turn around, clenching your hands into fists. 

Of all times for me to say that, you think, and you wish you could hide in the bathroom for the rest of the day.

“I’m gonna shower,” you manage to say. You take a step, then another, until finally, you’re locking the bathroom door behind yourself. 

Bracing your hands on the counter, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Your heart is pounding inside your chest as your brain helpfully provides you with every possible outcome of the situation. None of them seem good. It should feel good to reveal the secret you’ve been holding so closely for years, but instead it’s only made you feel worse. On top of everything that Sam’s feeling and going through, he now has to deal with the news that you’re the biggest idiot on the planet. What kind of sappy Hallmark movie do you think you’re in? A hunter’s life doesn’t allow for love, let alone for a relationship with your hunting partner-slash-best friend.

A knock at the door startles you, and you quickly straighten up from the sink.

“Yeah?” Your voice is shakier than you’d like. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Can I come in?” Sam asks. He jiggles the doorknob.

“Um..” Your voice trembles again and you inhale deeply through your nose as you open your eyes and look around. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror; your eyes are bloodshot and your hair is a rat’s nest. The neckline of the old t-shirt you’ve been wearing since yesterday morning is stretched out and gaping, revealing a fading scar from a werewolf three weeks ago.

“You can say no,” Sam adds. “I can wait out here for you.”

Reaching out with one hand, you twist the doorknob and open the door. Sam has one hand against the door frame to help keep himself upright. Somehow he looks even worse than when you’d been by the bed just a minute before.

It’s probably just the lighting. He can’t be dying that quickly, right?

He doesn’t speak right away, so you step back into the bathroom and pull back the shower curtain, getting ready to start your shower. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I reacted to that poorly.”

“I didn’t mean to say all that,” you quietly admit, stopping just past the end of the counter. You don’t dare look up at him right now. Instead, you look down at a yellowed stain on the edge, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. “It’s not fair of me to tell you and then run away, especially since it’s too late.”

He leans forward, slowly entering the bathroom so you have time to back away. You don’t.

“Who says it’s too late? I know it’s not ideal, but I did say that I wanted to spend my time with you.”

You shake your head, pressing your lips together as the new wave tears that have been forming finally escape. With one hand, you wipe them away and press your lips together. Sam pulls you into another hug.

“This is my worst nightmare,” you tell him. “I didn’t even know it was, but it is.”

“What? Spending time with me?”

A half-hearted laugh escapes you, and you blink your eyes a few times to try and clear the blurriness. “Don’t make me laugh.”

Sam kisses the top of your head and squeezes you once before dropping his arms so you can step away. Before you get too far, however, he reaches out to stop you.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he says, and you look back at him. 

The bathroom is tiny. It’s barely big enough for a sink, toilet, and bathtub-shower combo, but it feels miniscule once Sam steps inside. He’s taking up the space between the wall and the sink, leaving you to stand with your back to the shower and both the toilet and the wall within fingertip distance.

“Finish what?” you ask. Your heart skips a beat and your mind begins to jump to conclusions. What could Sam possibly have to finish that involves you? He’s not about to confess his undying love for you, right? That would be too cheesy, and too predictable for a hunter’s life. You don’t deserve that kind of happy ending.

Then again, it’s not so happy if he dies right after. You push that thought away immediately and try to focus solely on Sam.

He takes both of your hands in his, and though he sways a little, he stays upright. You try not to think about how his grip seems less firm than it has in the past.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I know,” you reply. “I love you too. And it’s okay if you don’t love me the same way. You don’t have to pretend to try and make me feel better. I’m not offended.”

Sam shakes his head and lifts your hands a little. “I love you, Y/N. I—” He stops to cough, a deep, bone-shaking, chest-rattling cough that forces him to lean against the wall on his left. He has to drop your hands to steady himself and cover his mouth, but you step closer and place one on his shoulder, hoping it’s enough to let him know that you’re there. When he drops his hand from his mouth, there’s blood on the side of his fist. Without a word, you tear off a piece of toilet paper so he can wipe it away.

“I’ve always loved you,” Sam manages after a few moments. He wheezes a little, and clears his throat to try and get rid of the raspiness left by his coughing fit.

“What?”

“I’ve—”

You quickly shake your head. “No, I heard you. I just don’t understand.”

He frowns at you, and you glance away, hating that you’re making this difficult for him. He’s balled up the bloody scrap of toilet paper in one hand, but he pushes himself off the wall and drops it into the trash can next to the sink. Without the support, Sam wobbles, and you reach out to catch him before he can fall forwards.

“You should sit,” you urge, and he shakes his head again.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Sam. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I’m not going to fall over. There’s no place to fall in here.”

“You could hit your head on the edge of the counter, or you could knock me over and we could both fall into the bathtub,” you argue. “You could land face-first on the toilet which sounds like a horrible way to be knocked unconscious. You could fall backwards and I wouldn’t have the chance to catch—”

You’re cut off when Sam slides one hand up to cup your jaw back with one hand, then tilt your head back to kiss you. He moves quicker than you’ve seen him move in since the curse, and you’re so shocked that it takes you a second to process what’s happening.

Sam Winchester is kissing me, you think, and you let your eyes fall closed when his fingers shift, weaving into your hair as he crowds infinitesimally closer to you. 

When he finally parts, pulling away just enough to catch his breath, you stay close, too. You can feel his chest heave a little as he breathes, and though it pains you to think that every time you kiss him from now on will be more and more difficult for him, you push those thoughts away. You want to savor this. You need to savor this.

“Sam,” you whisper, and he hums, then kisses you again. It’s shorter this time, and your hands migrate to fist in the loose fabric of the t-shirt at his sides.

“You kissed me,” you say the next time he pauses to breathe. He hums again and gives you another kiss. 

“Sam,” you insist, and he gives an impatient sigh. His hand moves to rest on your upper arm. The side of your face feels suddenly cooler in his absence.

Sam opens his eyes to look at you, and you pause for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. You’ve always loved the way Sam looks—you’d be crazy not to—but it’s the first time you’ve felt it’s okay to unabashedly take in the brilliance of his eyes. Sam is beautiful, but he’s also intelligent, funny, caring, strong, and brave. You can see all of that just by looking at him. Maybe it’s a testament to how well you know him, or maybe he’s just that beautiful. 

Both, you think. The thought makes you grin, and you duck your head to try and hide it. It’s definitely both.

“What?” Sam asks, impatience clear, though he’s not angry. “What’s so important that I had to stop kissing you?”

“You kissed me!”

“I know,” he answers. He leans into your space a little more. “I’d like to do it again.”

There’s heat in your cheeks now. It’s hard to tell if it’s from how he’s making you feel or if it’s from his proximity, but you’re not complaining about either of those things.

“Why?”

He gives you a look, one that asks if you’re serious, but you don’t rescind the question. Finally, Sam drops his hand from your arm to your hand, and he fiddles with your fingers as he answers,

“Because I love you, Y/N. I’m not sure how much clearer I can be.”

You gape at him. “So when you said that you’ve always loved me…”

“I meant it.”

Your brain is whirling as you process the new information, and Sam moves to sit on the edge of the counter. He still has your hand, so he pulls you with him. You let him lead you the few steps without a fight.

“So you…” You lick your lips, and you swear that he zeroes in on the movement because his eyes seem to grow darker despite the bright white light from the fixture in the ceiling. “You like-like me?”

Sam’s eyes lift from your lips to meet your gaze. He stares at you a second, then grins wide and lets out a loud laugh. It’s almost a guffaw, and it makes the heat flare up in your cheeks all over again. You feel silly, like you’re a teenager all over again, just waiting for the cute boy in class to make you swoon.

“Like-like you?” he asks. “Definitely.”

He pulls you close again, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. His legs bracket you on either side. You close your eyes and revel in his warmth and the scent of laundry detergent and the motel shampoo that somehow always smells better on him than it does you. It’s something you’ve come to associate with him, oddly enough, but you’re grateful. Motel shampoo is a constant in your life and it will always be there, even if he’s not. 

Sam sways a little bit, leaning a bit more on you, and you open your eyes, moving your head back slightly so you can look at him. His head has lolled to the side and his mouth is parted slightly. His eyes are closed, but his eyelashes flutter as if he’s just asleep.

“Sam?” you ask. He doesn’t respond, and panic replaces the giddiness you’d felt only moments before. “Sam? Hey, wake up for me. Open your eyes.”

You unwind one arm from around him, pulling it towards your stomach and out from under his arm that’s still around you. You pat his cheek a little and look for any reaction, but there isn’t any.

Cursing, you try to maneuver him off the counter to the floor. It takes all your strength to keep him from collapsing or hitting anything on the way down. By the time you get him stretched out on the grimy tile and the towel that you pull from the bar on the wall to cushion his head, you’re sweating.

“Please wake up,” you plead, kneeling on his left, near shoulder. His breathing is steady, but he’s just as comatose as he was before.

After a few moments, you launch yourself up and out of the bathroom. Your phone is still plugged in on the nightstand, so you grab it and frantically dial Dean’s number as you hurry back to the bathroom. Sam’s still out when you get back, and you crouch between him and the wall as you listen to the line ring over and over again. Finally, Dean answers.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Something happened, we were just—” You stop for a second, wondering if you should admit what you’d been doing, but Dean beats you to it.

“You were what, Y/N? What happened?” He’s shouting into the phone as he drives and you swallow thickly as tears burn in your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did,” you choke out. “This is all my fault.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing! I mean, I kissed him! He kissed me first, and it seemed like he was alright, but then we were just talking and he gave me a hug and then he just passed out!”

Dean curses and you flinch at the volume, pulling the phone a few inches away from your ear. You’re on the verge of actually sobbing now, and you suck in a deep breath to try and stabilize yourself. Any sense of calm you’d felt less than a few minutes ago has completely vanished.

“He’s still breathing normally and I made sure he didn’t bump his head or anything—”

“You’re supposed to be taking care of him!” Dean shouts. “Where are you?”

“Ohio. At the Starlight Motel, off of I-71. We passed it on the way out to Boston.”

“I remember. I’m on my way.”

You can hear a turn signal on his end of the call and you set your phone on the floor, putting it on speaker. Judging by the noise in the background, he’s pulling off the road to turn around and head in your direction. After swallowing a few times, the lump in your throat begins to subside and you feel yourself starting to calm.

“How far away are you?” you ask, trying to focus on the steady sound of Sam’s breathing while at the same time listening for his response.

Dean answers, but you don’t hear it because Sam suddenly gasps for air. His eyes fly open as his chest heaves, and he coughs like he’s been suffocated. You shift onto your knees, lean forward, and quickly help him roll onto his side. He pushes you away with one hand as he props himself up with an elbow and continues to cough. You’re flustered and panicked, and your hands hover over his arm as you try to figure out how to help him further.

“Easy,” you soothe, and he takes another deep breath, followed by a few lighter coughs. There’s no blood this time, which is a welcome relief.

“I’m okay,” he wheezes. 

Still propped up on his left side, Sam closes his eyes. He breathes in and out slowly, steadying himself. After several seconds, the hand not bracing himself against the floor searches until it finds yours. He squeezes it once and you squeeze back, watching him intently.

“How are you feeling? Are you in pain?” you question.

He rolls backwards until he’s flat on his back again, but he keeps hold of your hand, resting it on his stomach. He breathes for another few moments before opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling.

“Sam?”

“Y/N! Damnit, what’s going on over there?” Dean is shouting from the phone, and you realize that you’ve forgotten all about it. With your free hand, you scramble to grab it and pull it to your ear, taking the call off speaker with a singular jab of your thumb.

“He’s awake,” you tell him, feeling pretty breathless yourself. Your heart is still racing from the scare of Sam lurching into consciousness. “He’s okay. He’s alright.”

“He’s— He’s okay okay, or just okay?” Dean asks.

You look back at Sam, who lets go of your hand and pushes himself up into a sitting position. When he sees you watching him, he reaches for the phone.

“Hey, Dean,” he says, and he listens for a second before answering, “I’m fine. I think it’s gone.” He glances over at you while Dean replies, probably with more questions. “No, I’m not sure what it was, but I feel fine. Y/N and I will try to figure out what it was, and I’ll give Rowena a call, see if she can meet us here. How far away are you?”

“Tell him I’ll text him the address,” you interject, and Sam nods, relaying the message. He listens for a few moments longer, glances at you again, and then tilts his head away to try and hide his smile.

“Jerk,” he says. He smiles wider at Dean’s response. You don’t have to hear it to know what he says.

Sam hangs up a second later and hands the phone back to you. Without saying anything, you text the address to Dean, then slip the phone back into your pocket.

“Are you really feeling okay?” you ask.

He nods. “I think the curse, whatever it was, is gone. I don’t feel tired, and I’m not even stiff from laying down all day yesterday. Do I look any better?”

You search his face, looking for any sign of fatigue. The color has returned to his face, and the strange thinness that had made your stomach turn this morning is gone. He looks like he did just a few days ago when you’d made up in the library. Even his muscle mass has miraculously returned.

“You look a lot better,” you tell him, beginning to smile. “Like nothing even happened.”

Sam smiles back at you, as radiant as the sun, and you find yourself falling into his arms. He wraps them around you, but after a second he pulls away to look you in the eyes.

“I love you,” he says. “I know I said it before, but I mean it.”

Still smiling, you push his hair out of his eyes, cupping his face with one hand. “I know. I love you too.”

He kisses you then, like he did before, and your heart swells. You sit back on your feet as Sam leans into you. He smiles into the kiss when your free hand skims the length of his arm.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” you murmur once you’ve caught your breath. “Okay?”

He nods, his forehead resting against yours. “Okay.”

You close your eyes, reveling in the feeling of him being so close. The two of you sit in silence on the bathroom floor. All the events of the past few days have worn you out, even with the few hours of sleep you got, and you eventually shift to rest your head against Sam’s shoulder. He reaches over with his right hand, rubbing your back in long, soothing strokes. You hold his other hand, the one he’d been using to prop himself up.

The silence is broken by your phone ringing after a few minutes. Sighing, you pull away and answer the call on speakerphone, setting it on the floor.

“I hear that Samuel’s on the mend,” Rowena says in lieu of greeting.

“I’m cured,” Sam answers. “Or at least we think I am.”

She hums in acknowledgement. “I’ll need more detail than that if you want me to tell you for sure. I may be powerful, but I’m not a mind reader.”

You roll your eyes at the haughtiness in her voice and reply, “He was unconscious for at least two minutes, but there was nothing leading up to it. He just passed out.”

“Did you eat or drink anything? Say any spells? Pray any prayers?”

Sam stares at the phone, his eyebrows furrowed together. “No. We were just talking and then—” He stops.

“And then you what?” Rowena prompts.

Sam’s eyes flicker from the screen to your face, and then he lets out a quiet chuckle. He’s smiling again, and you smile back. It’s contagious, despite the fact that you have no idea why he’s smiling.

“We kissed,” Sam tells her, not looking away. 

“I see.” Her arrogance has all but disappeared, and you know her just well enough to picture the sly smile forming on her face. “When it’s reciprocated by both, true love’s kiss is a very powerful form of magic. It’s one of the most powerful forms of magic. Wield it wisely, you two.”

You grin. “We will.”

She ends the call and you leave the phone on the floor, opting instead to lean in and kiss Sam again. 

“We definitely will,” he says.

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

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@mrswhozeewhatsis @alexwinchester23 @shaelyn102 @lyarr24 @supermoonpanda @ultimatecin73 @musiclovinchic93 @shamelesslydean @mlovesstories @ellie-andthemachine @fandomoniumflurry

[woodle-isbae]

Hey I was wondering if you'd do a virgin reader with Sam or Colby

First request ever please

"Y'sure?"

"Yes , yes I'm sure Sam."

"I've prepped you enough , but I can't guarantee it won't hurt a bit"

"I trust you..I'll tell you when you can start moving."

He began kissing down your jaw , slowly pushing himself inside you , giving you some time to adjust.

"S-sam..you can move"

"I'll start slowly"

He started of at a moderate pace , thrusting slowly and allowing you to get used to the feeling. You began clawing at his back , begging for more , and who was he to deny you that?

His thrusts faster and harder , faint moans leaving his pink lips , his hand fondling at your breast and the other gripping onto your hip

"Ah- sam , I think im gonna-"

Shushing your words with a deep kiss , slowing down his strokes and making them deeper , his groans turning into grunts as he was trying to catch up to your orgasm

"You can - shit - you can cum , you got this."

Stumbling over his words as his own orgasm washed over , growing sensitive as you clenched against him.

After catching his breath he got off you and went to get a warm towel and some water , taking care of you

"How was it?"

"It was...amazing"

[moonferry]

rocking back and forth.. guys i have such a vision im literally frothing at the mouth as i write this. heres a snippet of the newest sam fic im working on . in this screenie, he's six years old & kent has just been called back to war.

update full fic HERE

im literally so excited to dive into his emotional intelligence and paternal trauma . ill probably share it when i finish but OOOH u are not ready for what i have planned. i have plans that i cannot share rn bc the haters will sabotage me.

[sams-sass]

Date Night

Hi there!! This is just a fun little fic about the boys taking you on a first date. You get double trouble on this one!! I hope you enjoy!!!!

Pairings: Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader

Warning: Kissing, implied smut, date night, flirting, swoon worthy Winchesters. 

Sam

Your hands fell to your sides, letting your hair tumble to its normal state, and an exasperated grunt left your mouth. You bit your lip and ran your fingers through your hair again. 

"I don't know!" You whispered to yourself. "I guess I could, like, pin the sides..." You mumbled, confusion and frustration evident in your voice.

"Hey, Y/N-" Dean said, opening your door and entering your room. 

"Dean! What the hell, man?!" You shouted, your hands flying to your body. 

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, ignoring your outburst. He looked you over, his face wrinkling in confusion. You stood in your socks, underwear, and tank top. Several dresses, still on their hangers, were piled on your neck. Makeup, hair tools, and nail polish were scattered across your desk. More clothes were thrown onto your bed. Shoes were everywhere. 

"Knock much?! Damn!" You shouted at him again, disregarding his question. You placed your hands on your hips and leaned to the side. The motion made the hangers rattle comically together on your neck. 

"Going somewhere?" Dean asked. A cocky grin crossed his face as he leaned against the door frame, his arms folding on one another. 

"Shove off, Dean. I am trying to get ready." You explained, instantly regretting your words. 

"Ready? Ready for what?" He asked, and you internally groaned. You let out a large breath and let your shoulders drop dramatically. 

"If you must know...I have a date." You said, trying to keep all emotion out of your voice. 

"A date?!" Dean's eyebrows shot up, his eyes growing wide. "A date with who?" 

"Sam." You mumble whispered, your lips barely parting. 

"What?" Dean asked, his head leaning forward as his brow furrowed. 

"Sam." You said slightly louder but not any more clear. 

"Y/N." You watched as Dean's face moved from confusion to "I'm done with this." 

"Oh my god, alright! Sam! Ok! Sam! Your brother and I are going on a date."  You exclaimed, your hands flying around. 

"Wha-" Dean started, his face dropping in disbelief. A small laugh left his mouth. 

"You and Sam? Sam and you? You two? Together?" He rambled, his index finger pointing between you and the air beside you. 

"Get out! I have to decide what to wear." You returned to the pile of clothes on your bed and began rummaging through everything again. 

"Can I help?" Dean practically jumped in excitement. He quickly walked over to you, looking at the clothes next to you. 

"What? Ew! No! Go away!" You shoved him playfully, a giggle falling from your lips despite your best effort. Dean leaned back, swatting your hands away. You landed another punch to his arm, and Dean held up his hands in mock surrender. A low chuckle rumbled through his chest. 

"Aw, come on, Y/N/N!!" He groaned, using your nickname against you. 

"Fine." You snapped. You picked out your two favorite outfits and lay them next to each other. You turned to face him, tilting your head to the side. 

"Which one will make your baby brother want to make me scream his name in pleasure until the early morning hours?" You asked, a confident smirk settling on your lips. Dean's smile dropped, his face going pale. His nostrils flared, and his features pulled into those of disgust. 

"Oh, what the hell? I thought we were having fun. And then you gotta go and ruin my whole year like that? I don't think I will ever recover from this. I am grossed out." He closed his eyes and shook his head. 

"So...the red one?" You asked, trying to control your laughter. Dean looked at you, his face stern and impassive. His eyes held yours for a beat. 

"Yeah. The red one." He mumbled before turning to leave your room. 

"Thank you!" You called—an arrogant cheer in your voice. 

"I need a drink," Dean said before closing your door behind him. 

You pulled the stack of hangers off your neck and turned to grab the red silk top and black jeans. It was simple, but it gave you confidence which you desperately needed right now. The silk fell over your body, landing at the waistband of your jeans. The shirt wasn't tight-fitting, but it wasn't loose, either. It hugged your body in all the right places and allowed for some wiggle room when needed. Spaghetti straps led to an open back that stopped right at the curve of your spine. You smoothed your hands over the fabric and bit your lip. Nerves wrecked your entire body. You could play it cocky with Dean, but the truth was- you were absolutely terrified. 

You couldn't believe this was happening. A date. With Sam. You closed your eyes and thought of all the missed moments. All the stolen glances that seemed to go on for hours. All the almost touches. All the yearning and aching in the dark hours, hands fisting the cold sheets next to you. You were finally living the night you had planned in your head so many times. Tonight was the first time you could allow yourself to fall into all things Sam. 

A smile grew on your lips just thinking about that fateful conversation. 

Last night

You sat curled over a book in the library. You were so focused on reading that you didn't hear Sam's footsteps in the room. 

"Hey." He greeted you softly so as not to startle you. You lifted your head, your eyes finding his. 

"Hey." You replied back. 

"What are you reading?" He asked, sitting down across from you. 

"Myths about the sky, constellations, and stars." You read from the front cover. 

"Oh! I recently read that. Very interesting." He said, crossing his arms on the table. 

"It is! I didn't know there were so many myths and stories about the stars from all over the world." You closed the book to give Sam your undivided attention. 

"Yeah, I didn't either." Sam suddenly looked nervous. He scratched the back of his neck, looking over his shoulder for something. 

"Hey, um. How far are you in the book?" He asked, turning back to look at you. 

"Not far at all, I just started. Why?" You tilted your head in question. 

"I thought...Since I have already read it, I could teach you. I could teach you what I know." Sam stumbled over his words. 

"Teach me?" You asked. Your eyebrows came together on your forehead. 

"Yeah... there's a telescope, and I could show you the stars and tell you their myths." Sam tried to explain himself. 

"Oh. That might be fun, yeah." You said, feeling your face relax in understanding. 

"Ok, so tomorrow night. You, me, and the stars. It's a date." Sam said, standing up. Your eyes grew wide. 

"Ok!" You agreed, not allowing yourself to get hopeful and expecting. Sam smiled at you before walking away. He made it about five steps before he turned around. 

"I don't think I made myself clear," Sam said. His voice sounded authoritative and raw. His pointer finger came up to emphasize his words. 

"Oh." You said, feeling your heart drop into your stomach. He returned to you, placing one hand on the table and the other on your cheek. Your body froze, and your mind stopped. 

"Y/N," Sam said, his voice making you look him in the eye. "Will you go on a date with me?" He asked. He was so close. Hazel eyes stared into yours. His dimples were in full effect. How does one breathe again?

"I would love to." You whispered. 

Now

You couldn't stop the feelings parading through you as you did your makeup and hair how you liked. This was heavy. In a hunter's life, it wasn't just knowing that the other person felt the same. It was the all-encompassing and cumbersome knowledge that, at any moment, the world around you may crumble. Death and pain searched for you. Icy and cold shadows constantly filled your soul with dread. What if they were ripped away from you? What if you let yourself go there? Feel those feelings that you had gotten too good at repressing. What would happen if you lost them? What would become of you if the one person you did all this for was no longer there? 

You paused. Closing your eyes and letting yourself have one more "what if?" What if it all worked out? What if you could have both? A hunter's life and the warm and safe arms of a lover? What would happen if you actually got what you wanted?

You stood and made your way into the library, knowing that's where you would find him. You inhaled and exhaled one full breath before rounding the corner. He stood with his back to you. He wore a red and black flannel with black jeans. His hair looked freshly combed, and you could already smell his aftershave. 

"Hey, Sam." You said softly. 

Sam turned and saw you waiting for him. A red silk top lay across your torso. Black jeans accentuated the curves of your body. You stood with one arm crossed over your middle, your hand wrapped around the opposite forearm. You pinned some of your hair back and graced your face with makeup. But Sam noticed something else. He couldn't look away from the nervous yet excited glow in your eyes. His lips parted, everything he had ever known leaving his mind for a fleeting second of blissful oblivion. 

"Y/N." Your name was the only thing his mind brought to conscious thought. 

At the sound of his husky and weighted voice romanticizing your name, a lovestruck grin blessed your lips. He crossed the room, stopping a few inches in front of you. He took your chin between his index finger and thumb, lifting your face to his. 

"You look beautiful." He whispered for only you to hear. You beamed at him, his thumb moving to run along your jaw. 

"Thank you." You said, swallowing thickly. You lowered your eyes to look at him. A small giggle left your mouth. 

"We match." You said with a breathy laugh. Sam's brow furrowed, his head lowering to look both of you over. His face then fell into an amused chuckle. 

"Red and black. I guess we think alike." He smiled at you. 

"No higher compliment than to think like you, Sam." You said back. Sam smiled, looking away sheepishly. 

"Ready to look at some stars?" He asked. 

"Yeah." You answered with an excited nod. 

Sam took your hand within his and led you outside. The air was soft and calm against your exposed arms. The evening breeze still held onto the last of the day's heat. Its melody played off your and Sam's bodies. Sam's skin warmed you. His large and powerful hand encased yours with tender and gentle care.

"Where are we going?" You asked, leaning against his shoulder. 

"I have a little place set up," Sam said, pointing down the path. "It isn't much farther." 

You walked a little more, listening to the crickets and the sounds of the night. Finally, you arrived at your destination. The path opened to a small field. The wild and swaying grass was framed with trees and bushes. The moon was brilliant. Full and glowing. Its iridescent and ivory splendor bathed everything in its milky radiance. There was no cloud to be seen, the sky an endless black cloak. The stars looked like glitter, hand tossed into the atmosphere by the gods. A creek tumbled playfully over stones and sticks. The water reflected the moonlight back to itself. The world seemed to have created this just for you and Sam. 

"Oh my god, Sam." You said. Your voice was breathy and light as you turned to look at him. "This is amazing." 

"I thought of you as soon as I saw it." He looked into your eyes as he spoke. "I want to share this with you, Y/N. You are the only person I want to be here with." 

"I want to share this with you too, Sam." You agreed, feeling your heart flutter. 

He took your hand again and walked you over to the middle of the field. A blanket lay in the grass, a telescope propped directly in the middle. The book you had been reading sat with colored Post-it notes sticking out from its pages. A few candles decorated one corner of the blanket; their flames danced in the light wind. Settled on the other side of the telescope was your favorite snack and drink, which you didn't think you had ever explicitly told him. 

"Sam..." You started, looking at the attention to detail he minded for your date together. "You did all this for me?" 

"I told you." He said, looking over at you. "There is no one I would rather be here with." Your eyes found his. You watched as his eyes dropped to your lips, a soft breath leaving him. For a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you. But then, ever in control, Sam smiled at you and turned to pick up the book. 

"Shall we?" He asked, his long fingers turning the pages. 

"We shall." You nodded, walking to stand next to him. Sam stood before the telescope, bending down to peer into it before signaling for you to look. 

"Ok." Sam started. "You are looking at what we call 'the big dipper.' This cluster of stars has different stories all over the world. Almost every culture has lore created about these stars. My personal favorite is from Greek Mythology. Like some of the other cultures, the Greeks saw a bear with a smaller bear beside it. Well, legend has it that the King of Arcadia had a beautiful daughter name Callisto. Zeus spotted her mingling with Artemis and knew he simply had to have her. So, he seduced her and made her one of his many lovers. He tried to keep the affair secret from his wife, Hera, but after Callisto gave birth to Zeuse's son, Hera learned their secret. As punishment, Hera turned Callisto into a bear and banished her to wander the wild woods alone and frightened forever. As time passed, Zeus and Callisto's son, Arcas, grew into a strong and wise hunter. One day he was wandering the woods when he stumbled upon a bear. This bear did not look like the rest; Arcas was confused and scared. His mother, in bear form, recognized her son and began to try to speak to him. Arcas saw the bear grunting and coming toward him. So he raised his spear in self-defense. Zeus intervened, not wanting his son to kill his mother. He changed Arcas into a bear as well so they could live together forever. As a kind of "screw you" to Hera and to protect them from harm, he placed them together among the stars. However, Hera got the last word. She forbade them from ever resting below the earth. And that is why you can never see them set below the horizon like the other constellations." Sam explained the story, his voice even and calm. You straightened your back and turned to face him. You thought he would be reading from the book, but his face was turned toward the sky. He had memorized this. 

"I like that story." You said, giving him a soft smile. 

"Me too." Sam agreed, his kind eyes settling on you. 

"Here, this is one of my favorites," Sam said. His eyes turned to the book as his long index finger flipped to a page with a pink Post-it note. He then grabbed the telescope and pointed it where it needed to go. You peered through at a massive collection of stars. Lines and connections could be drawn within them to make several shapes. A soft breath left your mouth at its beauty. 

"Ok, this one is kind of long." Sam started, clearing his throat. "This is a cluster of constellations depicting one story. The love story of Perseus and Andromeda. Andromeda was the child of King Cepheus and Queen Cassiopeia. The Queen was very vein and often boasted that her daughter was more beautiful than the sea nymphs. This angered Posiden, so he retaliated by sending a sea beast to their shores. Many tried to conquer the beast, but all failed. Desperate for answers, the King consulted an oracle who suggested he sacrifice his daughter. King Cepheus and Queen Cassiopeia accepted this fate and sadly put Andromeda in shackles and left her for the beast. Luckily, Perseus was flying by on Pegasus, fresh from killing Medusa. He instantly fell in love with the beautiful and kind Andromeda. He struck a deal with the King and Queen; he would kill the beast if they would allow him their daughter's hand in marriage. They agreed, and Perseus confronted the beast. There is some speculation in the lore, but I prefer the legend that he used the head of Medusa to turn the beast into stone. The remains of which can still be seen off the coast today. The King and Queen kept their word and allowed Perseus to marry their daughter. They married and ventured out to explore Greece together. Perseus is thought to be the ancestor of the Persians. He founded Mycenae, where he made Andromeda his Queen. Perseus and Andromeda had nine children: seven sons and two daughters. Athena promised Andromeda to place her in the sky after her death. And she did. She is placed next to the constellation of Perseus. Making their love truly immortal. Their story is forever written in the stars." Sam was once again looking toward the sky. His face was pensive and soft as he stared into the vast sky before him. 

"I like listening to you." You said, your body melting. 

"I could keep going," Sam said, facing you. 

"How many more you got?" You asked, looking down at the book between his hands. 

"However many more you want. Whatever you ask." He said.

"Tell me a story, Sam." You said, your words were breathy. 

Sam smiled and told you all the epics and myths of the sky. Your mind swirled from the fables and Sam's poetic and lyrical voice illustrating the stories of gods. Of monsters. Of good and evil. Of everlasting love forever illuminated in the sky. Every question you pondered, Sam riddled with you. His knowledge and memory of the legends he guided you through gave you a glimpse of his brilliant mind. His words were profound, with intricacies and endless analysis. You listened to him wax and wane the prophecies set forth by those before you. Heroic battles with swords, shields, and bloodshed. Tears forever imprinted into the stars to heed the warning of history repeating itself. Sam told you tales of chariots and fire burning the milky way into the sky. And of weeping women forced to rotate the earth, watching their mortal lovers below. The stars of Obrian and the seven sisters he loved. 

The tension built between you as Sam grabbed your hand to point directly at a specific star. His body standing behind yours. The buttons on his flannel tickled your bare back, causing a tingle to trace down your spine. You turned and placed your hands on his chest. Silently asking him to not let go. His hands ran down your arms, wrapping around your waist and pulling you close. You took his face between your palms, allowing your fingers to twist into his hair. Swallowing, you tried to calm your heart. 

"I'm scared." You confessed, looking down at the ground. Sam took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, pulling your face to look at his. 

"I am, too," Sam whispered; the raw fragility in his words sent a shiver down your spine. "But I realized that I may be scared of the unknowns, but I am utterly terrified of living the rest of my life without you." 

"Sam..." You breathed. 

"Y/N..." He said back, his voice sounded thick and deep. Your heart sank into your stomach, and if Sam wasn't holding you up, you thought you might fall over. You took in a shuttering breath and bit down on your lip. Could it be? Finding everything you ever wanted under the starry sky? He placed his forehead against yours and bent slightly at the knees. Your mouth opened to his before his lips made contact. He kissed you with the familiarity of a loved blanket and still all the excitement of a newly blossoming flower in springtime. He listened to every breath and gasp that fell from your lungs. His mind committed them to memory as his body followed your every wordless instruction. You fell into him. Finally, closing the door to all your anxieties and fears and letting yourself be consumed by Sam. Just Sam. 

You knew then that your fates were sealed. Under the endless sky of lovers' tales, your burning and aching souls finally wed. 

You didn't realize how long you were with Sam until the sky blushed gold and the stars settled into their slumber. The sun rose over the trees, warming the lands in its gleaming light. As dawn fell over the earth, your heart also basked in the promise of a new day. 

Dean

You held your gun up to your chest, controlling your breathing as best as possible. There was a painful burn in your legs from crouching for so long. Dean was kneeling beside you; his hot breath fanned your neck in the small space. He smelt like whiskey and leather, not helping the sweat already coating your skin.

"I'll go left. You go right." You said, turning your face slightly towards his. He was so close. His angular nose practically touching yours. You swallowed and looked away, waiting for him to answer.

"Ok." He agreed. You went to stand when you felt his hand wrap around your bicep, pulling you toward him.

"Wait!" He said almost too loudly. "If we make it out of here...do you want to, like...do something?" He asked suddenly.

"...what?" You narrowed your eyes at him.

"Ya know...like...i-i-if were good. Do you want to, like...hang?" He tried to clarify himself.

"Hang?" You repeated him. "Dean, we hang out all the time." You furrowed your brow.

"Yes. But I mean just you and me. Together. Do you want to do something together?" He asked. The wheels in your brain stopped turning as you put the pieces together. Oh...

"Dean. Are you seriously asking me out in the middle of a vamp nest?" You were both stunned and annoyed. Dean looked at you, his face neutral and nervous at the same time.

"Yes." He said flatly. You stared at him with an open mouth for a moment.

"Ok...yeah...sure...can you please just kill the vampires?" You asked like a mom negotiating with a child.

"Yes," Dean said again, this time with his usual cocky tone. You held your tongue between your teeth and let out an annoyed breath.

"Good." You said before charging out of your hiding spot.

You don't think you had ever been that efficient. As you left the decaying barn, your machete dripped blood onto the wood floor beneath you. Your chest heaved with heavy breaths. You dramatically wiped the blood off your cheek with your forearm. Sam stood outside, fighting the vamps that had managed to escape. His jacket swung with him as he took on four at a time. You shuffled over and stood beside him, your mind fuzzy and distant.

"He asked me out." You said.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sam asked through exhausting breaths. "Help me!"

"Dean asked me out." You said louder. Sam looked genuinely surprised momentarily before his eyes grew wide, and fear crossed his face.

"Duck!" He practically screamed. It was probably your hunter instincts kicking in, but you ducked down just in time for Sam to behead the vamp running right toward you.

"Y/N. I do not have time for this." Sam said, his voice annoyed and short. You turned towards him to tell him to make the time when a vamp lunged at him.

"Holy!" You screamed, your mind and body finally connecting. Your machete swung with precision, taking the head clean off.

"Thanks." He said with a smile.

"You too." You laughed.

"Ok. You have my full attention." Sam said, grabbing you by the shoulders.

"I'm going on a date with Dean." You said, your face breaking into an enamored grin as you slowly realized yourself. A lopsided smirk settled over Sam's lips.

"I'm happy for you." He said sincerely, and you let out a girlish giggle.

You turned left and right in the shitty mirror at the motel. Your face scrunching in apprehension and uncertainty. You had gone shopping, finally allowing yourself some clothes you liked, not just clothes that were easy for killing monsters and riding in a car for days. You smoothed your hands over the creamy corset top you had chosen. Blue flowers decorated the bodice while silk trim outlined your breasts. You spun around again, ensuring nothing was on your jeans, and breathed nervously. You slipped your feet into black combat boots with zippers and buckles that rattled when you walked.

As you styled your hair and makeup, you let your mind wander to Dean. When you first met the boys, there was an attraction to Dean instantly. He was gorgeous. Perfectly angeled and sharp features softened by a smattering of unpredictable freckles. Large eyes that were earthy in color, like moss or sage. How they always found you in the rearview mirror. His hardened expression relaxed at the sight of you. It was a constant burden to not stare back at him. To let your eyes drift from him down to his soft and plump lips. You would sometimes find yourself practically tasting the alcohol left between them as he took a swig from the bottle. Your mind strolled through daydreams about his mouth. Perfectly straight and white teeth, biting down on his bottom lip. His pink tongue tasting you. Letting himself feel all the things he pushed down for one moment of pure fervor and passion.

Yes, you were obviously physically attracted to Dean...and after many nights of Jack Daniels and beer, you might have even told him so once or twice. But it had grown into so much more. There was a softness to Dean that he often tried to deny. His presumptuous and confident outer shell made it easy for you to laugh and joke with him. But his affectionate and sensitive inner core is what caused your heart to stutter.

As you checked yourself one last time, there was a knock on the door. You took a big breath into your lungs and relaxed your shoulders. Now or never. You opened the door and immediately made eye contact with him. Dean's face fell into that of a love-struck teenager. His eyes were wide and alert as his lips parted. His sharp features eased, his entire body open and vulnerable to you.

"Y/N...I..." His husky voice breathed your name. He took a step toward you, cupping your cheek with his palm. "You look beautiful." He said slightly louder.  

"You clean up good, Winchester." You flirted. You weren't lying. Dean looked utterly delicious in his black button-down and the light jeans.

"Come on," Dean said with a tilt of his head. He grabbed your hand into his and pulled you into the parking lot. The two of you entered the Impala, and Dean began driving into town.

"Where are we going?" You asked, turning your body to face his.

"I'm not telling," Dean said with bravado.

"Ok...I'm excited." You answered.

About ten minutes later, Dean pulled into a western-themed Mini Golf center. You turned and smiled at him.

"I'm gonna kick your ass." You said with an arrogant laugh.

"In your dreams. Prepare to be demolished." Dean shot back, already getting out of the car. You turned to grab your purse when the passenger door opened. Dean stood with his hand stretched out. You slid your fingers across his and let him pull you out of the car.

You got your clubs and balls and walked over to the first hole. Dean went first, his ball barely making it over the slight hump in the grass. You laughed and set your ball down on the marker. You wiggled your hips slightly, getting your feet right.

"Don't do that to me," Dean said from behind you. You looked at him over your shoulder, giving him your most innocent face.

"I couldn't possibly know what you mean." You said, batting your eyelashes and running the tip of your tongue over your teeth. Dean pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, letting his teeth run over it before it bounced back into place.

"Just hit the ball." He said low and heavy.

"With pleasure." You responded.

You played more holes, and with each passing one, you felt more and more relaxed. You were so comfortable around Dean. You could say anything to him, joking or not. He was your best friend and your partner. The two of you laughed loud. You almost cried when Dean shot all his balls into the small creek on the fourth hole. He couldn't stop the laugh that erupted out of him when your ball hit the windmill blade, sending it straight back to you. Dean got playfully angry when you made three consecutive shots, and he made none. And after it had taken you about six tries to get one ball in, you jumped into his arms, laughing when you finally got it.

You laid down the weight of the world for a moment and enjoyed each other. The evening air kissed your lingering stares and playful touches. You and Dean found an easy rhythm as the sun descended below the horizon. The picturesque sky burned with intense oranges and soft pinks. The shadows of the low light cast Dean in an even more dramatic and contoured hue. The breeze was delicate and silken as it danced over your uncovered skin. You shivered slightly as you placed your ball onto the mark and lined up your club.

"What kind of stance is that?" Dean asked.

"Same one I have had this entire time." You said.

"No wonder you are losing. That looks wrong." He assessed, tilting his head and body to look you over.

"I'm sorry, Tiger Woods. Please forgive me." You joked. Before you could take a breath, Dean stood behind you. He slid his hands down your arms, covering your hands with his. His body pressed into you, so close that his chin touched your shoulder when he began to talk.

"Relax." He whispered. You breathed and let go of the tension keeping you stiff. You felt your body melt into his. He stood firm as you leaned against him. Dean took a breath into his lungs, his exhale tickling your back.

"Does that feel better?" He asked, leaning even more forward to look at your face. You raised your eyes to his, holding them before you spoke.

"It's perfect." You whispered.

"I agree," Dean answered, his gaze flicking between your mouth and eyes. A calm wind blew past you, your body shaking from the cool air.

"Are you cold?" Dean asked. You simply nodded your head.

"They have an indoor thing, I think; let's go." He released you from his tight grip. He took your club into his hand and wrapped his opposite arm around your shoulders, leading you toward the building. You snuggled into him, taking in his musky and manly scent.

Inside was a saloon-style bar for adults and some stuff for kids in the back. You and Dean sat at the bar, looking at all the decor, trying to inspire an old-west vibe. You each ordered a drink and turned to face one another on your stools. Over Dean's shoulder, you saw a photography set up complete with costumes and backdrops.

"I have an idea." You said with a wicked grin. You grabbed his hand and practically yanked him off the stool and through the bar. Dean looked up and immediately shot you a bitch face.

"No." He said.

"Yes." Was all you replied.

Dean put the outfit over himself, wrinkling his nose at the scratchy fabric. He returned to the bar and gave the photographer a shrug before placing his beer on the counter. He rested his elbow on the bar and waited for you. About five minutes later, you came back into the room. You wore a black lace corset that hugged your frame perfectly. Billowing black and burgundy skirts flowed out from your hips. The right side was hiked up and tucked into your waist, showing off black tights and heels. Layers of pearls hung from your neck, swaying as you moved. Your hair had been pinned, a burgundy feather sticking out from behind your ear. The strap of your left shoulder fell as you walked over to Dean. His mind went blank. The world fell away until all that was left was you. He lost his balance, his elbow falling off the bar, sending him stumbling forward. His hands wrapped around your waist to steady himself. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, looking up at him with large eyes.

"You know this is like really hitting all my fantasies right now?" Dean said, his voice dense and syrupy.

"Oddly enough, it's stirring some up for me." You replied, giving Dean a not-so-subtle once over.

"Alright! Let's get these pictures taken!" The photographer sounded cheesy and overexcited. You chose the backdrop you wanted and stood in front of the screen. There were props you could choose from. You and Dean both decided on a gun. You suddenly felt uncomfortable and self-conscious. How were you supposed to pose? This all felt weird.

"Don't worry. We can work through some poses together." The photographer said as if on cue.

"Ok, let's start with you in the chair." He pointed to Dean. "And you behind him." He told you. You and Dean took your assigned spots.

"Good! Now place your hand on his shoulder and your other hand with the gun on your hip." You did as he instructed. "Perfect!" He took a few snaps.

"Ok, now, good sir. If you don't mind turning fully to the side. And let's have our beautiful lady stand in between your legs." You bit your lip as you positioned yourself between Dean's muscular thighs.

"Wrap your arm around her and hook your thumb into her garter there." He said. Dean's thick fingers wrapped around your thigh, his thumb sliding into the garter. You took in a shuttering breath, trying to hide your arousal. The photographer took a few more shots before coming out from behind the camera again.

"Ok, now sit on his lap." He said. You stepped out of the way and allowed Dean to move into position on the chair. He then motioned for you to sit, kindness and a hint of amusement in his eyes. You sat down on him, crossing your legs and leaning into his chest. Your skirt opened up, showing off most of your legs. Dean cleared his throat but remained still. He once again touched your leg, smoothing his palm down from your knee to grasp your ankle.

"You doing ok?" Dean whispered.

"Yeah, this is fun." You said with a slight giggle. Dean smiled at you, tilting his head back slightly.

"You guys look amazing together!" The photographer exclaimed as he took more pictures.

"Finally..." He said, raising his finger to his chin in thought. "Stand up." He decided. You stood first, letting your skirts fall back over your body. Dean moved the chair out of the way and waited for his next direction.

"Ok, stand facing each other. Now you turn slightly." He said to Dean, turning him by the shoulders so he was facing more forward than you.

"And you grab him by the jacket." You held Dean's jacket with both hands, the gun resting against him.

"Perfect! Now, lift your leg to his waist." You once again lifted your leg, feeling your skirt open to expose all the way to the curve of your ass.

"And grab her leg and hold her steady." The photographer instructed Dean. Dean looked at you and gave you a tight smile as if he was holding back laughter. He wrapped one arm around your waist, pulling you tighter against him. His other hand lay against the top of your thigh, the gun pressing into your skin.

"This is nice." You joked.

"Ya know. I was just thinking about how we should do this more often." Dean amused back.

"And look here!" The photographer called, taking the last of the photos.

Once you and Dean changed back into your regular clothes, you looked over the pictures. You had to admit, they looked pretty cool. The sepia tone hid imperfections well, highlighting your makeup and dark clothing. Dean looked ridiculously handsome, as always, his strong looks accentuated by the shadows and contrasts.

"I like these two," Dean said, pointing to the one of you on his lap and the one of him holding you against him.

"Of course you do." You laughed. "I like those too." You agreed. Dean paid for a large print of both of you standing and got a photo strip of your four poses. You were surprised he actually bought it. You thought he would want to forget you made him do this as soon as possible.

"I can't believe you bought it." You expressed your thoughts as you walked back to the car.

"Of course! I gotta have some reminder of the first date with my girl." Dean said in a joking tone. You stood in front of the car, not wanting to get in and end the night. You smiled and stepped toward him, looking up at him with your eyes.

"What do you want to do now?" You asked, your voice breathy and low. Dean cupped your cheeks, his thumbs pushing your jaw to tilt your face toward his.

"I'm gonna kiss you now," Dean said, almost as if he was telling himself and you.

"Finally." You breathed.

He kissed you like how the waves kiss the sand. Consistent and all-encompassing. His soft and full lips moved over yours with passion and adoration. His fingers twisted into your hair at the nape of your neck, melting you further into him. He backed you up against the Impala, your back leaning on the cold metal. One hand slid down your body, slipping under the hem of your shirt. His gentle fingers caressed your stomach and ribcage. His index finger sunk below the waistband of your jeans. You broke the kiss.

"I really want you to keep going, but there are kids here." You said, looking around at the selection of minivans in the parking lot. Dean leaned his forehead against yours and closed his eyes. He nodded, moving your head with the motion.

"Ok, yeah." He finally said. The beginning of the drive was quiet and slightly awkward. Neither of you knew what to say after that. You pulled your leg onto the seat, and Dean instantly slid his hand down your thigh. He grabbed a fistful of the jean-covered flesh of your inner thigh and yanked you toward him. You let out a surprised squeak but quickly settled next to him. You lay your head on his shoulder and relax into the silence.

Dean walked you to your motel room. You turned to face him, holding his eyes with yours.

"I had a really great time tonight, Dean. Thank you for everything." You said sincerely.

"Does our night have to end?" Dean asked, taking a step toward you.

"No." You could barely get the word out before Dean was on you again. His mouth overtaking and tasting every part of yours. Your back was pressed against the wood door. Dean lifted you to him, wrapping your legs around his waist. Somehow, you got into your motel room, Dean stumbling in with you in his arms.

The two of you connected in ways you never thought possible. The world was deep in slumber as you explored every inch of each other's bodies. The cocky and self-assured personality he used as a shield fell away, and all that was left was Dean. Raw and real. Achingly beautiful. You silently pledged yourselves to each other under the crescent moon. No one understood you better. No one loved you better. No one. It was Dean. It was always Dean.

Tagging:  @thinkinghardhardlythinking @watermelonlipstick @lacilou   @kingofthetwats @bellabean5591 @coldgothapricotalmond @briskywalker @gia-25 @reconsidering-my-life-choices @paryl @cutesymrsinuyashagamer @katrynec @arctusluna @samfreakingwinchester @idreamofplaid @zeppette @katherine-ann1 @maliburenee @nancymcl @babymxxse​ @winchestergirl2​

[moonlight-rider25]

Gimme, Gimme, Gimme..

 ..A Winchester boys series, featuring you as the reader, Sam and Dean?..

..Hunting cases together...

...angsty backstory...

..You can pick who you end up with...

What do you think?

[heartiella]

[goldenispunk]

[k9effect]

Reblog for a larger sample size!

No "show results", if you're not a fanfic writer just be patient.

I saw a post about an anon saying it was embarrasing to have an ao3 account in your 30s (it's absolutely not), so I want to do a poll and see what the age range actually is.

[colmiilllo]

me acting like I just didn't read the most filthy nasty hot smut fic of my life

[imagineteamfreewill]

Undercover

Title: Undercover

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2,139

Warnings: Guns, mentions getting arrested

Square Filled: Rival AU

Summary: Y/N runs into Sam on a hunt and it goes as well as she could expect.

A/N: This is a submission for the extended 2021-2022 SPN AU Bingo (@spnaubingo​). As always, thank you for reading and supporting me. Please let me know what you think! Dividers by @firefly-graphics​

You’d thought you’d been paranoid this morning when you passed the old bookstore on Maple Street and had to do a double take. Then, after you’d seen the ghost of his figure ducking into the local animal hospital just off Highway 30, you’d made a u-turn in an old bait shop’s gravel parking lot just so you could drive past and look for his car. It wasn’t until you’d crept your way into the old marina’s guard building that you realized that you had, in fact, found the same hunt as Sam Winchester.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you muttered as you pulled yourself up onto the top of the upper cabinets. Once you were settled, you flicked off your flashlight and watched as Sam trekked back up the dock towards your hiding place, his own maglight in hand.

He was only a dozen feet away from the back door when he froze and carefully pulled out his gun. You tensed, watching in silence as he peered through the midnight fog that blanketed the lake and the surrounding area. You hadn’t spotted anything suspicious, and you’d been careful to cover up any trace of yourself, which meant that Sam’s sudden change in behavior could only be due to something more nefarious than yourself.

Slowly, Sam crept into the guardhouse, keeping his gun drawn. You held your breath.

“You’re out of your depth with this one,” he finally said, and suddenly his light shone directly in your eyes.

You huffed and held up your free hand to block the light, squinting at him in irritation. “And you’re still a jerk. Nice to see you too, Sam.”

“Get down from there and go home. I’ve already done all the research and I can easily handle this on my own.”

“Oh yeah?” You carefully lowered yourself down from the cabinets and pulled your own gun from the holster strapped to your thigh. You’d stopped tucking it into your jeans a long time ago, opting instead for a more practical option when the chances of running into someone were slim. “Then how come that David said there were no hunters in the area?”

Sam made a face. “Who the hell is David?”

Rolling your eyes, you stomped past him, fully ignoring the gun he kept trained on you. The security guard’s desk would only be unattended for another five minutes. You’d been in the middle of searching for the disc that contained the antiquated security system’s footage from the past two weeks when Sam had interrupted you.

"What are you doing?” he questioned, coming closer to watch over your shoulder.

“Your mom,” you snarked back. 

The disc was shoved in a drawer underneath a short stack of file folders and a notebook with yellowed pages. You pulled it out and turned your flashlight on to inspect the label on the front just to be sure you’d found the right thing, but Sam snatched it out of your hand before you could get a good look.

“Hey!” You grabbed at it, but he held it out of your reach as he read the front himself. “Sam Winchester, this is my hunt! I have been here for over a week now and if you don’t stop interfering, I will call the police on you!”

He only grinned and tucked the DVD into the inside pocket of his jacket. His gun had also been tucked away, leaving him with just the maglight in hand as he looked you over.

“We both know that never ends well. How many times have you tried that one? Three? Four?”

You kept your own gun out and narrowed your eyes at him. “Go. Home.”

“No.”

The sound of footsteps approaching the front doors made you both freeze, and you hurried to switch off your flashlights and escape. When the door swung open only a few moments later, you ducked behind the table. Sam was already crouching behind it and he pushed you into view as he crawled underneath the vinyl tablecloth to hide. Though the guard had yet to turn on the overhead lights, the smug look on Sam’s face was clear as he disappeared from your sight. 

Quickly, you unclipped your holster and shoved both it and your gun inside one of the lower cabinets. They weren’t hidden well, but you could only hope that no one would spot it before you could get back to retrieve them. You barely had time to shoot Sam a look of utter loathing before the lights came on and the guard spotted you.

“Hey, you can’t be in here,” he said, heading right for you. 

It took everything in you not to reveal Sam’s presence as the guard cuffed you and marched you over to his desk so he could phone the police. Logically, you knew that one hunter on the case was better than two of them locked up for trespassing, even if it was Sam Winchester. 

Three hours later, the officer who’d collected you from the marina and brought you down to the station stepped into the holding cell area and unlocked the door. You looked up, a little surprised that David had even answered the phone associated with your alias. He wasn’t always the most reliable backup.

“You’re free to go, ma’am. I’m so sorry for the mixup,” the officer said, giving you a tight smile.

You stood from the bench and stretched a little, popping your back as the man held the cell door open for you. He led you out into the main part of the station, but you slowed your pace as you neared his desk.

Sam sat opposite the officer’s chair, his hands cuffed to a metal loop on the desk in front of him. When he saw the officer had returned, he turned his head to meet your eyes, his expression unreadable.

“Can I ask if you were able to get ahold of my supervisor?” you asked, closing the distance between you and the two men.

The officer pulled your bag of personal items from the bottom drawer of the desk and started removing the items from the clear plastic. He checked each of them off on your intake form as he worked, not bothering to look up as he replied.

“No, but we found this man impersonating a federal agent and interrogating local employees. When we contacted the man he claimed to be his supervisor, we realized that you were the real deal and this guy’s the fake,” he explained.

Raising an eyebrow, you glanced over at Sam, who was slouching further and further in his chair as the officer spoke.

“How did you come to that conclusion?”

This time the man looked up at you. He held out your flashlight, badge, wallet, and phone, which you accepted gratefully. A quick glance at the screen told you that you had three missed calls and a voicemail from David, no doubt chewing you out for getting arrested.

“His “supervisor” wasn’t his supervisor at all. The guy does work for the Bureau, though, because he confirmed your role in the case.” He glanced back down at the forms, then slid the paper towards you and held out a pen. “That should be everything. You just need to sign at the bottom saying that we’ve returned all your personal items. I’m sure the Bureau will be happy to clear up any paperwork regarding tonight?”

You nodded and leaned forward to scribble your alias’ signature on the bottom line, ignoring Sam’s glare. As you signed, you tried not to let your immense satisfaction that Bobby had vouched for you and not Sam show.

“I’m glad we could clear all this up,” you said. “Although…” Sam tensed as you paused and finally looked back at him, then at the officer. “This man isn’t impersonating a federal agent.”

“That’s not what your higher-ups said,” replied the officer. He crossed his arms over his chest, regarding you with a suspicious expression. “Are you saying that he’s lying to me?”

Shaking your head, you tucked your badge and wallet back into the pockets of your jeans. “No, sir. I’m saying that he doesn’t know everything regarding this case. Like I told you when I first came in, I’ve been tracing a trail of murders across several states. The scope of this thing is huge and we’ve got hundreds of cases under investigation right now. This man is an undercover agent, one specifically chosen by me to help with my work, so I’m going to ask that you release him from custody. You’ve already risked blowing his cover by arresting him. I’m happy to take care of any paperwork on his behalf.”

After a few moments of consideration, the man sighed and shook his head, muttering to himself. He reached down into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a second bag. This one held more items than yours, including Sam’s gun and several knives he’d had hidden on his person that you hadn’t been able to see before. You made a mental note of each one as the officer pulled them from the bag and checked them off on the paperwork he’d clearly been in the middle of filling out when he’d gone to release you from the holding cell. You also noticed that the disc with the security footage wasn’t among the items in the bag, which meant you’d have to ask Sam to give it back to you. Irritation grew in the center of your chest and you cleared your throat, pressing your lips together to keep yourself from saying something that would blow your cover.

While he worked, Sam stared at you in silence. You could feel his gaze focused on you as you supervised the officer going through Sam’s belongings, and he continued to stare at you while you filled out the papers regarding his release. Finally, the officer went around the desk and uncuffed him, then handed him the pen to sign off that he’d received all his personal items.

You stood beside Sam in silence as he collected his things, then stayed by his side as the two of you walked through the station and out into the parking lot. Your motel was only a few blocks down the street, and you had no doubt that Sam was most likely staying there too.

“Why did you do that?” he finally asked as you turned out of the parking lot and onto the sidewalk.

“Do you want me to go back and tell him I was lying?” you asked, not looking over at him. “Because then we’ll both be in even more trouble, and I don’t really want that.”

Sam sighed. “Y/N—”

“Don’t. Just go home and let me do my job.”

“This is my job too, you know.”

This time you did look over at him, but only for a second. “I didn’t get you out of there so you could help me, Sam. I got you out because I’m sure there are other people who need help. I’ve got this covered, and if you had only listened to me in the first place—”

“I was here first, so if anyone’s leaving, it should be—”

“Will you just stop?” you shouted. You stopped and turned to face him. He seemed startled by your outburst, but you didn’t let his unusual show of surprise faze you. “It’s very clear that neither one of us likes the other, and it’s even more clear that we can’t work together. I did you a huge favor sticking my neck out back there for you.” You pointed back down the street towards the station. “So for once in your life, can you just let someone else be in charge? Just give me the disc, go home, stay out of my life! Can you handle that, Sam? Or is that too hard for you?”

He stared at you, lips pressed together, and you crossed your arms over your chest. When he didn’t reply after a moment more, you turned and started walking again, leaving him standing with his back to the street. 

“Fine,” Sam said, calling out to you as you kept walking. “But next time, don’t expect me to help you.”

You scoffed but you didn’t say anything. You knew that deep down Sam had to be a good person—bad people didn’t willingly sacrifice everything good in life—but something about him made you want to bang your head against the wall. There are many things that you wanted in life as a hunter, but getting away from him was at the top of the list. If letting him think that he had the upper hand here would get him to leave, then you’d let the argument fade. There were more important things to worry about.

Thank you for reading! <3

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[jellyfishhutcherson]

#NEEDTHAT

[wildwestdean]

impetus

summary: dean gets targeted by a witch while working a case, and she curses him to yearn for what he secretly loves the most. it seems to have no effect, until it's pointed out that he can't seem to stay away from you - but what happens when he tries to fight it?

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 9.4k+

warnings: violence, hunting/working a case, mentions of murders, gore, evil witches, reader and dean get attacked, swearing, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, yearning, mutual pining, idiots oblivious to their own feelings, magical curses, hallucinations, nightmares, depictions of death, depictions of drowning, fighting/arguments, heart-to-heart, confessions, use of [y/n], nicknames, mature themes

“Right, well, this isn’t creepy at all,” Dean declared, rolling Baby to a stop before switching into park. 

You both sat quietly as you surveyed the desolate building, a feeling of unease washing over you. 

“Maybe we should wait for Sam,” you suggested half heartedly. He was only down at the Sheriff’s station, and it wouldn’t even take ten minutes for him to meet you here, but you knew Dean wouldn’t wait. 

“No,” he said, confirming what you already knew. “Someone else is missing and this is our best lead so far. If you don’t want to go in, that's fine, but I am.” 

“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” you snapped, sitting up as tall as you could despite the pit forming in your stomach. 

“Awe, you worried about me, sweetheart?” Dean teased, turning to look at you with a grin; one that was effectively wiped from his face when he saw the look in your eyes. “Hey, what is it?” 

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, shrugging lightly. “I just have a bad feeling about this.” 

“Bad feeling like what?” he questioned, his brows knitting together. 

You thought about it, trying to pinpoint what it was you felt, but you couldn’t. “Just…. don’t go wandering off,” you ended up saying- begging, more like. 

“Alright,” he agreed easily. “We stick together, and we’ll be in and out before you know it.” 

“Right,” you confirmed with a nod. “Let’s gear up.” 

You exited the car as quietly as you could, making your way around to the back as Dean unlocked the trunk and propped up the panel to the arsenal.

“You and Sam better be right about this,” he muttered, digging out the box of witch-killing bullets. 

Your mind raced through the details of the case: An exsanguinated priest, a dead nun with her tongue ripped out, the president of the high schools abstinence club found without a heart, and various livestock missing various body parts - if this wasn’t a witch, you were a little scared to find out what else it could be. 

“We have to be,” you breathed out, loading your ammo. 

“Can you do me a favour and sound at least a little confident?” he asked playfully, lightly nudging your arm with his own before tucking his gun into his jeans. 

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, holstering your own gun. 

“It’s alright,” he said earnestly, handing you your favourite knife (one that used to be his before you claimed it as your own). “I’m just not used to seeing you so spooked.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly as you took the knife from him. “I’m not used to feeling spooked.” 

“We’ll make it through,” he consoled, closing up the trunk. “Just like we always do.” 

“Just like we always do,” you echoed with a nod, following him towards the building. 

The overgrowth brushed your calves as you made your way up the walk, and after a quick survey of the facade, Dean swung the door open after picking the lock. 

“Wait!” you hissed, stopping him before he entered. “Sam does know we’re here, right?” 

You watched as his shoulders shrugged before stepping inside. “Probably.” 

“That’s… comforting,” you sighed, following him across the threshold. 

The two of you did a quick preliminary sweep of the main level before making your way to the top floor, finding nothing of significance in any of the rooms. Making your way back down, you both stopped dead in your tracks as you heard a clatter come from beneath you. 

“Of course there’s a basement,” Dean whispered. “Why wouldn’t the creepy ass witch be in the creepy ass basement of this creepy ass house?” 

“How do you know she’s a creepy ass witch?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe she’s hot. Or a guy. Or both.” 

He faltered over his response, considering your words for a moment. “I’ll bet whatever tab you drink up at the bar once we end up ganking this bitch. She’s creepy.” 

“Deal,” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him. 

You both chuckled, before another noise from the basement drew your attention back to the case at hand. Dean awkwardly cleared his throat before leading the way in search of the basement entrance, using the occasional noise as guidance. 

“God, I hate witches,” he muttered to himself, slapping away cobwebs as he descended the stairs. 

“I don’t think the witch put those webs there,” you said with a snicker. 

“No, they’re just the one turning this rotting corpse of a house into a lair of evil and despair,” he hissed. 

You rolled your eyes in response, unable to stop the fond smile from creeping onto your face as you made it to the bottom of the stairs. 

A muffled cry caught your attention, and Dean spared you a quick look before running in the direction it came from, you hot on his heels. Coming up on a corner, he slowed to a halt and peered around the wall. 

“It looks clear,” he decided after a moment. “Just be careful,” he added, continuing on his way. 

Upon turning the corner, you were enveloped in the warm glow of candles, which would have been nice, had it not been for the rest of the scene. An altar lay at the far wall, burning candelabras stood in each corner of the room, and the very person you were searching for was bound and gagged in a chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of candles. 

Dean cursed and muttered under his breath, surveying the room. “I’ll get him, you get the altar.“

“Okay,” you agreed, running across the room. Once you reached the altar, you couldn’t help but stare in shock and disgust for a moment as you took in the sight; all the missing body parts seemingly staring back at you from where they lay soaked in blood. It took Dean shouting your name from across the room to bring you back to your senses, and you quickly upturned the altar as Dean instructed the now freed man to get out as fast as possible and wait by the car. As soon as the contents of the altar were scattered, an ear piercing shriek came from behind you. 

Quickly whirling on your heels, you were greeted by a cloaked figure, who seemingly came out of nowhere. 

“What have you done?” she screamed, dropping her hood as she stared daggers into you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned innocence. “Did I ruin your big plan?”

“You ruined everything!” she shrieked, slowly approaching you. “You’ll pay for this!” 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean called out from behind her. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?! How many centuries passed by until the circumstances were right? I had it! I had it all! I was one spell away from seeing my love again!” she continued to scream, advancing further towards you as she ignored Dean.

“Back off, Grunhilda!” Dean roared from behind her, drawing his gun. 

“No!” she shrieked, barely lifting her hand in order to easily swing his gun away - and stop you from drawing your own. “You stupid little gnat. You think you can just come in here and mess with things you don’t understand? You think you can take this from me?!” 

Her shouting was drowned out by the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as your throat constricted, the air leaving your lungs and not returning. You felt your bones cracking beneath your skin as your feet left the floor, and you shared a look of terror with Dean before black began to cloud the edges of your vision. 

Without an effective weapon handy, Dean rushed the witch and tackled her to the floor, sending you crashing down. You met the concrete with a thud, and it knocked the rest of your senses out of you. You laid there for who knows how long, fighting off the waves of pain and nausea, willing yourself to move as you listened to the struggle happening a few feet away from you. 

By the time you managed to prop yourself up, Dean was pinned down as she advanced on him, and you desperately looked around for either of your guns. 

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you heard her ask, menace laced deep in her words. “To want something so desperately, to feel that desire within your very soul?!” 

Dean struggled against her hold as you struggled to pick yourself up, to at least crawl to a weapon if you had to.

“Well you will,” she sneered, cackling to herself. “You’ll know how it feels. To have what you want the very most to be so close to you, to have it at the edge of your fingertips, only to never be able to grasp it! For it to be the only thing you can think about!”

“Shut the hell up,” Dean seethed through clenched teeth, glaring at her. 

She only stepped closer towards him, cackling to herself. “Your strongest yearning, hidden deep in your heart, will nevermore be yours to part. Be it with sun or with rain, that which brings joy won’t be without pain.” 

“You finished yet?” Dean interrupted, before he had the wind knocked out of him, rendering him silent. 

Moving as quickly as you could without being noticed, you closed in on Dean’s pistol while the witch carried on. 

“Whatever you crave you cannot say, yet you’ll seek it out be it night or day,” she continued, hovering over him. “Consider yourself lucky, you useless toad. I’ve had countless lifetimes yearning to see my love again, and I’ll spend lifetimes more. At least you only have this one measly little life to yearn for what you want.” 

Grasping the gun in your hands, you carefully rose to your feet and steadied yourself to take aim. “Man, you really do talk too much,” you huffed out.

The shot rang out just as she turned towards you, though it was silenced by a roaring wind that accompanied a bright blue light. Within seconds, everything was calm and quiet again.

Fighting every urge you had to collapse back onto the floor, you trudged your way over to Dean in an attempt to help him up. 

“God, I told you she’d be creepy,” he gasped out, groaning as he stood. 

“You want a prize?” you asked incredulously, staring up at him. 

“I wanna get the hell out of here,” he said, ushering you to take leave. “Then I want those drinks you owe me.” 

After what felt like another entire day, you and Dean had dropped the victim off at the hospital, patched each other up, cleaned out the basement, showered, and filled Sam in on everything that went down. 

“So… she cursed you?” Sam asked curiously, trying to understand. 

“I dunno. She tried to, I guess,” Dean replied nonchalantly. “But [Y/N/N] put a bullet in her. No witch, no curse, right?” 

Sam shared a brief look with you, before turning back to Dean. “Yeah, but… there was no body.” 

“What?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“The witch,” you said. “I shot, but she vanished. What if she isn’t dead?” 

“Well, I feel normal, so I’m gonna say she’s dead,” Dean declared with a shrug. “Now, can we head to the bar? I’m in desperate need of a drink… or twelve.” 

Without waiting for an answer, he quickly stood and donned his jacket before looking back at you and Sam. “You guys coming or what?” 

“Oh, do I have a choice to not go?” you asked playfully.

“You can stay if you want, but your wallet comes with me,” he replied, smiling innocently. 

“Alright, let’s go,” you said with a dramatic sigh, grabbing your own jacket. 

Not long after, the three of you were sliding into a booth in the nearest dive, enjoying the lack of people; you guys seriously needed to decompress. 

“Alright, I’ll be back,” you declared, hopping out of the booth to get the first round of drinks. 

“Make sure you get a tab started!” Dean jokingly called after you. 

You flipped him off in response, taking a seat at the bar after placing your order. While you waited, Sam watched as Dean grew more restless in his seat. 

“Dude, what the hell is your problem?” he finally asked, eyeing Dean as he fidgeted anxiously. 

“What?” Dean asked cluelessly, glancing around the bar. “I’m thirsty. She’s been gone for what, like, half an hour?” 

“It’s… barely been two minutes, Dean,” Sam informed him with an amused grin.  

“Yeah, well. I want my beer,” Dean mumbled, tapping his fingers on the table as he glanced around once more. “I’m gonna go see if she needs help.”

Before Sam could even reply, Dean was already halfway across the bar, meeting you just as you got your final drink. 

“Need a hand?” Dean asked cheerfully, his sudden appearance making you jump. “Sorry,” he added with a snicker. 

“Dick,” you muttered with a laugh, hopping down from the stool. “Here you go,” you added, handing him his beer.

“Awesome,” he beamed, taking the bottle from your outstretched hand. 

He followed closely as you made your way back to the table, handing Sam his drink before sliding into the booth; Dean followed suit, leaving you nestled in between him and the wall. 

The three of you had a few more rounds before Dean slipped away, determined to teach a lesson to the arrogant ass harassing players around the pool tables - just because you didn’t need to hustle people anymore didn’t mean it wasn’t still fun every now and then. You watched him fondly, laughing quietly to yourself as you watched him fumble around with his cue before making a terrible break. Harder than it looks, you could just hear him say. 

Your attention was turned back to Sam when he cleared his throat, and you were met with his questioning gaze. “Does he seem weird to you?” 

“Weird how?” you asked, face scrunched in confusion. 

“I don’t know, strange,” he replied with a small shrug. “Like- like antsy or something.” 

Your eyes flit back across the room to Dean, who was very much in his element as he upped his ante, before focusing on Sam again. “I haven’t noticed anything, Sammy.” 

He sighed in resignation, seeming to already know that would be your response. “It’s probably nothing, just forget I said anything,” he replied, shaking his head dismissively before finishing his drink. 

“If you say so,” you muttered quietly, sipping your drink as you cast a worried gaze across the bar, getting lost in thought.

By the time you each finished another round of drinks, Dean made his way back over to the table; much to the surprise of you and Sam. 

“Done so soon?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow at his brother. 

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, sliding back into the seat beside you.

“But you only played one round,” you said quizzically. 

“So?” Dean wondered, gulping down the rest of his beer. 

“So, you usually play a lot more than that,” Sam pitched in, shifting his gaze between you and Dean. 

Dean sighed, his bottle clanging on the table as he set it back down. “Why am I getting the third degree here? I played a game, he learned his lesson, I got over it. End of story.”

“Okay, grouchy,” you snickered, ruffling his hair a little just because you knew he hated it. Except he really did love it when it was you doing it.

“Whatever, anyone want another round?” he asked with a huff, lightly swatting your hand away. 

“No, I’m gonna call it a night,” you admitted, shifting to slip your jacket back on. 

“Yeah, me too,” Sam declared, starting to stand from the table. 

Dean stood as well, assumingly just to let you out. “Alright, let’s go.”

You and Sam both stilled in your movements at his response, sharing a shocked look with each other. “You’re… coming with us?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked with a scoff, shrugging his jacket on as he looked questioningly between you and Sam. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you guys?”

“We just didn’t expect you to call it a night so early,” Sam explained helplessly. “Gettin’ old, huh?” he added, trying to lighten the mood a little. 

“Yeah, I mean, you barely even wracked up a tab!” you declared with a laugh, before grinning mischievously. “Drinks just don’t agree with you anymore, do they, old man?”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes, fixing his collar just to busy his hands. “Okay, alright, one more wisecrack and I’m leaving you both here.” 

Despite the finality in his tone, the amusement dancing in his eyes gave him away - as did the hand he extended to you to help you slide from the booth. 

“Whatever you say, grandpa,” Sam teased, patting Dean on the shoulder before walking away with laughter in his wake. “I’ll be outside!”

You chuckled in response, and the stern look Dean gave you only made you laugh even more. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry it up, chuckles,” he chided, wiggling his fingers at you. He surveyed the bar as you finally took hold of his hand, sliding out from your seat with ease and standing before him. “Ready?” he asked, gaze turning back to look down at you. 

“Yeah, I just gotta go pay,” you replied, nodding your head in the direction of the bar counter. 

“Alright,” he said with a nod. He gave your hand a squeeze, though instead of letting go like he normally would, he held it firmly as he led the way across the bar. 

You followed along quietly, trying your hardest to not read too much into it. Though when you stood before the bar and he had yet to release your hand, you gave him a puzzled look. “Did you wanna go get the car?” you asked hesitantly. 

He looked confused for a moment, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on either, before he cleared his throat with a curt nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you out there. Don’t take too long,” he rushed, giving your hand another fleeting squeeze before shuffling away. 

Strange, you thought briefly, before shifting your attention to the bartender before you. 

As you paid the tab, Dean settled into the driver's seat of Baby, and Sam watched him impatiently drum his fingers against the wheel as he hummed along to whatever song was in his head; and he couldn’t help but snort a laugh as Dean checked his watch one, two, three times since getting into the car. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Sam chided with a laugh, shaking his head. 

“What?” Dean inquired, annoyance clear in his voice. 

“Dude, please tell me you see what’s going on,” Sam pleaded. 

Dean widened his eyes in confusion, glancing around the near empty parking lot before looking back at his brother. “What’s going on?” 

Before Sam could reply, their attention was caught by the opening of the bar’s door when you emerged from the building, a grin forming on your face as you caught sight of them waiting in the car. 

Dean matched your grin, quickly reaching for the door handle and scrambling outside. “There she is!” he greeted happily, opening the back door for you. 

“Fucking idiot,” Sam muttered to himself, staring out the window with an amused grin as you and Dean settled into your seats. 

The three of you made it back in no time, and, having to settle for a single bed when first getting to town over driving for another who-knows-how-long just to find another motel, shuffled out of the car and into your shared room with heavy feet.

“Finally,” Dean muttered with relief, shutting the door behind him as Sam took a seat. “Whoa, whoa,” Dean barked, holding up a hand. “What’re you doing?” 

Sam froze just as he sat on the bed, staring up at his brother. “What?” 

“That’s my bed,” Dean declared with a huff. 

“No, it’s not,” Sam answered with a scoff. “It’s your turn for the couch.” 

“Dude, I’m not sleeping on the pull-out!” Dean declared with finality.

“What, are you kidding me?” Sam asked incredulously. “You got the bed last time!” 

“Yeah, and I just got ragdolled by a crazy ass witch, I deserve a mattress!” Dean argued, stepping towards the bed. “Get up.” 

“No,” Sam argued stubbornly, relaxing further atop the sheets. 

“You guys are ridiculous,” you said with an exasperated sigh, walking across the room. “I’ll take the couch.” 

“Not a chance,” Dean denied, not even sparing you a glance. 

“What, why?” you asked in confusion. 

“First of all, I’m not sharing with Sam,” Dean replied, turning to look at you. “Second, you got it worse than I did. I’m not shoving you on a pull-out.” 

“Oh, please-” you started to argue, before he cut you off. 

“I patched you up myself, [Y/N]. Don’t bother trying to lie to me,” he cautioned. 

You opened your mouth to argue once more, but the look on his face stopped you short. “Whatever,” you mumbled, turning towards the bathroom. “I’m getting ready for bed. Figure this out before I get back so I can actually go to bed, please.” 

The bickering resumed as you quickly retreated, shutting the bathroom door on Dean’s disgruntled declaration of “best two out of three.”

By the time you re-entered the room, you were met with silence. Surveying the surroundings, you found Sam digging through his toiletries bag while sitting in his original spot on the bed. Your gaze snapped over to the couch, where Dean sat looking like a kicked puppy. 

“You went with scissors again, didn’t you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He met your gaze as Sam snickered behind you, causing his face to sour even more. “Shut up,” he mumbled before standing, bristling past you with slumped shoulders. 

You chuckled quietly to yourself and grabbed the spare sheets, quickly making up the pull-out for Dean while he got ready; hopefully he’d be a little less cranky about it all if this was at least already done. 

Once finished, you made your way over to the bed and curled up under the covers. After saying a quick goodnight to Sam, you were asleep before Dean even left the bathroom. 

Fear gnawed at Dean, his body frozen in place as a cold spread through him, panic clinging to him like ice. He tried to call out to you, but all that left him was a strangled breath as his lungs seized up. He watched as the waves carried you away, further and further from where he stood. By the time his legs finally moved to carry him closer to shore, his feet were so heavy it was as though he was wading through quicksand. 

“No, no, no,” he pleaded quietly, watching as the waters edge never grew near no matter how far he ran. 

Your voice cried out to him, surging him forward even faster as you drifted ever outwards, terror seeping deeper into his bones with every futile step he took.

He couldn’t reach you. 

He couldn’t save you. 

The realisation that you were gone caused his world to come crashing down around him as he fell to his knees. A roaring filled his ears, and he didn’t know whether it was the irascible water that held you captive or the blood racing from his pounding heart. 

As he stayed there - watching the crashing waves for any sign of you, listening for a call of his name, unwilling to move for fear he’d miss you - the water suddenly crept up around him, as if to mock him. 

The sky darkened as he let out an anguished cry, his voice blending in with the storm beginning to brew around him. Yet despite the deafening howls, he heard it clear as day: your voice, calling out to him.  

“Dean.”

The world stilled around him once more, your voice ringing out in a whisper as gentle as the wind. 

“Dean.” 

He stood, frantically searching the horizon for you. He tried to call out, yet his voice still never came. 

“Dean!” you called out, voice booming like thunder from above. 

A small hand gripped his own, pulling him so forcefully he was yanked off his feet. He let out a startled cry, a spark of lightning igniting so brightly before him that he screwed his eyes shut. 

“God dammit, Dean!” 

Another force shook him, and when we reopened his eyes, he was met with the suspiciously stained ceiling of the motel room. He bolted upright, heart hammering against his chest as he looked around. He caught your worried gaze as he wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing as you leaned in closer. 

“[Y/N?]” he gasped out, pushing himself further upright.

His hand reached out automatically, fingers tentatively brushing against your cheek as if to evaluate your solidity. When he was satisfied that you wouldn’t evaporate, he surged forward to wrap you in a desperate embrace; the icy grip of terror finally starting to melt. 

“It was just a nightmare, De,” you soothed quietly, tracing a hand along his back. “Everything’s alright.”

“Yeah,” he said tightly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as he let you go. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m alright, get back to bed.” 

“You’re okay?” you questioned, concern laced in both your face and tone of voice. 

“I’m okay,” he affirmed with a nod, casting his gaze aside so you wouldn’t see the panic still swirling within him. 

“Okay,” you said softly, placing a gentle kiss upon the crown of his head before standing from the edge of the pull-out. 

Dean got up after you to grab a glass of water, his heart jumping in his chest as he remembered the sight of you being ripped away by the current. 

“Just a nightmare,” he reminded himself under his breath. “Just a nightmare.” 

Not having slept another wink after his nightmare, Dean was unsurprisingly the first one up the next morning. Taking it upon himself to get breakfast for the three of you, he found himself at the nearest diner waiting for his order. 

Drumming his fingers impatiently on the sticky linoleum counter, a burning desire to call you began to build within him. Knowing you were likely still sleeping, he decided to busy himself with a stupid game you downloaded on his phone. 

Yet the urge to reach out to you grew tenfold as he sat there, a sinking feeling that it might mean you were in danger starting to take hold of him. Just as his mind began to swirl with questions of what the hell was going on with him, he heard your voice calling his name. 

His head snapped up, expecting to see you sliding onto the stool beside him, ready to give you hell for walking here in search of him all by yourself in a random town. He figured you must’ve known he was here, and it wouldn’t have been a far walk from the motel, but it was still stupid.

Though the words died on his tongue as he realized you weren’t there, and that familiar feeling of dread trickled through him after scanning the diner and not finding you anywhere. 

Another voice called out, this time the waitress, announcing that his order was ready. He met her smiling face with nothing but confusion, her smile faltering for a moment.

“Everything alright?” she asked hesitantly.

“Huh?” he asked, before snapping out of his daze. “Oh, yeah. Just a little too early for me. Thanks-” he paused, squinting to read her name tag. “Thanks, Edna,” he charmed, flashing his signature grin as he gathered the order. 

“Anytime, sugar,” she charmed, her smile perking back up as she sent him a wink. 

With one last - albeit awkward - grin sent her way, Dean quickly left the diner; already feeling lighter for knowing he’d be back at the motel soon. His grin only grew when he glanced across the street and caught a glimpse of you staring back at him, proving that he wasn’t crazy and you really did come to meet him. 

He took a step forward, intending to call out to you, when a truck drove by and blocked you from sight. The grin was wiped from his face and the coffee tray nearly slipped out of his hand when he noticed you had completely disappeared in its wake. 

Fearing the worst once more, he scrambled into the car and quickly called you, firing Baby to life as the line rang. 

“Hey,” you answered with a stifled yawn. “Please tell me you’re getting breakfast. And coffee.” 

“Yeah, I-” he faltered in his response, having to let out a breath of relief as he realized you were safe and sound. “I’ll be back in a few, you and Sammy still there?” 

“Where else would we be?” you asked with a giggle. 

While the sound would normally bring a smile to his face, your words only caused a frown to appear. “You only waking up now?” 

“Don’t judge me,” you teased. “It’s only… ten after seven, I barely slept in.” 

“Just not used to being up before you,” he lied, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. 

“Miracles really do happen,” you joked with a laugh. “You sound weird, is everything okay?” you added, worry tinting your voice. 

“Hm?” he wondered, not processing your question right away. “Oh, no- yeah, I-... just didn’t get much sleep.”

“Right,” you said, teetering on the edge of believing him or not. 

“Really, I’m good,” he assured, sensing your apprehension. “I just gotta catch some z’s and I’ll be good as new.” 

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few then,” you relented. “Drive safe,” you added as an afterthought before hanging up.   

The line went dead as he stopped at a red light, his stomach churning as he stared at his reflection in the rearview.

“Just need some sleep,” he assured himself. 

“Dude, would you quit it with the pacing?” Sam snapped, setting his book down on the table for sheer lack of concentration. 

Dean stopped just long enough to stare daggers at his brother before marching down the library once more. “She’s been gone too long.” 

“She’s been gone an hour,” Sam informed, hands running over his face in exasperation. 

“Exactly,” Dean replied, pointing a finger at Sam in acknowledgment. “Something must’ve happened.” 

“Dude, she’s at the grocery store. With Jack. What the hell could possibly happen?” 

“I don’t know!” Dean exclaimed, arms flailing as he whirled to face Sam. “Something must’ve! She hasn’t answered my last text and it’s been-” he paused, pulling out his phone to brandish the screen. “Seven minutes!” 

“Oh, my god,” Sam groaned, tossing his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I can’t deal with this anymore.” 

“What are you talking about? Aren’t you worried?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“No, Dean, I’m not worried! There’s no reason to be worried!” Sam proclaimed. 

“No reason? She could be dead!” Dean barked, his face taking on an expression of disbelief. 

Sam sighed as he leaned over the table, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, let me ask you this: why, exactly, do you think she’s dead?” 

“Oh, come on, Sam!” Dean grumbled. “We don’t exactly live cookie cutter lives here, you know. One minute she’s returning the shopping cart, and the next she’s got a damn knife in her back!” 

“Dean,” Sam soothed. “You know as well as I do that’s a load of crap.” 

“No,” Dean argued, shaking his head. “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything, you know why?” 

Before Sam could even respond, Dean waved his phone around before dropping it on the table. “Because she won’t answer her damn phone!” 

“Okay, this is actually ridiculous,” Sam declared. “How can you seriously not see what’s been happening to you?” 

“Knock it off, Sam,” Dean muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he began pacing again. “I’m fucking fine.” 

“You’re fine,” Sam repeated incredulously. “You’re friggin’ cursed, Dean!” 

“I’m not cursed!” shouted Dean. “Would you quit it with that crap?” 

“Right, because nothing’s been going on with you lately, right?” 

“Right!” Dean agreed with a huff. 

“You haven’t been, say, I don’t know…. not sleeping? Feeling stir crazy? Getting paranoid?”

“Sam-” 

“No, I’m serious, Dean! How can you not see this?” 

“Because I’m fine!” Dean argued, stalling his movements to gather his phone from the table.

After a few moments of silence, Dean rolled his eyes and found himself once more walking the length of the library. “Okay, maybe I’ve been feeling a little weird lately, but I’ve just been tired - and you know what? I survived worse. So yeah, I’m fine!” 

“Right,” Sam said sceptically.  “And have you… noticed when it is that you feel… weird?”

“I don’t know!” Dean announced frustratedly.

“Dean,” Sam chastised. 

“What?” 

“You’ve been feeling like this all week, and it’s only getting worse. You’ve been like this since that witch cursed you - and don’t say she didn’t. Use your fucking head, Dean! You’re cursed!” 

Dean’s jaw clenched as he tried to remain calm, taking a moment to formulate his response. “You’re insane,” he finally declared. 

“I think you’re the insane one,” Sam contested. “You were cursed to yearn for something, Dean. Only in this case… it’s someone.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“C’mon, Dean!” Sam pleaded with a laugh. “The only time you get like this is when you’re more than ten feet away from [Y/N].” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean muttered dismissively. 

“You’ve checked your phone another five times since you picked it up.” 

“So?” Dean questioned, failing to resist the urge to check it once more. “I’m worried, not cursed.” 

“You’re worried because you’re cursed!” Sam argued. 

“I’m worried because I lo-” Dean quickly fell silent as the words died on his tongue, his brain firing into total overdrive as he laughed nervously. “I care, that’s why I’m worried.” 

Sam stared at his brother in total disbelief, trying to find a way to make him realize what was going on- or, most likely, acknowledge what was going on. 

Yet before the conversation could go any further, the bunker door screeched open and the sound of your laughter fleeted down to greet Dean, effectively turning his scowl into an affectionate grin. 

“Hope you remembered my pie!” he called out, marching to meet you at the foot of the stairs without so much as a glance back in Sam’s direction. 

“When have I ever forgotten?” you asked, feigning offence as you held out the bag which contained his pie.

“Well,” he started, taking the bag from you. “There was that time in Redford-”

“Hey!” you interrupted with a laugh. “I didn’t forget, they were out!”

“See, I still don’t believe you,” he teased, heading for the kitchen. 

“Believe whatever you want, Dean,” you replied playfully. 

“I’m still waiting for it, you know. You should get me two next time,” he joked, though he was partly serious. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice tentatively called out.

“Yeah?” Dean replied hotly, keeping his back to Sam as he went to grab a beer from the fridge. 

“Who, uh… who the hell are you talking to?” he asked carefully, surveying the empty kitchen. 

“Hilarious, Sam,” he said dryly, shutting the fridge. “I’m talking to-”

His mouth ran dry as he turned around, being met with just his brother, who was staring with concern from the doorway. 

“[Y/N],” Dean finished weakly. 

“Her and Jack aren’t back yet, Dean,” Sam said carefully, as though talking to a lost child. 

“Yes, they are. They got back, she gave me my pie, we came in here,” Dean said fiercely, his confidence shattering when he went to gesture at the pie he set down moments earlier and found it to be gone.  

“Maybe you should sit down,” Sam suggested, not knowing what to do. 

“I’m fine!” Dean shouted, hovering over the counter. “I’m fine,” he repeated, moreso to himself than anything. 

“Okay, look, how about I try calling [Y/N], okay?” Sam offered, hesitantly walking further into the kitchen. “See when they’ll be back.” 

“They are back!” Dean barked, glaring at Sam. “She was just in here!” 

Sam didn’t know what to say, the fear and concern for his brother crashing down on him. 

“She was just in here,” Dean repeated shakily, meeting Sam’s gaze with confusion. 

“Dean,” Sam started to say, before the familiar tone of your ringtone came from Dean’s phone, cutting through the air like a knife. 

Dean pulled the phone from his pocket, clearing his throat before answering. “Yeah?” 

“Dean, thank god,” you cheered, sighing in relief. “Listen, we came out to a flat tire and I don’t have a spare because I forgot to fucking replace it and there are too many people around for Jack to, you know, try fixing it,” you rambled anxiously. “Can you please come help?” 

“You’re still at the store?” Dean clarified, looking up at Sam with frightened eyes. 

“Yeah, we’re stuck in the parking lot,” you told him breezily. 

“Okay,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Alright, I’ll be right there.” 

“Thanks, De!” you said happily, ending the call. 

Dean stood there for a few moments staring down at his unopened bottle of beer on the counter, trying to gather his thoughts, before finally lifting his gaze to Sam.

“I’ll, uh…. I’ll be back,” he told him, not waiting for a response before trudging out of the kitchen.

You found yourself yet again rushing down the hall to Dean’s room, his muffled yells waking you in the dead of night once more. 

He uttered your name as you shut the door behind you, and though it took you by surprise the very first time it happened - nearly two weeks ago, now - it was something you’ve almost come to expect. It was killing you, watching him go through this every night and not being able to fix it. You would sit with him, find ways to gently rouse him from his terror filled slumber and comfort him when he woke, but it never seemed like enough; he deserved more.

At first you didn’t think there was too much going on, figuring his shift in behaviour was just due to his lack of sleep. You didn’t believe Sam when he talked to you about it; Dean may have been acting a little more strange than usual, but it didn’t raise any red flags.

It wasn’t until the morning following your conversation that you noticed it, cluing in and realising how different Dean had been; how long he’d been different. The excess text messages, the increase in phone calls, the insistence on you not going anywhere without him and his exuberant reactions to you getting back safe when you did go somewhere without him, his constant questioning on where you were or where you’ve just been. Something else was going on, and you could only think it really did come down to the witch you two encountered.  So you and Sam called up Rowena, getting her take on the situation and figuring out what to do. 

Her words now echoed through your head as you perched yourself on the edge of his bed: “Magic isn’t simple. Some curses are anchored by the witch, ending whenever they were to die. But others are more complex, rooted not in the witch but the object of the curse itself, not breaking until their purpose is carried out one way or another. Perhaps if you can figure out what it is Dean needs, you can break the curse yourselves. If this carries on for any longer… I’m worried it will kill him.” 

While you ran your fingers through his hair, you decided right then and there that once he woke up, you wouldn’t leave without confronting him about it. You knew it would likely start a fight, and you felt a little guilty knowing you would all but interrogate him right after having another nightmare, but all that guilt flew right out the window the second Dean startled himself awake, the sight of his panic stricken face as he gasped for air nearly bringing you to tears; you’ve seen him like this too often as of late. 

“It’s alright, Dean,” you soothed, reaching out to him. “I’m right here, everything’s fine.” 

His gaze snapped to you, unable to hide the confusion and terror still coursing through him despite the relief he felt. “[Y/N]?” 

“Yeah, De,” you cooed, running a hand across his shoulder blades. “We’re in your room, everyone’s okay.” 

He let out a shuddering breath, hanging his head in his hands. “You’re okay,” he whispered softly. “You’re okay.” 

You sat quietly with him for a few more minutes, patiently comforting him as best as you could while you thought of how to approach this conversation. 

Clearing his throat, Dean was the first to speak again as he rose from the bed. “Sorry I woke you again.” 

The dejection and shame laced in his voice tore your heart to bits, and you had to put up a good fight to keep your emotions in check. “You don’t need to apologize.” 

“Yeah, I do,” he disagreed, trudging to his sink in the corner. 

“Dean, please talk to me,” you pleaded, watching as he turned on the water. 

You fell silent, waiting for him to deny you and brush you off again. You waited for him to say something, to do something, but all he did was stare at the running water. 

“Dean?” you asked cautiously, slowly getting up from the bed yourself. 

“I can’t save you,” he muttered quietly, his gaze on the faucet unyielding. 

“What?” you asked curiously, not knowing what he meant. 

“I can never save you,” he carried on. “You always just… slip away from me. Every time. It’s always the same.” 

“What’s always the same?” you questioned, moving closer towards him. 

“I try,” he muttered, seemingly oblivious to your presence. “I run, and I fight, and I try, but I can never reach you. I can never get to you.”

He seemed to snap out of his daze a little, moving to splash water over his face before turning off the tap. “You keep dying. I keep watching you die. I can’t watch you die again, [Y/N]. I can’t.” 

“This is what your nightmares have been?” you wondered. 

He fell silent again for a minute before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah.” 

“It’s not real, Dean,” you told him softly.

“It’s real enough for me,” he muttered, turning to face you. 

“And is this why you’ve been… acting differently towards me?” you asked hesitantly. 

He averted his gaze, hanging his head as he considered your question. “I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe, yeah. I don’t know.” 

“Dean,” you scolded with a sigh, plopping back down on the bed. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?” 

“Because everything’s fine!” he argued once again. 

“I’m not stupid, Dean!” you challenged. “I know you. I can see something's eating you alive and it’s fucking killing me to witness it. So please, tell me what the hell is going on.” 

“It’s just nightmares,” he lied, crossing his arms against his chest. 

“It’s more than nightmares!” you cried. “You’re withering away into nothing, Dean! I mean let’s face it! You’re practically a zombie nowadays with how little sleep you get, you’ve been acting like a puppy with separation anxiety, and let’s not forget how completely erratic you’ve been.”

He glared at you, jaw clenching as he decided whether or not to entertain this conversation. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t slept lately,” he admitted starkly. “But like I keep saying, I’m fine.” 

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying?” you sneered, glaring up at him. 

He rolled his eyes, averting his gaze to anywhere else as he shook his head. “No, but I’m getting tired of having this conversation all the time.” 

“Well too bad!” you yelled, abruptly standing from the bed. “Cause I’m tired of never having this conversation go anywhere! I’m tired of you brushing off the idea of you being cursed. I didn’t believe it at first either, but what the hell else could it be, Dean?” 

“Oh, come on!” he barked, running a hand over his face. “I see Sam got his hooks into you.” 

“Yeah, he did. And you need to listen to us.” 

“No, I really don’t,” he scoffed, starting to head to the door. 

“Even if it kills you?” you blurted out. 

“It’s not gonna kill me!” 

“God, look at you, Dean! It already is!” you argued, marching closer to him. “How would you feel if the situation were reversed?” 

He let out a sigh, pausing with his hand on the doorknob before turning back to you. “What?” 

“What if it were me going through all this instead of you? Would you let me get away with not even listening to you and Sam?” 

He narrowed his eyes at you, staring at you in silence for so long you expected him to turn away again. Instead, he let out a deep breath as he took a seat, gesturing for you to carry on. “Five minutes.” 

You almost went to argue before you thought better of it, knowing full well that if Dean never came around to the theory he would actually cut you off at the five minute mark. So, you did your best to recount the entire situation for him, reiterating what you, Sam, and Rowena had to say about it all in the hopes of getting through to him. By the time you finished, you knew it was well over five minutes, so you took Dean not interrupting you to be a good sign. 

“Okay,” he finally said with a small nod. “Well, I listened. Can I go now?” 

Your heart dropped to your stomach, anger and fear bubbling inside of you as you exploded. “God, you are unbelievable!”

“Well what do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “I just don’t believe that’s what’s going on.” 

“How can you not believe it?” you asked incredulously. “It’s obvious!” 

“Look, I said I don’t believe it, alright?” Dean snapped. “Why are you so hellbent on making this into some big fight? Just accept it.” 

“No!” you seethed. “I can’t just accept the fact that this could kill you. Especially not when there’s a way we could end this.” 

“No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “You can’t fix this, [Y/N/N]. You just can’t.” 

“I can!” you cried. “Just tell me.” 

“Tell you what?” 

“You know what,” you scolded. 

“This is so fucking ridiculous.” 

“Tell me anyway.” 

“Why the hell do you care so much?” he questioned exasperatedly. 

“Because I’m fucking terrified, Dean!” you exclaimed. “I’ve watched you grow more restless and anxious every day since the night we finished that case. I’ve seen the life drain from you more and more as sleep became nearly impossible for you. And I know it’s nearly impossible for you, because I have spent the last eleven nights sitting on that bed as you got terrorised by your own mind. I don’t care if you believe in this curse or not, Dean, because I do.” 

Dean stood quietly, absorbing what you said as the severity of the situation began to dawn on him. 

“I mean don’t you get it?” you asked sadly, cutting through the silence. “If something happens to you, if I lose you… that’s not something I can come back from.” 

Dean fell silent once more, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath, pacing around the room a little as he turned everything over in his head. 

“I’m scared, Dean,” you reiterated softly. “Please, just let us try to fix this.” 

“There’s some things I should tell you, then,” he admitted quietly after a moment of silence, taking a seat on the bed. 

“About what’s been happening?” you asked hopefully. 

He nodded, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “Yeah.” 

“Okay,” you said, moving his desk chair to take a seat. “I’m listening.” 

He took a bracing breath, taking a few minutes to build the courage to speak. “Well, you know I’ve been having nightmares.” 

“I do,” you agreed quietly. 

“It’s always the same one,” he admitted, keeping his gaze cast downwards. “I could never figure out why. It didn't make sense to me why it was always the same thing. So I finally talked to Sam about it, and he had a pretty good theory. But, you know me. I didn’t want to believe it because it came back down to that witch and this stupid fucking curse.” 

He let out a bitter laugh, pausing long enough for you to speak up. “What did he have to say about it?” 

“I tried telling myself I was fine,” he continued, ignoring your question. “I was fine, at first. At first it was just not sleeping well… but then other things started happening.” 

“Other things like what?” you wondered quietly. 

“Like my blood feeling like it’s on fucking fire,” he muttered, wiping at his face. “And my skin feeling like it-… like it’s being peeled off my goddamn bones, and my face feeling like it’s melting… and how I get this- this bubble inside my chest that feels like it’s either gonna burst or suffocate me and how it all only happens-” he stopped in his rambling, taking a deep breath before chuckling in disbelief. “God, it only happens when you’re not around, [Y/N].” 

“I-... what do you mean?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Oh, come on, [Y/N],” he said bitterly. “I know you’ve noticed. I text you more, I’m almost always calling you. I just- I get this… this unwavering panic inside me when you’re not around. I keep-... I swear to god I see you everywhere when you’re gone. I catch sight of you across the street, I smell your stupid shampoo when I’m alone, I hear your voice when no one’s there. I had an entire conversation with you and you weren’t even there,” he carried on, shaking his head as he briskly wiped away an angry tear. “God, I’m going fucking crazy,” he added with a manic chuckle. 

“You’re not crazy, Dean,” you said gently. 

“That night,” he started, staring at the wall across from him. “She was trying to get back someone she lost… someone she loved.” 

“Right,” you agreed. 

“They used to drown them, people they accused of being witches,” he continued slowly. 

“Yeah, it was pretty common. Sink, and you were innocent. Float, and you were guilty,” you pitched in. “But… what does that have to do with this?”

“I think they were innocent,” he said simply. “Whoever she lost… I think that’s how she lost them.” 

“Why do you think that?” you asked curiously. 

Dean cleared his throat, staring pensively at his hands once more. “The nightmares. It’s always… you always drown. I keep-... I can never save you.” 

“I don’t get-” you started to say, before he cut you off. 

“It’s how she lost who she loves, [Y/N],” he said curtly. “It makes sense for me to see the one I love go the same way.” 

“I-... what?” you asked, too stunned to think of anything else to say. 

“The dreams, the hallucinations, the- the way I’ve been feeling… I didn’t want to admit it, I still don’t, but I can’t… I mean I can only ignore it for so long, right?” he said, scoffing quietly. “Especially with you and Sam breathing down my neck about it.” 

“Ignore what, Dean?” you asked breathlessly, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“You,” he muttered. “They way I feel about you. The way I’ve always felt about you.” 

You didn’t dare respond, his words ringing in your ears as he fell silent, each of you lost in your own thoughts for a while. 

“I’ve always known that I love you, [Y/N/N],” he carried on, slowly meeting your gaze with glistening eyes. “But this… this curse, this whatever it is. God, it’s just made it all so much worse, and I knew. I knew it was you that my entire being was screaming out for but I couldn’t… I couldn’t admit it.” 

“Why not?” you asked shakily, feeling your tears starting to build. 

“How could I put that on you?” he asked, a few rogue tears slipping down his face. “You said it yourself, this thing is killing me. It’s gonna kill me, unless I get what I want, and given that that’s you, I’m calling it game over.” 

“No, Dean, it’s not,” you denied with a sniffle, cutting through your own stray tears. “You should’ve told me.” 

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, shrugging lightly as he looked back at his hands. “I told you now.” 

“Dean,” you sighed, wiping your face as you stood from your seat. “Do you trust me?” you asked, walking towards him.

“Of course I do,” he said quickly, almost offended by the question. 

“Okay, well, I’ll need you to trust me on this,” you replied, stopping just in front of where he sat. 

“Okay,” he said with a huff. 

“You gotta look at me, though,” you said, laughing softly. 

Sighing dejectedly, he slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips as he looked at you. 

You smiled softly at him, gently taking his face in your hands before wordlessly bringing your lips down to meet his. At first, neither of you really knew what was happening, and just when you thought to pull away you felt his lips moving against your own. His hands gripped your waist to hold you in place a moment longer before you each pulled away, staring silently at each other as you processed what just happened. 

“What, uh… what was that for?” Dean finally asked. 

“Well, it was either that or slapping some sense into you,” you said playfully. “Which I almost think you still deserve, because I can’t believe you honestly think I don’t love you back.” 

“What?” he asked, his grip on your waist loosening in shock before tightening once more. 

“You’ve had me since the day we met, Dean,” you told him softly, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“You actually…” he trailed off quietly, trying to focus his thoughts. “You actually love me, of all people?” 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.” 

“So I- well, I guess I could’ve saved a lot of trouble if I really did just tell you, huh?” he asked jokingly, laughing tightly. 

“I’ll give you hell for it tomorrow,” you teased, half serious. “For now, how about we try getting you back to sleep?” 

“Actually,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I have a better idea involving this bed.” 

You couldn’t help but snort a laugh, grinning fondly at him. “Oh, really?” 

He grinned back, laughing with you before taking on a more sombre tone. “Do you trust me?” 

“Always,” you said honestly. 

“Good,” he replied with a grin, laughing heartily at the shriek you let out when he tossed you on the bed. 

He stared down at you, a look you’ve never seen before painted on his face. “What?” you asked, giggling nervously.

“I love you,” he said earnestly, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. 

“I love you, too,” you replied shyly, grinning softly. 

He matched your grin, drinking you in a moment longer before crashing his lips upon yours once more. 

When Dean woke the next morning, it didn’t take long for a grin to spread across his face as he quickly realized two things. 

The first thing being that you, the love of his life, still remained tangled up in both his arms and the sheets, sleeping peacefully atop his chest. 

The second being that, for the first time in a total of thirteen days, he was able to sleep without being haunted by his nightmares. 

He felt you stir, and his grin widened as you nestled in closer, tightening your grip on him as you slept. He planted a kiss against your temple, pulling you in close as he blissfully settled in for another peaceful rest. 

Maybe witches aren’t so bad.

tagging: @roseblue373

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[sams-sass]

Hidden Desires

Hello! I decided to take a break from my series and write this fluffy one-shot full of mutual pining and idiots in love. I hope you enjoy!!

Summary: You and the boys are on a case where hidden desires *wink wink* become known in a very...personal way. 

Warnings: Language, kissing, light smut, implied sex, annoyed Dean, dreamy Sam

*I made up this monster and its lore because I’m cool like that

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

You stifled a yawn in the backseat of the Impala, your head rolling against the window. Sam still had his nose buried in the lore book, ignoring the world around him. Dean drummed softly on the steering wheel, his lips moving around the words of a familiar song. You slid forward on the seat and poked your head between them.

"Anyone else hungry?" You asked.

"You are literally always hungry," Dean answered, looking back at you over his shoulder.

"I know." You said dramatically. "I also just want to get out of this car! It's been like seven hours." You whined.

"I got you snacks," Sam said, looking up from his book for the first time.

"I ate them all." You said, looking down at your lap.

"You ate them all?" Sam said, turning in his seat to check for himself.

"Seven. Hours." You said loudly, clapping after each syllable.

"I am not judging here, but that was like 50 dollars worth of gas station snacks." He looked at you then, a slight smirk coming through his confusion.  

"Yeah, but Sammy. You got my favorite ones. You know I can not be held responsible around my favorite snacks." You said, a mocking tone in your voice.

"Fine!" Dean roared, clearly annoyed. "Can we please just get to where we are going? We are only an hour away." He pleaded.

"If I don't wither away by that point." You shot back. A low audible groan from Dean was the only answer you received.

An hour later, you pulled into the motel. You wrinkled your nose at the neon sign that read "vacancy." Yeah, no shit.

The room was a disgusting puke green with yellow floral wallpaper. You placed your duffel on your bed and looked at the sheets for any stains that were an absolute no. They looked surprisingly clean, and you settled down a little bit. You grabbed your key and made your way next door to knock on the boy's door. Sam opened it. He had stripped out of his flannel and jacket, showing off a loose-fitting black tee underneath. Whenever he lost some layers, it reminded you how large he was. Everything about him was just...bigger. You cleared your throat and walked into their room.

"You think these flowers were always this lovely shade of urine, or do you think that happened over time?" You asked sarcastically, running your finger over a tear in the wallpaper.

"I'm going to tell myself it was designed that way," Dean said, putting a six-pack of beer into the fridge.

After putting your stuff away and allowing your muscles to stretch, you climbed back into the Impala and were off into town. The air was darkening, the moon poking out from its slumber. You rested your chin in your hand, looking out the window and daydreaming of a life that could be. A life long forgotten and left behind.

The bar was like every other bar. Slightly dirty. Slightly smelly. But comfortingly predictable. The three of you found a table and sat together, looking over the menu. Dean got up and ordered you drinks to start, knowing you would order him a cheeseburger. You and Sam sat together. A spark of electricity sat low within your abdomen, being this close to him. You cleared your throat and looked over at Sam.

"Tell me about the case, Sammy." You instructed, leaning your elbows on the table.

"Uh, right. All the vics were found with their hearts ripped out, which would make me think werewolf, but the lunar cycle doesn't match. All I can find is that the vics were all single; no one had any significant other. It's the only thing connecting them at this point." Sam explained, his voice growing with confidence as he spoke.

"Huh. Interesting." You said, nodding your head. "We should talk to friends and family. See if we can find anything more about them being single." You suggested. You smiled at Dean as he handed you your drink.

"That's what I was thinking too." Sam nodded, sipping his beer. The tip of his pink tongue came out to lick away the residue of foam left on his lips.

"Great minds." You said softly, watching him smile.

You ordered your food and ate and talked together. There was a lightness to the boys tonight—a fresh case with questions still hanging in the air always made for a long evening. However, all traces of the case were forgotten when Sam said Christian Bale was the best batman. Dean could not stop the argument that came out of him. You listened briefly, but then your mind wandered as it often did. You ran the pad of your middle finger over the rim of your glass and rested your head in your hand. You thought of a home- a place far from monsters and pain and sorrow. A world where you felt safe and happy. And when you picture this world. You pictured Sam. His brown hair fell into his eyes as he leaned over a book he read for pleasure, not knowing how to kill a monster. His smile shines bright on any day, his soul feeling happy and whole instead of worn and used. You dreamed of a world where you could pull him to you. To finally feel his skin glide over yours. To let yourself fall into your most aching desires.

Dean's beer glass came down hard onto the table, interrupting your thoughts. You jumped slightly and then relaxed when you saw it was only him.

"Sam. You take that shit back right now." Dean said, pointing at Sam with his forefinger.

"What? Absolutely not. Twizzlers are amazing movie candy." Sam stood his ground.

"You are out of your fucking mind," Dean said, and even though neither one would admit it, they loved their banter together.

"It's not my fault you think skittles are the height of luxury." Sam challenged, taking another bite of his salad.

"I-no. Ya know what? I don't have to listen to this nonsense. I am getting another beer." Dean said, standing up and throwing his napkin on his plate. "And no. I will not be getting you one." Dean said before turning on his heel and walking away. Even though he was already leaving, you and Sam still heard the "fucking twizzlers," he mumbled to himself angrily.

"Hey, where were you just now?" Sam asked you, his hands pushing away his plate so he could turn to face you fully.

"Oh ya know...just getting lost in my imagination." You said with a smile. Sam smiled back at you.

"Anything good?" He asked.

"Sometimes I just like to picture a world where monsters don't exist and I can just...live. You know?" You said, twisting a cocktail straw in your fingers.

"Oh yeah...I get that." Sam agreed, his eyes looking down at the table. "And uh...well. What do you picture in this world?" Sam asked, his body leaning towards you. He was so close you could smell the beer on his breath. You looked down at his mouth for the briefest of seconds. You swallowed thickly and licked your lips. A small trickle of apprehension fell down your spine. How much could you really open up?

"Well, I picture easy mornings and long nights. Mornings when I wake to my own bed, in my own room full of things that make me happy. Nights where I relax into a comfortable couch that holds me in all the right places, and I never worry about what's lurking in the shadows. I imagine my own space that I get to claim and call mine. I picture all the comforts of normalcy. All the things that are out of our grasp." You said, your eyes unfocused as you trailed into a simpler world. Sam brought you back by taking your hand in his. You felt all the scars and callouses on his skin, reminding you of your harsh reality.  

"I think of all those things, too, Y/N." He said with a sad smile. Sam looked deeply into your eyes, his thumb making absentminded circles on your hand. He found himself getting lost in you again. He felt the physical ache in his chest from being so close to you. He wanted to hold you close and reassure you that this was his favorite version of you. Real and raw, with a touch of poetry mixed in. Sam desperately wanted to tell you he thought of all those things, but with you. He let those unspoken words hang in the air between you. He could hold on for a little longer.

Sam was looking at you so intensely that it made your heart drop. His hand still held yours, his thumb leaving a pattern. You swallowed and tried to steady your breathing. You couldn't tell him he was there with you in this fantasy world. You let that thought drift freely into the box you created for all things Sam and locked it away. You could hold on for a little longer.

Sam seemed to realize he was still holding your hand and quickly let go. He cleared his throat and broke eye contact. You pulled your hand back to yourself and moved your fingers, still feeling the fleeting touch of his skin on yours. --------------------- Dean knocked on the door three times, you and Sam standing behind him. You pulled on your shirt's collar, hating how your suit fit. The door opened, and a man in his mid-thirties stood before you. He was of average height and build, with wavy blond hair and blue eyes.

"Jake Turner?" Dean asked, his left hand flashing his fake badge.

"Yeah?" He answered, his eyes moving between the three of you.

"We have some questions about your friend. William Gardner." Dean said in his authoritative gravely voice.

"Oh, um, sure...come in," Jake answered, opening the door wider for you three to enter.

"How can I help, agents?" Jake asked, placing his hands into his back pockets. You almost felt bad for the guy. He was clearly nervous and thought you were actually F.B.I.

"Can you tell us anything about Will's behavior in the days leading up to his death? Was he agitated? Angry? Distant?" Sam asked, his head tilting to the side.

"No, he was normal. I saw him on Tuesday at the bar; he was talking about work and planning a trip up north once the seasons changed. I didn't notice anything different about him." He said, looking away and shaking his head. "Well, there is one thing I forgot about it until now." He started, looking back over to the three of you. "He mentioned he thought he saw Lucy," Jake said, his brow furrowing.

"Who's Lucy?" Dean asked.

"College girlfriend. She's the one who got away if you know what I mean. He never recovered from that." Jake said, pressing his lips together in a line.

"Thank you for your time." You said with a smile. ----------------------- You fell into the chair and rolled your neck, pressing your fingers into your sore shoulders. The day had been long. You were talking to friends and family of the victims, hearing their desperate plea for answers. You still needed to get to go to the coroner. You stretched your legs and let out a long sigh.

"Well, that didn't answer any questions," Dean said as he placed the takeout boxes on the table before you.

"No, it did not." You said, sitting up taller to look inside for your food. The case was confusing. The victims spread out among gender, race, age, background, career, sexual orientation...everything. Your overactive mind raced with possibilities and clues to try and make the puzzle pieces fit together. But nothing came.

"Here, Y/N." The sound of your name pulled you from your thoughts. Sam stood in front of you with a drink in his extended hand. As you took it from him, your fingers grazed his, and it sent you drifting back to last night when you couldn't stop the feelings that bubbled inside you.

"Thank you." You said, sending a smile Sam's way.

"Yeah." He answered, looking down at the floor. You watched as he sat in the chair next to you, the smell of him invading your nose. His long fingers undid the buttons of his shirt cuffs. Your body melted as you watched him roll the fabric up to his elbow, his muscular forearms showing.

You shook your head and looked down at your untouched food. Suddenly you were hungry for something else. Clearing your throat and shoveling food into your mouth, you let that thought be locked away among the others. ------------------- Your motel room was dark except for the small lamp on your nightstand. You had tried to sleep, but being unable to solve this case bothered you. A low rumble of thunder perked your ears, a small smile growing on your face. You yanked on a pair of sweatpants and opened the door. The air was thick and heavy with the ascending storm. You could taste humidity in the back of your throat as you sat on the concrete under the roof. The rain started quickly then. One, two, and three drops hit the parking lot's asphalt. Then an uncountable amount of rain rapidly fell from the sky, darkening the pavement and making it look slick. Mist from the water sprayed your skin, leaving goosebumps over you.

A door opened behind you, and you felt him before you saw him.

"Hey, Y/N." Sam's calm voice greeted you.

"Hi, Sam." You answered over your shoulder.

"What are you doing out here?" He asked, coming to sit next to you.

"I like thunderstorms." You said.

"Me too." Sam agreed. He watched as you turned your face closer to the mist and steam that bounced off the pavement. Your eyes closed, and the right side of your mouth turned up in a smile. Sam couldn't help but stare. His lips parted, and his breathing became slow and deep. Lightning flashed across the sky, and he watched as the light flickered across your face briefly. His fingers twitched in his lap, his skin begging to touch yours. The rain left tiny droplets across your exposed neck and arms. His tongue ran across his bottom lip, aching for the moisture covering your body.

You opened your eyes and looked over at Sam. He was staring at you, his face difficult to read. The yellow light above the door cast a glow around Sam, making the contours of his face seem deeper and giving his jaw and cheekbones even greater definition than average. You swallowed thickly and felt the slow burn through your core. Water droplets coated his forearms and neck, pooling in the notch in his throat. The front pieces of his hair were damp, dipping into his eyes from the weight.

"What else do you like, Sam?" You asked, leaning back on one arm. He paused, looking away for a moment.

"Books." He said finally.

"Well, we all know that." You said with a smile. He smiled, too, tilting his head down.

"I like honey in my tea." He said after some thought.

"Me too." You practically whispered.

"What else do you like, Y/N?" His voice was thick, and you felt the pull in your chest from how his tongue rolled your name around his mouth.

"I like the way I feel when I am with you." You said in honesty. You watched as Sam's face fell, his eyes going wide.

Suddenly a loud slap of thunder echoed across the sky, making you and Sam both jump. A soft chuckle left your lips, and you nervously tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. Sam pushed himself into a crouching position and held out his hand for you. He helped you up, and you found yourselves face to face once more.

"Goodnight, Y/N." He whispered into the space between your bodies.

"Sweet dreams, Sam." You whispered back, letting yourself have one last look at him before retiring to your motel room. --------------------- Loud banging woke you up, your face rolling into the pillow.

"Y/N!" You heard Dean's deep voice call. You stumbled out of bed, not caring you were just in short shorts and a tank top and ripped the door open.

"What?" You mumbled.

"Get dressed. We got a new vic." Dean said, shoving a cup of coffee into your hand.

"Mmm." You hummed in agreement and closed the door with your foot.

Sam had to ball his hands into fists to stop himself from staring at your body. Your shorts and tank top didn't leave much to the imagination, and Sam suddenly felt restricted in his clothes. He bit his lip to keep himself from smirking at your disheveled state. Hair a mess, eyes half open, and lips puffy from sleep. He so badly wanted to grab your face to his and finally let his desires take control. But he wouldn't. He once again pushed past his feelings and let logic have its way. -------------------- You pulled up to the local college and double-checked the map, ensuring you were at the right house—sorority girls. You could hear the cheering from Dean's inner monologue. The house was huge and old. Massive white pillars and brick complimented the outside. Windows were abundant. Flowers sat nicely on the porch. You knocked this time, thinking the girls might be more apt to speak to you.

The door opened, and a girl stood in front of you. She was what most people thought when they heard "Sorority." She was beautiful. Long blond hair fell to her waist. Her eyes were a clear sky blue lined perfectly with eyeliner and mascara. She wore pink athletic wear, matching leggings, and a crop top that showed her slim waist and toned muscles.

"Good morning." You smiled. You saw her look at all three of you, her eyes lingering on the boys for a little longer than you would like.

"Can I help you?" She asked, her brow furrowed in question.

"We have some questions about Allison Lutz." You said gently, showing the girl your fake badge.

"Oh, yeah. Ally. Of course. Most of us are still here." She said, and you made your way inside. The girls were all together in the main living space. They all looked upset, some more than others.

"We just want to know a little more about Ally. Anything that might help. Was she acting differently? Was she scared, anxious, or distant? Anything." You asked, looking around the room at each girl. One girl stood up; she was also beautiful and looked similar to the girl who opened the door.

"I was her roommate. I could probably answer the most questions." She said, walking over to you.  

"Ok, what's your name?" You asked, taking out your notebook.

"Molly." She answered, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

"Hi, Molly. Let's talk." You said and pulled her to the side for more privacy. Molly told you about Allison's schedule and her friends outside the sorority. She told you that Allison was scared she was failing chem but that she was an excellent student and worked hard.

"Ok, great, thank you." You nodded as you wrote down some of what she said. You decided to throw a hail mary pass. Something was bothering you about this case.

"Molly, did Allison say anything about a past relationship or seeing someone from her past again?" You asked her, hoping she could finally give some answer. Molly looked away, thinking for a moment.

"No, all she talked about was Ben," Molly said after a beat.

"Ben?" You asked.

"Yeah, Ally is...was...totally in love with him. Anytime she wasn't talking about him, she was daydreaming about him." Molly said, and you wrote it down in your notebook.

"Ok, thank you, Molly. Could I get your number in case something comes up?" You asked, and she nodded, reciting her cell to you.

You walked back over to the boys, who were talking to some of the girls. You could tell they were getting about as far as you had gotten. Sam and Dean exchanged a look before glancing back at you. You knew that look, the "we aren't going to find anything here look." Thanking the girls for their time and information, you returned to the Impala.

------------------- She sat huddled with the rest of them. Her rouse fooled even the infamous Winchesters. She watched as you talked to Molly, and a smirk settled over her lips. There was nothing Molly could tell you, and she knew it. She expected hunters would pick up on her trail. What she didn't expect to see...was how he looked at you. Sam Winchester. The once-longed-for Boy King, who had his fair share of demons in his past, looked at you with such longing even she felt it in her blood. She watched as he bit his lip when you started speaking, eyes lingering on your frame. He licked his lips when you brushed past him, chest filling with a heavy breath. An idea formed in her head quickly. She would rid herself of at least two hunters tonight. --------------------- You sat on your bed, your legs crossed under you. Papers and folders full of crime scene photos and lab reports covered your bed. Half-open lore books were spread around as you angrily flipped through the pages. What was it? Why were these people being targeted? You grabbed the last book, flipping back to the section about shapeshifters. An exaggerated sigh left your mouth, but then, you saw it.

Epithymitós, also known as Erastis. Literal Translation: Desire Eater Origin: Greece A subspecies of the Shapeshifter. They stalk the lovesick—those who long for another, whether the feeling is reciprocated or not. They take the form of their victim's love interest, making them feel like they can finally be together. Then, when the victim is at their most vulnerable and their desire is at its highest, they strike. They rip out and consume the hearts of the lovesick. Feasting on the high their victims felt just as they died.

"Oh, my god." You said as you bolted out of your motel room. You banged your fist loudly against the boy's door, Dean answered.

"I figured it out." You said, pushing past him to walk into the motel room.

"The case?" He asked, standing beside you and looking at the book over your shoulder.

"It's an Epithymitós. Literal translation-" You started, pointing to the text.

"Desire eater." Dean finished for you, his face turning quickly to look at you. You stepped away so you could look him in the eye, a smile growing on your face. Suddenly it dawned on you. Your eyebrows stitched together as you looked around the room.

"Where is Sam?" You asked, turning back to Dean.

"I thought he was with you?" Dean said, his voice growing with confusion.

"No..." You trailed off, shaking your head.

"Oh no." Dean's face fell as realization hit him.

You cleared all the takeout boxes and beer bottles off the table in one swipe of your arm. Dean placed a large map of the surrounding area on the table, leaning forward onto his hands. You stood beside him, looking at any site where Sam could be.

"My guess is the monster is trying to get all of us." You assessed.

"I agree," Dean answered, his finger sliding over the map.

"Ok, according to the lore, if needed, they will take the victim to an isolated location." You read directly from the book.

"Ok, and we already said it probably wants us too...so it would pick somewhere we could figure out..." Dean trailed off, leaning closer to the map.

"There!" You pointed to a scattering of factories on the outskirts of town.

"I saw those when we drove in. Not many are in use anymore."

"Let's go." You said, already charging for the door.

Dean pulled out of the parking lot quickly. You and Dean argued about the fastest way to get there the entire drive until Dean practically slid into the gravel. The two of you collected what you needed from the trunk and looked for any clue as to where Sam was being held. The space was massive. About 30, maybe more, abandoned buildings sat before you. You split up, Dean taking one side of the buildings and you taking the other.

Your mind raced as you looked for him—Sam's hidden desire. That's what had gotten you all into this mess, to begin with. Who could it be? You tried to shove down the anger and pain that prickled your heart. Maybe it was Jess. He honestly didn't get over her. How could he? What had happened was awful. You licked your lips and pressed on, putting all feelings of jealousy and confusion into the box for Sam.

After about a half hour of searching, you heard the low sounds of grunts coming from the back of one of the buildings. You quietly paced toward the sound, your gun sturdy in your hands. Rounding a corner, you almost let out a gasp.

Sam sat tied to a chair, his hair falling into his face as he desperately pulled against the ropes. His muscles bulged against the thin fabric of his t-shirt, sweat dripping off his pointed nose. Suddenly, as if someone slapped you, you remembered you needed to help him.

"Oh my god, Sam!" You whisper yelled, running over to him. His head shot up, eyes looking at you with confusion.

"Y/N?" His voice was perplexed.

"Yes, Sam. I'm here." You assured him, placing your gun in the waist of your jeans so you could undo the ropes.

"No, get away from me," Sam said, his shoulders backing away from you.

"What?" You asked, almost hurt. "Sam. It's me." He opened his mouth, but you cut him off. "What were you thinking? Are you out of your fucking mind? We are on a case where we don't know what we are dealing with, and you are just gonna go fuck off with some rando?" You asked, your hands twisting the knots.

"No, it's not like that," Sam said, still unsure.

"Oh, I would love to hear this bullshit explanation!" You started, you couldn't get the ropes, and it was really starting to piss you off.

"Y/N-" Sam tried to interrupt you.

"But lucky for you, I figured it out, and as soon as I get a silver slug in this bitch-we out. I mean, really, Sam. What could possibly-" You stopped dead in your tracks. Your eyes glued to...yourself. You walked through a doorway. You watched as your hips swung and your hands played with your hair. You were wearing nothing but a tank top and underwear.

Your breath stopped, and you glanced back at Sam, who looked like he was about to explode from embarrassment.

"Oh." It was all you could get out.

"Y/N...I..." Sam babbled, his eyes moving quickly between you and...other you. Fake you sauntered over and stopped right in front of you. A devilish grin sat on her lips.

"Don't tell me you didn't know..." She said—her voice like yours but breathy and low.

"I..." You started, your voice was shakey and nervous sounding.

"I..." Fake you said in a mocking tone. Her laughter filled the dark room.

"I'm you, ya know?" She began. She ran her fingers over Sam's shoulders. You watched Sam pull away from her touch, his nose wrinkling in disgust.  

"I know what you think, what you feel. I can see your memories. They are all here for the taking. I know how desperately you want him. I hear your pathetic sobs in the shower. I feel the longing ache in your chest. I can give it to him. I can give him everything you are too scared to take." You felt the embarrassment and anger growing inside you. An unstoppable cocktail of emotion swirling inside you.

"Shut up." You said through gritted teeth. You couldn't look at Sam. You couldn't let yourself see his face. All you could do was wait for Dean and try and reach for your gun. Your hands slowly made their way up to your jeans, your eyes never leaving the monster.

"What are you going to do about-hey!" Fake you snapped. She quickly reached around you and yanked your gun out of your waistband. A small laugh left her mouth. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and shook her head in a tisk tisk tisk motion.

"Oh man, that would have sucked for me!" She threw the gun across the room. It landed with a metallic clang that made both you and Sam flinch.

"Now...let's have some fun, shall we!" She said, biting her bottom lip.

"I like being you...but...since we already saw his desire..." She trailed off, closing her eyes. Suddenly, Sam stood before you. He wore his suit, the black one that made your knees weak. The buttons on his shirt were undone down to his sternum, and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He wore no undershirt giving you just a glimpse at his expansive chest. You heard a sharp pull of Sam's (the real one) breath into his lungs. Fake Sam took a step towards you, his fingertips tracing your arm.

"Don't you touch her!" Real Sam growled. His body yanked against the ropes so harshly that the chair scratched the floor.

"Do you know how bad he wants this?" Fake Sam asked you, his eyes scanning yours.

"He wishes for you in the night. He craves your touch. For just one moment of pure impulsivity, not thinking or caring about the consequences." Fake Sam's voice was low and heavy in his chest. You recoiled from his touch, closing your eyes and breathing. You could see why so many people had fallen for this. It would be so easy to give in. You didn't know what was real anymore. You wanted to believe so badly. Was this just a trick? Your mind was swimming with unanswered questions and confusion. You still couldn't make yourself look at the real Sam. You didn't know what you would do if this all were a lie. Did Sam really want you as badly as you wanted him?

A shot rang through the room. Your body curled into itself from the surprise. Fake Sam dropped to the ground before you, a hole in his chest right where his heart would be. You whipped your head around to see Dean, his gun still raised.

"Thank fuck, that's over. Am I right?" Dean said, taking out his pocket knife to cut Sam free from the ropes. Neither you nor Sam made a sound. Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulders, looking him over for injuries. Sam assured him he was fine. Dean then turned to you, his hands taking your face between them.

"You good, kid?" He asked. You could feel the silver ring on his finger against your skin, and you knew his touch had two purposes.

"Yeah, I'm good, Dean." You smiled at him.

"Good!" Dean said. He looked over at "Sam" on the ground. "Well, this should be an awkward drive back." Dean assessed, pressing his lips into a line.

He wasn't lying. Although the drive was only about five minutes, it felt like days. The clock never seemed to move, and you swore everyone could hear your pounding heart. You twisted your fingers in your lap, your eyes staring at the back of Sam's head. You needed to know. Your overactive mind couldn't handle leaving everything that happened in the past. You knew that you desired him—more than anything. Could he feel the same? Could it really be that simple?

Dean put the car in park, and you basically bolted from the car. You closed your door and lay against the wood. You took large breaths into your lungs. Licking your lips, you ran your fingers through your hair and began to pace.

A knock on your door made your world stop. You slowly opened the door, your eyes finding his hazel ones.

"I can't just leave this." He said quickly as if he didn't know what else to say.

"I can't either. Come in." You said, taking a step back.

"Sam...I-"

"Everything was true." Sam blurted out. "Well, at least from my end. Everything said was true. I can't stop thinking about you. You are the only thing I ever want. I wake up every day wondering how I can make you smile. I go to sleep every night counting the ways you stopped my heart. I am constantly fighting against myself, telling myself that it's too risky to care for you the way I do. It's too risky to give into my desires because if anything ever happened to you-." Sam stopped for a moment. His hands raked through his hair. He looked flushed. He grabbed your shoulders then, looking you directly in the eye. "Everything in me wants everything in you. The good. The bad. The bliss. The heartache. I can't keep pushing these feelings down. You are the light for me, Y/N. All I could ever need rests in you." Sam gently tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

You just stared at him, your mouth slightly agape. Your breathing became ragged, and you didn't know how your heart wasn't beating through your shirt; it was racing so fast. His hands slid up your shoulders to hold your face in his hands. His thumb stroked your cheek lovingly.

"Now would be a great time for you to say something." He whispered, a small smile on his perfect lips. You let out a breath and smiled, licking your lips.

"Sam, there are no words to describe how you make me feel. Everything said was true for me too. I do ache for you. I long for you. I cry for you almost every night. You invade every thought that I have. Waking or dreaming, it is only you that I see. I want everything with you, too, Sam. I can't deny it any longer. You're the one for me." You said, your hands wrapping around his waist to hold him close.

"We can have everything," Sam said. His face was coming closer to yours. "Except you don't have to cry for me." He whispered, his breath tickling your skin.

"Yes, I do." You said before Sam gently brushed his lips against yours, his mouth hesitant initially. You pushed up onto your tippy toes to deepen the kiss. His hands trailed down your body, caressing the skin under your shirt. You twisted your hands into his hair, feeling the strands between your fingers. It didn't take long for the kiss to become hungry and raw. Your mouth opened to his exploring tongue. Your breath mingled, the pool of desire in your core leaking throughout your body.

"Why did we wait so long?" Sam mumbled before lifting you off the ground easily, his body pinning yours against the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist. Your nails dug into the fabric of his shirt, pulling and yanking until he took it off. Fingers traced the contours of his body. You committed every dip to memory. Every ridge. Every scar. Another letter in your story. His lips left yours, only to attach to your neck and chest. His nose moved the fabric of your flannel out of the way, so his mouth could taste more of you.

"I want you so bad." You whispered into his ear.

"Fuck, Y/N," Sam said before ripping your top from your body. He fell to his knees before you, placing you back onto your feet. His mouth was kissing and sucking your waist above your jeans. You pulled on his hair, letting him know you wanted more. His long fingers quickly undid the button on your pants, and before you knew what was happening, his tongue was closing around your covered core. You moaned at the heat from his mouth. You felt the pulse grow between your legs.

Sam gathered you into him again, his strong arms carrying you to the bed. He placed you under him, caging you in with his forearms. His hands lovingly pushed the hair away from your forehead.

"Promise me we will handle things together from now on." He said, his voice soft.

"I promise. It's you and me." You assured him, looking deeply into his hypnotizing eyes.  

"You and me." He nodded in agreement.

You smiled before pulling his perfect mouth back onto yours. ----------------------- To the untrained eye, things looked the same-Dean driving. Sam hunched over a book in the passenger seat. And you, surrounded by snacks and books in the backseat. However, things could not be more different. You and Sam were an unstoppable force. Your love for one another changed your lives. You were his. Completely. He was yours. Totally. When he looked at you, you never felt more in control and vulnerable at the same time. He was there to catch you when your mind took you into the highest of unknowns. His strong yet gentle hands pulled you up from the pits of your darkest days. You showed him a forgiveness and understanding that he had never known. He was your always. You were his forever.

You leaned forward, placing your chin on the seat between the boys.

"Hey, Dean..." You started.

"Y/N...I swear to god..." Dean warned, his finger coming up and eyes closing in premature annoyance.

"I'm hungry." You said flatly.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Dean screamed. The car filled with the three of you yelling over one another. 

The waning sunlight fell over the Impala as Dean pulled into a diner.

Tagging: @thinkinghardhardlythinking @watermelonlipstick @lacilou  @kingofthetwats @bellabean5591 @coldgothapricotalmond @briskywalker @gia-25 @reconsidering-my-life-choices @paryl @cutesymrsinuyashagamer @katrynec @arctusluna @samfreakingwinchester @idreamofplaid @zeppette @katherine-ann1 @maliburenee @nancymcl @babymxxse​

[moonlight-rider25]

Winchester Girl. Chapter 1

Warnings: Rated PG13, swearing, smoking, fluff, angst

Present day, Massachusetts 11:49pm.

…"Well, aren't you two a sight for sore eyes."

You take a deep breath and swing the door open for the two towering men to slip in between. Latching it behind you, you exhale heavily and slowly turn towards them, they both stand with a solemn look on their face as they stare back at you.

"Glad to see your two smiling faces…" You say sarcastically as you cross your arms over your chest.

"...So what's the occasion, boys?"

Sam wipes his hand over his mouth and begins to stir anxiously before you. Dean keeps his eyes set on you, hands deep in his pocket with his usual stoic face resting in place.  You roll your eyes and turn towards the doorway of the small kitchen; adjacent to the living room. 

It wasn't much and it sure wasn’t fancy, but it was yours and you were proud of it. Left to you by your gran, you couldn't complain of the slightly run down two bedroom home you had once grown up in with your mom and sister. Strutting over to the fridge, you swing the door open and closed with a smack. Returning only a moment later with two beers in hand. You cautiously extend them out towards the boys and they take them without a word while you seat yourself down against the fake leather sofa. They pop the covers off, resting them on the China cabinet nearby, and take long sips; still refusing to utter a word. You peer towards the TV and grasp your vodka soda, from the side table. You take a long sip from the cracked, repurposed KFC straw facing away from them.

"..Gonna make me drink alone?" You ask coyly, still looking towards the small flat screen.

Finally you hear their footsteps approach from the back of the sofa and watch Sam ease into the old, tan, oversize recliner, somehow still making it seem small.  Leaving Dean to perch uneasily at the opposite end of the sofa by your feet.

You sip from the straw without meeting their precarious looks and clear your throat. 

"Look I got a 9 to 5 to get to in the morning, and PTA after school, can we please skip the guessing games, and get to the point?" 

Sam rubs his brow as Dean stares blankly down towards the coffee table and they stir anxiously. 

"We didn't mean to intrude, Y/N, we just need a little help on this one.." Sam finally utters apologetically.

"No shit, I assumed that much. Why else would you two lumberjacks show up unannounced at my door?" 

You state coldly reaching down towards the coffee table for your pack of L&M reds. You pluck one from the pack and toss it back on the table. You place the slim white cigarette between your lips and feel around your pants pockets for your lighter. Fishing down into the crease of the couch, only coming up with stale goldfish and matchbox cars; you sit up and reach further into the gritty couch crevice.  Finally hitting a familiar feeling with your fingertips, you peer up to spy Dean's hand extended with his shiny metal zippo lighter ready, inches from your cigarette. You reach over and puff eagerly, lighting it on the flame and peer up into his glimmer green eyes for a brief second before sitting back against the couch crossing your legs again and exhaling slowly.

"When are you gonna quit those, Y/N?..." Dean asks, snapping the lighter closed and dropping it back in his jacket pocket. 

"Oh, save it.." You say after taking another long inhale.  "...100% of non-smokers die too… especially in this line of work." 

Dean stares daggers at you as you flick the end of the cigarette into the ashtray. You boldly meet his look again, bringing the butt of the cigarette to your lips and sucking at it again.

"Vamp nest." He says coldly in his deep intimidating voice. "A big one…" He says craning his head over to eye Sammy. 

"They, uhh, apparently have been targeting young women…" Sam adds, once meeting Dean's look.

He swallows and brushes the stray hairs from his face as he stutters to get the words out.

"Where?" You ask, exhaling a vast white cloud of smoke from your mouth directly towards; Dean who grimaces.

"About a day's drive from here.." Sam answers with a nod.

You flick the ash into the ashtray beside you again and turn back towards the TV.

"..Think it can wait till tomorrow morning?" You ask with another puff thick in your throat.

It was Thursday night, you were mom free Friday after 8am to Sunday at 5pm. Sam and Dean both know and most of the time, respectfully understand this; after all, it was obviously the biggest reason you weren't as active in hunting, as you wanted to be. 

Sam remains silent, nodding in his seat after taking a long sip of his Bud Weiser.  Dean looks back towards you, and you slowly meet his eye, taking a sip from your straw.

"It'll have to be, won't it?" He says with a devilish look in his eyes.

You crack a sarcastic smile through the straw in your mouth and roll your eyes as you turn back towards the TV. 

You finish your butt and stub it out, leaning forward on the couch before getting up and making your way towards the linen closet to grab sheets, pillows, and blankets for them. You hear them mumble low in their thick deep voices, not as quietly as they probably imagine; and make sure to slam the closet door shut, signaling your return. Your arms full of bedding for them, you see Dean relaxed against the back of the couch with his feet kicked up on the coffee table. His arm outstretched against the top of the plush sofa where you had just been. They both turn towards you with curious looks on their faces.

"So, one in the recliner, one on the pullout…" you say slowly, rounding the couch. "...That or you can share the pullout…" you add through a smile, placing the bundle of blankets on the couch.

They both crack a smile and you look around trying to make sure everything is in order for them.

Dean eyes you again with a daring look; “...Sammy can’t bunk with you?” He says with a snicker.

You glare towards him with a warning look.

"Feel free to use the shower…help yourself to snacks.." You gesture towards the kitchen.

"You uhh… you got any of those little foil wrapped things? …come in a two pack?" Dean asks with a smirk.

You exhale a quiet sigh, biting back a smirk, and watch as Sam tries to hide his own smile creeping across his face.

"Pop Tarts?" You ask through a snicker.

Dean's face lightens up as he allows his smile to grow across his lips.

"Yeah! Those little devils are delicious!" He tells you, straightening up against the couch a bit.

You allow the laugh to linger in the air as you stride towards the kitchen. You reach up into the cabinet and grab the two boxes perched on the faded painted shelf; brown sugar for Sam and Chery for Dean. You swing the cabinet shut and walk back out into the living room, kicking a few action figures to the side in the process. You hold up the two foil covered packages and they both beam a smile in your direction. You toss them their pop tarts, hearing them eagerly tear into their packages as you head for the bolt lock on the front door. You fasten it and dip back into the kitchen against the doorway swatting at the light switch on the wall. You hear Dean's eager hum as he indulges into the breakfast snacks; while reaching for the metal cord on the lamp beside the couch. You grab the remote from the coffee table and toss it in Sam's lap, who's also enjoying the child's snack. 

"Don't stay up too late," you tell them, brushing your fingers through Sam's thick head of hair as you trek back towards the hall to your room. "Finns an…"

"..An early riser, I know… we know!" Dean remarks through his mouthful.

“...God, you need a haircut..” You joke towards Sam.

You walk past your doorway and stand quietly for a moment watching Finley sleep soundly, with the gentle blue hue of his dinosaur nightling on his bed stand. You pace back towards your room and quietly shut your door behind you before slipping into an old oversized tee shirt, and drop your bottoms to the floor. You plug your phone in, and place it on your nightstand before rotating the little knob on your lamp; the room growing dark. The hushed murmur from the TV in the living room, fills the air as you roll over in bed and sigh a deep exhale of relief. 

He chuckles a bit and you trail away from the two down the hall.

As much as you hate to admit it, there is a huge sense of relief knowing the two Winchester brothers sit out in your living room tonight.  Not a goddamn thing to fear; burglar, ax murderer, or the creatures that haunt most people's nightmares; would be getting very far into your house tonight. You recall a time where you spent every night with that kind of reassurance… but it had been years since then.  Regardless of how many nights alone you spent in your bed reminding yourself not to worry of things that may go bump in the night…your past had a funny way of always showing back up at your worn out New England door. Little did those tall handsome Winchester boys know that a little part of you each night was always hoping they would... 

~~~~~

The sun peeks through the faded shades as you hear the little peppering footsteps tear down the wooden hallway. You roll over in your bed peering at the alarm clock 5:12 am glows back at you. You sigh, turning back over and groaning against your pillow.

“Oh nice, he let me sleep in 12 minutes today..”

You pull the blankets up over your head and sigh again trying to shake the sleep from your head…then your heart drops into your stomach 

"Ahhhh!" 

The blood curdling scream that haunts your nightmares. You burst from your bed and rush towards the living room, completely forgetting your attire and the fact that the two Winchester boys are…were still sleeping in the living room. 

"Uncle Dean!" Finn yells, sprinting across the living room floor. 

"Finn! No!" You shout rushing towards him, but it's too late; he lands feet first in the middle of the pull out, where Dean's limp half covered body lays. Dean jumps, as Finn's body lands in the middle of him.

He grunts and coughs rolling over and sitting up, eyeing you who stands in nothing more than your old tee shirt, barely covering your butt.

"...Sorry!" You say lifting Finn off of the impressively gorgeous looking man and placing him on the floor beside you.

Sam, hearing the commotion stirs awake from his rest and tosses the blankets from his huge torso sitting up in the beaten up recliner. His bare chest and giant shoulders, glistening as he reaches over for Finn.

"Heeey, buddy!" Sam says through his sleep ridden voice.

Finn scampers over and crawls up into Sam's lap, perching himself on the large flat arm of the old tan chair. 

"Oh, jeeze, watch your feet bud…" Sam says adjusting the blankets over his lap.

You curl your lips up into a tightly pinched smirk and cover your mouth realizing how exposed you are standing with your back to Dean.

"What are you guys doing here?" Finn asks in his innocent little voice.

"Uhhhg.. were, we uhhh…" Sam stutters looking from yours and Dean's face for an answer.

Dean rolls over in his spot sitting up and batting his eyes, still not sure as to what the hell is going on around him.

"Uncle Sam and Dean are just in town on business, so they stopped by to say hello!" You lie coyly through your best mom face.

Finns face peers up at you with a slight scowl. 

"Why can't they ever visit when I'm not in school?" He asks with a frown.

"Uncle Sam and Dean's work is everyday, buddy.” You try to console the sad little face peering up at you. “They don’t get weekends and vacations like you do..." You add, turning on your feet to head towards the kitchen. You grab a pillow from Dean's bed and playfully smack him with it as you walk by. 

"Why don't you go get dressed and let Uncle Sam and Dean clean up the living room. You call over your shoulder heading towards the kitchen.

You turn the faucet on, and dump the coffee grounds from the day before.  You hear Finn's footsteps putter back up the hall and hear the groans of the men stirring. 

"You guys got about 90 seconds to make yourself decent before he's back out here…" you call from the kitchen. 

The water trickles into the dingy coffee maker and you grab the hand towel nearby, eyeing the many empty beer bottles placed on the counter..

"..We're decent.." You hear Dean argue in a slurred groan. 

"Mmmm… I'm sure.." You mumble to yourself through a smile, tossing handfuls of empties into the recycling.

They clink against each other and you hang the hand towel back up on the slim metal rack before shutting the cabinet door.

"...More decent that you are…’mommy’…" a deep growl of a voice echoes from behind you.

Spinning around, you see Dean standing in the kitchen doorway in his jeans and Grey t shirt; his hair messed a bit from sleeping. You scowl at him backing up against the kitchen sink and flash him a sarcastic smirk. 

"Sorry, I was too busy saving your.. ‘pitched tents’ from major injury…" you tell him, biting back a cackle. "...my bad!" You snicker.  

He looks you up and down leaning against the wooden doorway with a thick smirk on his face. Crossing his arms, he allows his eyes to linger up and down your long legs. You spin around choking on your laughter a bit and reach up on your toes towards the cabinets quickly realizing your oversized tee... is not over sized enough. You lower yourself back down, inching carefully towards him before standing directly between him and the small space between him and the door frame.

"...Cups are up there.." You tell him, reaching up and ruffling his bed head. “..Help yourself.." 

You mutter quickly walking behind the back of the couch by Sam who's buttoning up his flannel.

You hear Dean mutter something under his breath, as you pass by Finn in the hall who's proudly wearing a superman cape over his ninja turtle housecoat.

"Is she wearing pants?!" Sam asks surprised.

"Nah..nope.." Dean answers before he's greeted by Finn's wonderful outfit choice.

You pop a pair of loose Nike shorts on and fly back out past the couch again. Dean still propped up against the doorway of the kitchen.

"You make a better door than a window.." you tell him, slipping again between him and the wooden frame. 

He snickers but says nothing else as you reach into the freezer and pluck a couple frozen Waffles from the box. You plug the toaster in and drop them down into the metal slats before pressing down the handle.  Out in the living room you hear the giant plastic tote of action figures; crash onto the floor.

"Finn!" You sigh heavily, reaching up in the cabinets for three mugs. "You need to make sure to clean all those up before school today, hear me?" 

You grab the still dripping coffee pot and pour the mugs full. A small 'mmmhmm' coming from the living room as you wipe up the coffee splatter.  You hand Dean his brimming cup of black coffee and grab the cream from the fridge adding a dash to yours and Sam's mug. 

"Uhg, thanks..Y/N…you didn’t have to do..." Sam says with a slight smile as you hand him his mug.

You sip eagerly from your own cup and swipe your pack of cigs off the coffee table from last night, shooting him a knowing look.  He smiles and nods as you pop a cigarette between your lips and peer around the living room for the remote you tossed in Sam's lap. He nods with a grunt through his mouthful of coffee and reaches beside the recliner, handing the small black TV control to you.  

"Thanks!" 

You aim it at the small screen and flash on Finns current favorite Netflix show. You swipe the butt out of your mouth and step over towards Finn who's all too busy with ‘Thor’ at the moment. 

"Keep it down, babe. It’s still early for Uncle Sam and Dean, okay?" You tell him, pressing a kiss on the top of his golden brown hair. 

He nods and begins clashing the plastic action figure into an unwilling opponent and you pop the butt back in your mouth. You realize once again your without a lighter;

"Fuck!" You blurt out.

"That's a bad word, mommy." Finn tells you plainly.

"Yes, it is baby, I'm sorry.." You rush back towards the kitchen where Dean has moved enough out of the way of the door and light the propane stove. It ticks a few times before igniting and you crane your head down towards the flame inhaling to light your cigarette on the hot blue wave.

"Yeah…that seems safe.." Dean sarcastically remarks watching you. 

He takes a long sip of coffee and you remember the Waffles in the toaster. As if on instinct; they pop up and you grab a plastic superhero plate from the clean dish rack and plop the Waffles onto the plate. Along with a cup of apple juice and the smallest fork you can find in the utensil drawer; you place them at the table and call over to Finn for breakfast. 

Finley darts through the kitchen with Iron man and Thor battling midair.  He scoots sideways into his seat, making sure to prop them up and watch him as he eats. 

You turn towards the counter, cigarette in hand gulping back the rest of your coffee and pour another cup.

 "Mommy!" 

"Right, syrup…" 

You turn back towards the fridge and grasp onto the sticky bottle of 'real Vermont syrup' clanking it onto the table next to Finn. 

"Not too much!" You remind him as you strut back out of the kitchen. 

Dean takes a seat at the kitchen table with Finn and you hear a muffled; "Whoa buddy, that's enough..don't ya think?"

Sam folds the bedding up and meets your eye. 

"Oh, don't worry about that!" You tell him, taking a long puff. "I gotta throw it in the wash first." 

You hold the cigarette between your teeth and reach out over Dean's pull out filling your arms with the mismatched linens. Sam hesitantly hands you the 'neatly folded' sheet and you smile through your cigarette. 

"You guys hungry?" You ask as you exhale making your way up towards the hall, throwing the pile of laundry in your arms onto the floor in front of the washing machine.

"Uhhh, no were…were fine, thanks Y/N.." Sam says shyly.

"I got more poptarts." You say walking back out to the living room. 

Sam chuckles a bit, shaking his head; you both turn towards the kitchen hearing Dean's chair screech against the floor as he hears you mention 'pop tarts'. 

"Well…I'm fine.." Sam adds with a chuckle. 

You take a final long puff from your L&M and snuff it out in the ashtray. 

"Sorry Sam, I'd make you an omelet or something if I had the time.." You tell him apologetically.

You stop for a moment, crossing your arms and stare up at the tall man before you; taking in all the little details you remember…

His brown hair framing his face, his eyebrows flustered up when he talks, his little thin lips puckered as he listens to you speak, and the faint stubble trying desperately to grow in around his mouth and chin.  He's got a few more pronounced wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, but other than that all you can see is the man you once fell in love with.  

Sam's eyes dart back and forth as his smile falls away from his face then reappears again.

"It's fine, seriously Y/N..were fine."

He tries to meet your eye, showing his sincerity.

"Fine, and dandy!" Dean mutters loudly through a mouthful of pop tarts from the kitchen.

Both you and Sam laugh a bit hearing Dean in the other room. Sam clears his throat a bit and sets his mug down on the coffee table and exhales with a slight rock in his step before meeting your eyes again.

“Well you look, uh, good.. Been taking care of yourself?” he asks hesitantly, stuffing his hands down into his jeans pockets. 

You pause a moment, craning your head to the side a bit as you watch him shift uncomfortably.

“...Trying to..” You tell him with a playful scoff. 

He smiles and meets your eyes again for a moment, before shifting away quickly.  You sigh and turn your face down to the floor, spying his hands anxiously fidgeting within his pockets. You look back up holding your gaze on him for a moment.

“You don’t gotta be nervous Sam…” you tell him, shaking your head a bit. “...It's just me…”

He scoffs with a quick smirk, plucking his hands out from his pockets and planting them firmly at his waist.  Finally he sighs and meets your look, without darting in different directions. 

“You look good too, Sam. I’m glad to see it..” You add still watching him from your spot.

You sigh and shake your head a bit glancing at the clock on the wall beside the door.

"Shit!” You gasp frantically, “I gotta hop in the shower!" 

"Bad word mommy!" Finn reminds you from the kitchen.

"You're right, I'm sorry baby!" You call trailing back down the hallway.

“Help yourselves to whatever!” You call out down the hall, spinning the dial of the shower on.

~~~~

Some time later you dash back out towards the living room, your hair flung up in a towel. You pick up Finn's sticky Waffles plate and drop it into the sink before grabbing a third cup of coffee. …Or you would have, but you spy the empty pot instead.

You dump the dripping coffee grounds into the trash, and start a new pot before dashing back out to the living room for your pack of cigarettes. Finn sits on the floor in front of Dean and Sam who are both fully dressed now and sipping their coffee.

"It's fine, I'm making a new pot.." You say reaching down between the couch cushions for your lost lighter.

"Sorry…" Dean calls from behind his mug. "...didn't mean to finish it on you." 

Dean takes a long dramatic sip with a long smack at the end and Sam chuckles in his seat, clearly amused with the cartoons playing on the TV.

"Oh here.." Dean says, patting himself up searching for something in his jacket.

He extends his hand out, with his treasured vintage zippo extended towards you.

"Oh…thanks, but.." You stand before him with your finally recovered; plastic pink lighter in hand. 

You light your cigarette and pull down the towel from your head marching back off towards your bedroom. 

"Finn, try and use the bathroom before we go, please!" You shout from your room. “And change…you cant wear pjs to school!”

You slick some mascara on your lashes and dollop your armpits in some cheap ladies antiperspirant. You smear on some chapstick and brush through your hair just in time for Finn to appear at your doorway; eager and ready for the day as usual. You crouch down a bit, and plant a big sloppy kiss on his cheek before ruffling his hair into place.  

"Alright, you ready!?" You ask gleefully.

Back out towards the living room yet again you snatch Finn's lunchbox and stuff a snack pack, some knock off veggie chips, an apple, and a tiny water bottle into the black and yellow batman lunch box. 

Sam and Dean stand, looking towards you as you throw your purse over your shoulder and step into your flip flops. You help Finn with his backpack and turn back to face the two men.

"I'll be back in like 30..." You say, remembering to grab your pack of cigarettes and lighter off the coffee table.

"Y/N…do you…is there anything we can do?..." 

"No you're fine, I'll be right back!" You tell them frantically, peering down at your phone.

Sam elbows Dean, who tries to hold back the scoff, turning towards you.

"..I can take the kid.." Dean says as he clears his throat.

"...In ‘baby’!?" You ask with a snicker.

They peer out the window, then back towards each other. 

"..No, we'll be fine, don't worry about it." You tell them again.

They both sigh and you turn towards the door ushering Finn out.

"Y/N, we can help, just tell us what to do.." Sam says calmly in his reassuring tone.

The door is only ajar when you stop; sighing a deep breath before closing your eyes for a quick moment. 

"Okay, fine.. go do the…dishes or something.." You reply before shutting the door behind you.

"Dude, I don't remember her being this…this.." 

"Give her a break, Dean." Sam says with a long exhale. "She's a mom, now, and, …she's doing the best she can.."

~~~~

You bite your lip sitting at the red traffic light watching the clock tick onward in the dash. 

"Come on…Friday…you can do this.." You mumble under your breath through a deep sigh.

You dig your nails into the back of the pleather steering wheel as you sit agitated in your seat.

"Mom?" Finn asks from the back seat.

"Yeah, bud?" You reply, peering towards him in the rear view.

"...where's my homework folder?"

You roll your eyes as another deep breath courses through you.

"..probably on the kitchen floor where you left it…" You reply regrettably. 

The light finally blinks green and you roll out through the intersection. The crossing guard waves you on into the line up beside the school, and you park the car before jumping out and opening the back door for Finn. 

"It's alright, it's Friday we'll get your homework to Mrs. Barnes Monday morning, okay?" 

Finn hops out with a frown on his face. You straighten his hair once again and help him loop his arms through the straps of his backpack. You kneel down eye level to him and peer up into his bright little blue eyes.

"It's Friday!" You cheer quietly to him. 

He casts you a small, meek smile.

“Mom, can I stay with you this weekend?” Finn asks with a slight heartbreaking frown.

“No, babe, it's daddy's weekend, you know that..” You tell him apologetically.

“Just tonight then?” he pleads. “Just to say bye to Uncle Sam and Dean?”

You sigh, unable to give him an answer you or he wants to hear.

“Please?” 

You bite back your bottom lip peering up into his sad little blue eyes.

“...We’ll see them again. We always do..” you huff in a regrettable tone.

“It’s not fair!” Finn protests angrily. “Why does dad have to ruin everything!?” 

“Hey, come on…it’s not his fault…”

You stand back up pecking a kiss on top of his head and usher him down the sidewalk towards the front of the school.  

"I'll see you Sunday!" You call cheerfully, as he angrily strides towards the front door.

You stand with your arms crossed watching, making sure he disappears between the two giant blue doors before you allow your gaze to drop.

You sigh as you regrettably sulk back towards the car, recalling what you told him; ‘we’ll see them again..’  hopefully…  

You shake the thought from your head. The sun is already beating down at full force under the bright blue skies as you pluck the doors handle and seat yourself against the driver's seat.  You turn the key and flip the AC on; its cool air blasts against your face as you shift the car into reverse.  You back out and head towards the wretched red light that never allows you a free pass. You stare off into the opposite direction of traffic and wait patiently; when your phone rings. You fish around in the passenger side seat for the vibrating brick and click the green answer button.

"Hello?..."

Tags: @nancymcl @123passwort

LMK, if youd also like to be tagged in these!

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

a darling and a virgin | f. odair

masterlist

summary: you are a victor from district four, having just ended your first victory tour. after being confronted by president snow, you have no choice but to lose your virginity. luckily, your previous mentor is willing to provide some guidance.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: mentions of forced prostitution, angst, gentle smut, loss of virginity, fingering, lots of consent, praise, happy but also unhappy ending??, reader takes contraceptives.

notes: i’ve recently found that i’m incapable of writing short smut one shots so… i’m sorry y’all. love describing every detail too much.

word count: 6.8k

Your hands were clasped over the balcony railing of the penthouse you were spending the night in, the vibrant artificial lights of the Capitol burning your retinas as you overlooked the city. You had finally completed your first Victory Tour and were offered one more night in the Capitol to enjoy its ‘luxury’ and ‘generosity’ before returning to District Four in the morning.

For the past two weeks, you had read fabricated speeches to each District, resurfacing both your trauma from the Games and the families of the tributes you had murdered in the arena. The toll it was taking on you was heavy, but you managed to put on a splitting grin for every interview, speech, and disturbing congratulation. But not for your previous mentor, Finnick Odair.

Finnick had been there for you through the whole nightmare, even during the week before your Games. His support was unwavering which was one of the many reasons you had managed to survive from the moment you were Reaped to the end of the Tour. It was hard to tell when his mentorship had turned into something more complicated, but it had. It had become more about feelings than simply survival. Not a relationship per se, but not just a friendship either. You teetered on the line between the two, never crossing it and never discussing the fact that you were both aware of it either.

For six whole months.

When the final destination of the Tour came—the grand celebration at President Snow’s mansion—Finnick had told you it was the easiest part. All you had to do was manage a happy face, mingle with obnoxious Capitol citizens, and eat an abhorrent amount of food. He would have been right if you were a different person. If President Snow hadn’t demanded your singular presence at the end of the night.

You exhaled a shaky breath, watching the white mist drift into the light-polluted sky. The President’s words bounced around your head: Desirable… Customers... Family. The conversation played on a loop in your mind. You could remember the repugnant smell of roses, the overwhelming whiteness in the room, and the way his too-pleasant face lit up as fireworks exploded outside the window.

Shivers trickled down your spine, forming goosebumps that were borderline painful. The fact that you were on the ninetieth floor and wearing flimsy pyjama shorts and a thin long-sleeve shirt wasn’t helping either. The crisp wind blew against your body, but you had no intentions of moving to seek warmth. It felt appropriate to stay in the cold when your body would soon know nothing but unwelcome heat.

So lost in your spiralling thoughts, you failed to notice as another body silently took up space beside yours, warming up the side of your arm. This heat was welcome.

“Pretty cold out here.”

A startled gasp escaped your mouth. You straightened up and turned to the owner of the voice, only to find Finnick leaning against the railing, forearms over the edge the same as you.

“Sorry.” He chuckled. “I know my presence can be a little breathtaking sometimes. Nice shorts by the way.”

He turned his head turned to you, revealing his infamous flirtatious smirk. The dimples in his cheeks were prominent and charming. His bronze hair was perfectly dishevelled as usual, as if someone had purposefully placed each strand to give him the ‘sexy bed hair’ look. He was still wearing his white button-up and black trousers; the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows and a few buttons were undone, revealing his toned chest. The outfit had been accessorised with a metallic golden corset-like belt among other decorations that made him fit in with the Capitol crowd, but he must have taken them off. Now the outfit sort of resembled one that a boy would wear to a Reaping. Simple yet formal. Still gorgeous, not that he needed reminding.

Normally, you would retort with a snarky remark or, on the off occasion, flirt back, but instead, you resumed your previous position over the railings. You weren’t immune to Finnick’s charms; you praised anyone who was. You would usually be internally swooning at the sight of him, especially with the way he looked right now and his obvious flirting. But this night was much different. Flirting and swooning were at the back of your mind. All you could think about was your interaction with the president; the way his guards manhandled and escorted you to his study. The conversation that destroyed your hopes of a peaceful future.

Desirable. One word that sent ice coursing through your veins. Or snow, to be more poetic.

“I don’t think you’ve said a word since we got back,” said Finnick, still a hint of playfulness in his tone. He watched your gaze—eyes distant though not really seeing. It was clear something was wrong, so he continued, this time more softly. “You were gone during the fireworks.”

You remained unmoving, staring straight ahead at the city. Only when he uttered your name did he finally gain your attention. As you turned your head to face him, tears began to well up in your eyes.

Finnick noticed the silent distress in your expression and straightened up his stance. He towered over you, brows knitted together whilst his sea-green eyes flickered across your face, looking as if pieces were slowly falling together in his mind.

“He spoke with you, didn’t he?” he said. “Snow.”

To answer his question for you, a tear escaped your eye, but you were quick to swipe it away with a sniffle.

Your arms wound around your torso, hugging yourself as the words began flowing. “After I won my Games, when I was being crowned, he said something to me that I didn’t really understand." Your voice was gentle, just above a mere whisper. “Months passed and I’d forgotten all about it. Until now at least. He told me…” You swallowed the ache in your throat. “He told me, ‘I have big plans for you, Miss (L/N). I think you will be a very valuable asset to the Capitol citizens.’”

Finnick’s face had melted into an unreadable expression. His entire body turned to stone; it was like he was a marble statue portraying a Greek God. All of a sudden, he was sixteen again. He was in Snow’s study, being told that if he didn’t cooperate and essentially sell himself to the Capitol, his family would pay the price. And they did.

With a sad smile, you whispered, “I know what he meant now.”

Something inside him snapped and he broke from his stupor.

“No.” He vigorously shook his head. “He can’t do that. You can’t. I’ll go to him and—fuck!” His hand ran through his hair, making it even more dishevelled. The bright lights from the city were reflecting off his eyes, revealing the shine that was starting to gloss over them. “I can fix this for you, I swear I’ll—"

“Finnick.”

“He’s a fucking—”

“Finnick.” The plea in your voice ceased his panicked movements. He just stood there, looking completely and utterly helpless. You both did. Another tear slipped down your cheek as you stared at him, your voice wavering as you asked, “Can you hold me?”

He let out a breath as if the air had been knocked from his lungs and in one fell swoop, he stepped forward and pulled you into his arms. Silent tears began to flow more heavily, saturating his white shirt which he held you tightly against. There was a hand wrapped protectively around your lower back and another stroking the hair flowing over your neck.

You were certain Finnick let a few tears slip too because you could feel the cold breeze nip at the top of your head the slightest bit more. He mumbled the words “I’m so sorry” over and over into your hair but you just shook your head. You told him it wasn’t his fault, but he wouldn’t accept it. He had told you months ago about his arrangement with Snow. You couldn’t have imagined what it was like for him then, but you would be able to now. You would know every single little detail.

His embrace tightened as you turned your head and pressed your ear to his thumping chest.

The tears had stopped, and you managed to find your voice again. “Snow threatened to kill my family. What if the customers don’t think I’m good enough and he takes it out on them? I mean, I don’t have any experience.”

You remained silent, awaiting his response. When the hand stroking your hair halted, you realised your mistake. You realised what you had just admitted to him and mentally kicked yourself. Repeatedly.

Finnick moved both hands onto your forearms, gently pushing you away from him to get a clear view of your face. The surprise in his expression was enough to make you want to jump over the balcony ledge in embarrassment.

“You’re a virgin?”

Hearing the words out loud would have sent you over the edge—literally—if Finnick’s large hands weren’t wrapped around your arms. You tried to turn away from him, but his grip was unshakeable. Your eyes began to water again, and you felt pathetic.

“Hey,” he said tenderly as he tried to regain your eye contact. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Your distraught red-rimmed eyes snapped back to him. “Not a bad thing? Of course it’s a bad thing, Finnick! I have to give my body to a stranger despite never even having my first kiss! Let alone sex!” As you said the words, the full reality of your situation began to set in. Panic turned to sadness as you realised yet again, the Capitol was taking another innocence you thought was your own to give away. You looked down, your tone becoming quieter. “I thought my first time would be special. Or at least with someone I loved.”

God, you felt so embarrassed admitting that to him. Sure, a lot of your conversations were flirty and full of sensual banter. Sex, however, was not a topic that came up very frequently. You would never want to accidentally cross a line with Finnick, especially given what Snow forced upon him. So you liked to avoid the subject as much as possible. Now, it was inescapable.

He released his grip and sighed heavily, looking out toward the view as if he were deep in thought. The vivid city lights cast an unnatural hue on his usually golden-tanned skin; even now the Capitol was changing him into something he wasn’t. His eyes shut for a quick second before he reopened them and looked back at you. The only time he had looked this serious was the morning of your Games and the night you returned. It was a little intimidating.

His jaw ticked and his gaze bore down into your own. “Sweetheart, I’m going to ask you something,” he began, “and I want you to know you do not have to say ‘yes’ if you don’t want to, okay?”

Alright, now he was really starting to scare you.

“Okay,” you said warily.

The hardness on his face remained for a moment longer, but then his expression softened and became the most vulnerable you had ever seen.

His voice was gentle. “Do you want me to take your virginity?”

*************

You were sat on the edge of Finnick’s bed, toying with the black satin sheets with a frown. Your room didn’t get satin sheets. It was probably one of the benefits of being the Capitol Darling. Not that you envied him very much. He would probably be content with sleeping on a dirt floor if it meant he got his autonomy back.

Finnick was in the bathroom doing God knows what. You weren’t sure if he was trying to make himself more presentable or hyping himself up to have sex with you. The latter worried you. The last thing you wanted was to pressure him into something he didn’t want to do. Then again, he was the one who asked.

After you had told him “Yes, please”, he had tentatively but oh-so-gently taken your hand in his and guided you inside and to his room. Neither of you had spoken along the way; you just walked in silence toward something that would either ruin or deepen your relationship. Despite being two victors, this was still a mentor making sure his tribute stayed alive.

You heard the bathroom door slide open and looked up to see Finnick standing outside the door. Shirtless, pants still on, and towel in hand. It took everything in you to not stare at his perfectly sculptured torso, his equally toned arms, or his broad and muscular shoulders. Instead, your eyes met his for a split second before you returned to the satin sheets.

Blood rushed to your head and everything felt too real. Finnick Odair was standing before you, looking like an angel and willing to fu—

“You’re allowed to look, you know,” he chuckled.

But your gaze remained on the bed.

“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You won’t.’” He spread the towel on the bed, positioning it in the middle. Then he stopped his movements as he realised what you meant. “It’s not like that. I’m not being forced to do this. I want to.”

Your head snapped up and your heart leapt as those three words left his lips—I want to. For a second, you believed him, but then reasoning came to deflate your hopefulness.

“You wouldn’t want to if I weren’t in this situation.”

He let go of the towel, sitting down mere inches beside you, his eyes amused despite the solemn context. “And how do you know that?”

“Because…” you trailed off, searching your brain for an explanation only to find none. “Because.”

He smirked. “We need to work on your argumentative skills, sweetheart.”

A small smile worked its way across your lips. He returned it with a comforting smile of his own, though the sense of playfulness never left. It never really did and that was one of the things you admired most about him. Even in the darkest of situations, he was able to provide some light.

Rosy heat crept into your cheeks and you were forced to break eye contact again. Hiding how much he affected you was pointless now; if this was going to work out, you needed to be vulnerable with him. With each other. You looked down at the space between your bodies. His hand was resting on the bed beside him and soon enough, it was slowly creeping across the sheets over to your own. He gently brushed his fingers across your knuckles before sliding his hand beneath your palm and interlocking it with yours. You couldn’t help but notice how small your hand looked compared to his, feeling butterflies flutter around your stomach at the small observation.

The both of you silently watched your intertwined hands. That is until Finnick decided to speak up.

“I would,” he said ambiguously, caressing the side of your hand with his thumb. “I would still want to. Even in different circumstances.”

The blush on your face reddened even more; your cheeks were on fire at this point. Even in different circumstances. Was that his way of confessing… that he did have feelings for you? It wasn’t exactly explicit, but it was certainly implied. Oh god, you didn’t know what to think.

You didn’t bother to reply; words probably would have failed you anyway. You just gave his hand a slight squeeze in acknowledgement—well, it was more in appreciation. It was obvious how hard he was trying to make you feel comfortable, but no matter how hard he tried, you couldn’t shake the nerves that were rattling your entire being.

Sex was a pretty big milestone—to you, at least—and here you were, on the precipice with someone you trusted with your life. Did you love Finnick? You weren’t sure. What you did know was that your feelings for him were deep, and even though neither of you had ever clearly confessed to each other, you knew he felt something for you too. Which made everything all the more daunting.

“Are you nervous?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

“We still don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

You shook your head, lifting your gaze to his. “No, I—”

His eyebrows pulled inwards, awaiting your answer. His eyes were so inviting and full of understanding, if you hadn’t lost the ability to form full sentences, you would have found yourself spilling all your secrets to him. He was so patient with you. So good. You had to rethink your uncertainty about loving him.

“I…” you tried again. Your eyes flickered back and forth from his sea-green eyes to his soft, pink lips. As shameful as it felt to admit, you had imagined what it would feel like to have his lips on yours many times before. Usually right before you went to sleep. Never would you have thought the day would come when it would actually happen.

He was still caressing the side of your palm, silently reassuring you, encouraging you to communicate with him. You sighed, closing your eyes. If he wanted you to communicate, then you would.

“Finnick,” you whispered. “Kiss me.”

Your words drifted into the air, stilling everything in the room—the air, Finnick’s hand. Your heart. He just stared at you, unblinking, unmoving, like someone had hit pause on the television at the tensest moment. The tension was tearing you apart and you almost got up and left the room. But you didn’t. Because suddenly, the sides of your face were cupped by large hands and his lips were on yours.

Finnick Odair was kissing you.

His lips pressed against yours once more in one long close-mouthed kiss before leaving again. Shock came and left within seconds and you found the courage to copy his actions. Your lips locked perfectly onto his, remaining still, enjoying the pressure and tingly warmth of simply having them connected. Then your lips moved to kiss him again. And again, and again until soon enough, his tongue had slyly slid into your mouth and you had somehow instantaneously become a master at French kissing.

This kiss felt familiar, despite it being your first. Like something you had done millions of times before, but only with him. Like having his lips on yours was the most natural thing to ever exist.

A hand moved onto your waist and suddenly you were being pulled onto his lap, legs straddling his lap. Your hands fell on his chest, mindlessly wandering and feeling the toned muscles ripple underneath your palms as he pulled you closer by the neck to deepen the kiss. Damn the people of the Capitol, but they were right to say he was an incredible kisser.

“Finn,” you huffed in between kisses, “have you got a rock in your pants?”

He pecked your lips once more with a smirk, resting his forehead against yours as you both attempted to catch your breaths. “No,” he chuckled. “I’ve just got a beautiful girl on my lap.”

Your eyes opened to see him grinning at you with mischief. Oh.

“Is that okay?” he asked.

You nodded jerkily. “Ye—Yes, that’s okay.”

“Okay, good.”

Biting your lip, you looked down between your bodies. Curiously, you rocked your hips along the length of his lap once, earning a quiet grunt from him.

He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “Careful,” his voice was low, tempting.

And of course, in full defiance, you did it again. His warning was a bluff. He made no real action to prevent you from grinding any further on his erection, so you kept moving, and he kept revealing how good it made him feel. The thin fabric of your shorts created a little barrier between his hard lap and the growing sensitivity between your thighs.

Meanwhile, you found yourself never wanting to be parted from Finnick’s lips. With every rock of your hips, your hands ran over every inch of his upper body, eventually settling in his hair. The way he kissed reminded you of stories of District Twelve. A district full of hunger and desperation. Only what Finnick was craving wasn’t the fullness of food in his stomach, but the desire to devour you whole. To ravage you. And by God, would you give anything to satiate him.

Forget what you thought before. This wasn’t just a victor keeping his tribute alive. As clear as the sea on a sunny day, this was a man giving himself over to a woman he loved. You. Finnick loved you.

When you pulled back to tentatively lift your shirt over your head, his eyes stayed on yours. Your breasts were literally bare and he just continued to scan the features of your face. However, you did notice the subtle shift in his breathing.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, stroking the side of your breast.

A shy, cheek-warming smile crept on your face and then suddenly, Finnick was rolling you over. Your head fell back onto the soft silk pillows, Finnick hovering above you. This position remained for a long while, the time spent simply kissing each other, alternating between deep tongue-filled kisses and soft sweet pecks. There were moments when you both stopped to flirt or giggle. These were the times you entirely forgot the whole reason you were doing this in the first place.

It was just you and Finnick. Two new lovers in a perfect world.

After a while, your lips had swollen with warm, passionate heat. You were flushed and you didn’t even need to look to know your hair was already a tangled mess. But you didn’t care.

One of Finnick’s hands had begun to wander down your stomach, breaking the established pattern of merely making out. You knew what was coming and surprisingly, you weren’t afraid. Unlike outside the penthouse apartment, there was no danger. Not in this room, in this bed, or in the hands that caressed you. He grazed across the skin beneath your belly button, causing your body to flinch up into his.

Of course, he smirked at that—the smug asshole.

He returned to your lips before lowering down to your neck and sucking soft, red marks into your fragile skin. His fingers found the edge of your waistband. At this point, you were already breathing like a marathoner.

His lips detached from your neck. “Can Itouch you?”

“Yes, please,” you breathed.

As he travelled down, down beneath your waistband, he pecked your reddened lips once more. A soft gasp escaped you and warmth tingled between your thighs. His fingers were gentle as he began circling that sweet, sensitive spot only you had ever touched. Having someone else touch you felt so much more different, so much more exquisite. Your body responded to his touch immediately, hips following each movement of his fingers, breaths quickening in pace.

Finnick gazed down at you, observing each pleasured twist of your expression. He began to pick up the pace as he noticed your body familiarising itself with the sensation. More pressure was applied and the gasps leaving your mouth were gradually turning into quiet moans.

“This feel okay?” he asked. Obviously, he knew the answer, but after years of having others take advantage of him, he couldn’t help but want to hear your willingness. Your consent.

But you weren’t sure if the words could form. Everything felt like it was vibrating. All you could do was focus on the pleasure his fingers were building.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can tell me.”

His voice had taken on that seductive purr he was well-known for and you just couldn’t deny him. It took everything inside you to muster up the words. “It—it feels so good.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. The gesture was so sweet, you could have cried. So sweet even with his hand stroking between your legs and his hard cock pressing against your thigh. Time slowed as his fingers sped up. Muscles in your stomach were tightening. Your insides were churning—not like when you first entered your Games’ arena, but in the best way possible. It was a sensation you had never felt before, but before it could build any more, Finnick’s hand stilled. And you genuinely whined at the loss of friction.

Then his hand moved even lower, resting a singular finger over your slick entrance. Your eyes were wide, unsure of how to feel with the sudden turn of events.

Finnick’s eyes flickered between your own. "You trust me?”

You weren’t sure if an easier question existed. “I do.”

And his lips were on yours again, deep and sensual. His tongue rolled over your own, pushing forward and then retreating in a perfect rhythm. He almost successfully distracted you from the feeling of his middle finger sinking into you knuckle-by-knuckle. Some sort of sound resembling a mix of discomfort and surprise vibrated in your throat as his finger bottomed out.

There wasn’t much pain. It was just an odd feeling.

Your lips parted from his and he looked down at you, his eyes holding an immense amount of security as he communicated through your shared gaze.

Does it hurt?

You gave him a gentle smile. No. Keep touching me.

He returned your smile with a grin. Gladly.

His buried finger curled, shooting a sharp pang up into your stomach which caused your back to arch up against his bare torso. Whether you considered it painful or pleasurable was uncertain. Perhaps a mix of both. He did it again. This time you settled on describing it as a tight twinge in your lower stomach which sent a wave of chills down your legs. Definitely pleasurable. Only, he stopped indulging you with the sensation after the second time.

Instead, you felt another finger slowly slip inside you and whimpered. Now that hurt. You felt your inner walls stretch with the second addition and it stung. Especially when he began to scissor his fingers inside you. This was him preparing you for the real deal. How you were supposed to have Finnick inside you when just his fingers had you stuffed was incomprehensible. But you allowed him to keep going, trying to enjoy the comforting kisses he pampered onto you.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he said.

Your hands moved to push back his messy bronze hair as he hovered above you. His dimples deepened with a grin and you swore you would endure any pain to keep them etched on his face. After he deemed you stretched out enough, he slowly rose to his knees, unbuttoning his trousers and throwing them aside. You couldn’t do anything but stare. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

The way you gulped was almost cartoonish. How the hell was he supposed to fit? You had never seen a man naked before—you weren’t even sure Finnick was human. He had a body sculptured by the Gods, a face carved by angels, and a… well, let’s just say he didn’t disappoint in any other areas. You weren’t sure if the smug look on his face was real or a carefully curated mask created for his Capitol customers. By the way it quickly washed away, you could tell it was the latter.

He began sliding your shorts down your legs, tossing them to the floor. Suddenly, you felt extremely vulnerable. Almost inferior. Your knees fell together, concealing the most private part of yourself from him. You avoided his gaze, cheeks becoming red and hot as he observed your naked frame. He had a way of looking at you as if you were a long-forgotten masterpiece, rediscovered from centuries of being lost. No one had looked at you like that before him.

Gently, he pried apart your legs and you didn’t bother trying to resist. Only when he descended and settled between your legs did the insecurity dwindle into the background of your mind. Your naked bodies were hot against each other. His weight pinned you against the bed. Everything that was yours touched all that was his. You thought this experience would feel like a dream, but it all felt so real. You were nervous, you were trembling, and your breaths were shaky.

Finnick was quick to recognise the nervousness radiating off you. His arm curled beneath you, somehow pulling you even closer, meanwhile, his other arm rested beside your head. He brushed strands of hair away from your face, soothing you with his tender touch.

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

You nodded. You wanted this—wanted Finnick. It was just the anticipation that was killing you. Your thighs squeezed his sides to tell him you were ready. For a few moments longer, he restarted the pattern of sweet kisses, rolling tongues, and the warmth of blood rushing to your head. His hand was caressing your cheek; yours were splayed on his back, gliding over the rippled muscles.

Then finally, he shifted, his hand moving south to align himself with your entrance. All you could do was watch his focused expression. This was the moment. The threshold of your relationship would be ­­crossed as soon as he pushed forward. There was no one else you wanted to share the experience with because you knew this wasn’t just sex. Not for him or for you; it was more than that. Something bordering spiritual, breaking the bounds of physical pleasure and entering into a deep emotional connection. Something no paying customer of the Capitol could provide.

He was gazing down at you, half-cradling your head as he began to say, “Are you su—" But before he could finish, you had pressed your lips to his, answering his question. You were sure. He nodded in response.

His eyes were hesitant he began to push his tip between your folds. Your fingers dug into his back, more from anxiety than anything else. It became a game of stopping and starting as he moved deeper inside inch-by-inch, allowing your walls time to adjust around him. Never had you seen someone’s face filled with so many emotions—concentration, controlled gratification, affection. So many feelings twisted his expression. Meanwhile, yours held only one. Discomfort. He was so big; you felt like you were being split apart and he wasn’t even fully inside yet.

Finally, when his pelvis connected with yours, you exhaled a heavy breath. It hurt. Bad. Finnick had the right idea to lay down a towel because you definitely needed it. He had you filled to the brim, stretched out and stuffed. Even the slightest shift in his position had your hands flying to his shoulders in pain.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes, just—” You bit your lip in an attempt to suppress a whimper. “Just go slow.”

He nodded. You smiled. Then for some odd reason, you laughed. And then so did he. Finnick’s face fell into the crook of your neck, muffling his boyish laughs into your skin. The added movements had your insides dully aching, but you didn’t pay it much attention. The moment was so innocently intimate that you wanted to stay in it forever. He lifted his head to press his grinning lips to yours and the laughter began to dissipate. Your mouths moved slowly together, full of heat and fervent emotion, and suddenly, Finnick’s body began to move too.

Careful as not to harm you, he slid himself backward in one slow motion and then pushed forward again in another. Pain stung at your inner walls and your lips left his as a gasp escaped your mouth. You were tempted to close your eyes whilst riding out the discomfort but couldn’t bring yourself to look away from Finnick’s face. He was so mesmerizingly beautiful.

His cheeks were a baby pink. Lips were a rosy red. There was a thin sheen covering his forehead, slightly wrinkled by his furrowed brows. Those messy bronze locks you adored so much fell in strands across his forehead. The evident concentration and care on his face just made him look all the more picturesque.

While you admired his features, you started to notice the pain accompanying his slow thrusts was becoming more tolerable. There was still a sting, but also a dull twinge in your stomach that had you biting your bottom lip. It felt sort of… nice. And you wanted to experiment with that feeling.

Your hands were hooked around his shoulders. “Faster.”

Are you sure? His lustful eyes spoke.

You pulled him back down to your mouth. Absolutely.

And so, his hips started to rock back and forth at a faster pace. You could feel yourself clench around his cock from the change of rhythm but forced yourself to relax. He thrust in and out, rubbing against the ripples of your walls, tip brushing at a spot inside you that was anything but pain. That is what you focused on—that one sweet spot.

Time went on and he gradually increased his speed. Your lips were swollen and red, no doubt from the way he would nip and suck on your bottom lip in between each flick of his tongue. His breaths were coming out louder, heavier, as were your own. Soon enough, you were in a rhythm that was both pleasurable for him and for you. The pain lingered but it was no longer unbearable. A shudder ran down your body and your pussy fluttered around him. Finnick broke away from your lips with a breathy groan that you swore you could feel in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

His thrusts became a little faster, a little more painful. A hand slipped down between your bodies and the pain faded quicker than it came. He was rubbing circles around your clit, occasionally running his fingers across it which caused you to lurch upward. All of a sudden, you came to the realisation that everything bad that had been clouding your mind had disappeared. The ache, the confrontation with Snow. Everything. The only thing you could focus on was the pleasure slowly building between your thighs and in your stomach. And Finnick. His tantalising eyes. His wicked mouth. His throbbing cock.

People always said your first time would be horrible; this was anything but. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you… loved him? Yeah, you loved him. Also because he was something of an expert at sex. You were in a pretty unlucky predicament but having Finnick willingly fucking you was a blessing.

His fingers were relentless, applying the perfect amount of pleasure that had you writhing beneath him. And added with the sensation of his cock repeatedly hitting that spot inside you, your uneven breaths turned into soft moans. He fucked, he rubbed, he nipped and sucked at the delicate skin of your neck. Heat was enveloping your entire body.

“Finnick,” you moaned.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” His voice was strained and hoarse.

His hand left your clit, hooking around your thigh, and curling it around his back so he could thrust even deeper. He restarted his rhythm of rubbing circles, but his thrusts felt different. Instead of just brushing that sensitiveness deep inside you, he was mercilessly hitting it. Over and over. Your moans were louder now; Finnick was more vocal too, grunting and occasionally uttering words of praise.

This went on for a while. His stamina was incredible—if you had a moment to think, you would have realised the depressing reasoning behind it. But you couldn’t think at all. Your heel was digging into his back; nails scratching at his skin. Both of you had a layer of sweat covering your bodies, skin wet, slapping and sliding over one another. Your pheromones had filled the room with the smell of sex, driving your need to finish.

Finnick’s mouth had been everywhere at this point. Your lips, your neck, shoulders, and breasts. Everywhere except your pussy, not that it really mattered anymore.

It was hard for you to comprehend how fucking amazing the sensations you felt were. There was heat and pressure pooling in your stomach, increasing at a slow pace, and growing more powerful by the minute. Finnick’s hips moved at a steady pace, but his hand had begun to slow. Even he had to succumb to fatigue at some point. He sounded like he had run for miles though was obviously pushing himself on for your benefit.

Instead of ceasing his tiring hand movements entirely, he switched hands. And that was when the heat in your stomach turned into a blazing inferno. He was much faster now. Applied more pressure. Your head fell back against the pillow with a cry. His cock was throbbing inside you at the sound.

“That feel good? Huh?” he practically moaned.

He left kisses across the stretch of your neck, running his tongue over the skin and leaving behind red marks.

“Yes!” you cried out.

Your entire body felt like it was being dipped into a white-hot flame of pleasure and the feeling was only increasing. It was clear Finnick felt the same way. His thrusts were becoming more frantic, he was cursing left and right, and he was practically pulsing inside you.

The heat in your stomach was overwhelming but you needed more.

“Finnick, I feel—I feel—” You couldn’t even describe it.

Finnick nodded, breathing heavily above you. God, he looked gorgeous. “You’re gonna come.”

Your half-lidded needy eyes met his. Something about him saying those words sent a wave of acceleration through your body. You hadn’t known what the edge was until you were on the brink of coming, and there was no stopping it. His cock plunged in and out, pushing deep inside you, practically rocketing your orgasm to the surface with each thrust. His fingers moved at such an intense pace you didn’t even know was physically possible.

As your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth fell open and every frantic breath, moan, and cry was able to escape. Finnick had the same problem. Fuck, he sounded so sexy, it only spurred you on.

Then it hit you all at once. “Fu—"

Every inch of your body tensed. You were sent into a space where white noise filled your hearing and bliss was all you knew. No pain. No sadness. Just ecstasy. Electric sparks jolted up and down your body, rising to your head, and causing you to see stars behind your closed eyes. Your moans were uncontrollable and desperate, voicing Finnick’s name over and over.

His thrusts were frenzied and sloppy, prolonging your orgasm as long as he could. He had lifted your lower back into an arch, enhancing the sensation coursing through your body. Your walls were clenching and pulsing around him, so much that he was abruptly thrown into his own high. His hips stuttered and eventually, his cock filled you as deep as he could, spurting out warm strings of white that coated your inner walls.

He collapsed on top of you, face buried in the crook of your neck. Your fingers wound into his hair, clinging to him as the aftershocks of your orgasm ravaged your body. Legs trembling and mouth panting, you lay there allowing yourself to regain your breath and ability to move.

After pressing a lazy kiss to your neck, Finnick slid off you, falling onto the bed beside you. Hopefully the towel was enough to save the silk sheets.

Now that you were resting, exhaustion had the chance to cloud your mind. You weren’t sure what the customs were after sex—whether you made conversation or simply went to sleep. The latter sounded pretty good though. A warm hand slipped beneath your back, turning your body sideways and pulling you so you were half strewn across Finnick’s chest and legs. You made no effort to resist.

Eyes closed, you listened to the heart beating inside his ribs. Thrumming intensely though starting to return to a normal rate.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a murmur, sounding utterly drained.

His thumb drew gentle patterns on the skin of your waist.

You nodded against his chest, remaining silent. After a little while you finally decided to speak. “I’m glad it was you.” And then after a few more moments of silence, you added, “I wish it was just you.”

You felt him press his lips to the top of your head. A long and emotional kiss. The whole reasoning behind losing your virginity returned to mind. It felt heavy, weighing down the atmosphere in the room. No matter how hard you tried to deny it, what was coming was inevitable. You wouldn’t get to stay with Finnick in this bed. You wouldn’t get to belong to him, or he you. You both belonged to the Capitol. To Snow. No matter how much you wished to belong to each other.

He whispered, “Me too.”