#Spn x reader

[bowxs]

𝒮𝑜 𝐻𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓈𝒸𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓁

Summary - When Dean Winchester moves to yet another new town and is forced into his third new school of the year, he’s not expecting anything different from his past experiences. Until you.  When you're put under the pressure of being one of the most popular people in school, cheer captain, and honors student, you aren't willing to let anything get in the way of what you have been working so hard to build up. Until Dean. Dean doesn’t know how long he’ll be in this town, but damn if it isn't the first time he wishes he could stay- just to have a bit more time with you.

Warnings/Notes - highschool au, popular girl x newkid!dean, set in senior year, small talk about not having food at home, small mention about dieting/body image, mention of food restriction

Chapter 2

Dean Winchester. The boy who never stayed in one spot for more than two weeks. The boy whose life revolves around taking care of his not so little brother, listening to his dad, and making out with hot girls. The boy who never cared for what people thought of him, because nothing really mattered.

His first day at Jonesville High was a Wednesday. And he didn’t know it yet, but it would be the day his life changed.

“Sammy! Let’s go!” Dean called for his younger brother from the front door, looking around the small, dingy apartment for any sign of Sam nearby. Footsteps came closer, a very reluctant looking Sam came into view. His worn-down backpack was slung over one shoulder, his brown hair brushed messily over his forehead, and a way too sugary breakfast in his hand.

“I can’t believe dad is trusting you to actually get us to school on time” Sam mumbled with his mouth full as he slipped on his shoes, ignoring the way Dean shoved him out the door.

The school bell rang through the space, the sound of students settling into their seats filling the classroom. “Everyone welcome Dean- he will be joining us for the rest of the year” you heard Ms. Klark announce to the class as Dean gave a cocky smile to the first girl he saw- you. “Dean, why don’t you introduce yourself to the class?”

“My name’s Dean Winchester. I’m an Aquarius, I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and talking about my feelings.” His voice was sarcastic, that cocky grin never leaving his face. He shot a wink in your direction, like he knew you would like it.

You didn’t. Instead, you watched him almost carefully as he made his way to sit down next to you, because of course it was the only free desk in the whole class.

You tried to carry on with class as normal, but it was so damn hard with Dean leaning back in his chair with his legs spread like he already owned the place. His arm was slung over the back of your chair as you took notes on whatever the teacher was going on about this early in the morning. Physics. You tried hard in school, you had to - maintaining your high average was the only thing ensuring you kept your spot as cheer captain.

“Do you seriously understand this?” Dean leaned over, his voice a low whisper as he looked between your notes and you. “Yeah? What, you didn’t learn at your last school?” you whispered, your voice coming off dismissive. You weren’t willing to get into trouble because some idiot decided to start talking to you.

Dean scoffed at your words, like he was impressed you had any type of attitude. He doesn’t mention the fact he had only spent a week at his last school, or that he didn’t have the money to be paying for textbooks or tutors. He just laughs and shakes his head. “I guess not.”

You went back to taking notes, but most of your energy was spent ignoring the way Dean was staring at you like he was planning his next move. You hated it. Sure, you liked the attention from someone new, but you got enough attention from the whole school already- an extra person, much less a boy, would only get in the way.

“So where's your boyfriend, huh? Is he too dumb for this class or what?”. You scoffed, shaking your head as you highlighted something you thought was important. “No boyfriend.”

Dean gave you a sidelong glance, clearly not believing you, “Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because I don’t need-”

“Mister Winchester- do you want to answer this question?” the teacher interrupted you two, giving Dean a warning look.

“I, uh-” he stuttered, clearly caught off guard by the teacher calling him out. You watched him hesitate, the cockiness temporarily leaving him. The notes on your desk caught your eye- they were the answers for the question the teacher just asked Dean. You sighed, gently nudging the notes in Dean’s direction. Curse you for being a nice person. He noticed, thankfully, and glanced quickly at them before finally answering.

“The answer is increasing. If you were to increase the mass of an object in motion, the net force required to keep it moving at the same rate of acceleration would increase.” Ms. Klark barely hid her surprise. She was quick to nod and turn back to the board, and you wished she would have kept going a little longer, just to stall having Dean talk to you again.

“Thanks for the help sweetheart, but I didn’t need it.” Dean was careful to keep his voice down, not wanting to aggravate the teacher again, but that cocky smirk was back on his face as you focused back on your notes.

“Uh huh. Just shut up, will you? Some people actually care about this stuff.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

You wanted to correct him- tell him that wasn't even close to your name and you definitely weren’t on a nickname basis- but the argument dies in your throat as the bell rings, signaling the first period is over. Finally. You couldn’t get out of there fast enough, your hands already moving to shove your notebooks into your backpack.

“What class is next?” Dean asked, not bothering with the rush of leaving class- he didn’t take anything out of his backpack anyways. “I have chemistry” your voice was a twinge annoyed, he did nothing but distract you and you couldn’t wait to get away.

“You mean we have chemistry.” that smirk was back on his face as he tried to correct you. “No, I mean I have chemistry class next period, not chemistry with you.”

“I know, sweetheart, I have chemistry next period too.”

Oh. That’s what he meant. You looked down, pretending to focus on packing your bag to hide the tint of embarrassment dusted on your cheeks.

“Looks like you're showing me around school today.” Dean commented, and you could hear his cockyness. He knew you were embarrassed about the misunderstanding. “Then you gotta keep up with me.”

Dean followed you through the halls, almost like a lost puppy. Almost- if it weren’t for him winking and smiling at any girl he made eye contact with. You thought he was too cocky for someone who just moved into the school, but god with a face like that he just barely got away with it.

You didn’t bother with the small talk or introducing him to the school, focused solely on making it to class without snapping at him for distracting you and almost getting you in trouble.

“You really don’t talk a lot, sweetheart.” He commented, watching you as you confidently walked through the hallways. “Not my name, Winchester.” you shot back.

“Not my point. Are you this quiet with everyone? You don’t seem like the type” he kept talking as he watched you wave to a couple people in the hallway. You definitely weren’t the quiet type. You were the epitome of popularity- you knew practically everyone in school, all the teachers loved to have you in their class, and the cheer captain pushed the stereotype even further.

“Maybe I just don’t like you.”

“Nobody dislikes me, sweetheart.”

“I dislike you” Dean scoffs like you just told him the worst lie ever, and shakes his head as you shoot him a pointed look over your shoulder.

“You can’t dislike me, you barely even know me” he tries to reason, a hint of humor in his voice as you guys enter the chemistry classroom. “C’mon, give a guy a chance, huh?” He keeps going, even as you find your way to your seat, watching him sit down next to you.

"I don't think 'this guy' needs a chance" you rolled your eyes at his remark, already moving to take your textbook out of your bag. "I think 'this guy' needs to find somewhere else to sit."

Being well known throughout school, maintaining your honours average, your spot as cheer captain, and the need for your parents approval- it never bothered you. It was just normal. You didn’t date because you had to focus. “future is more important than present, choose your priorities” is what your dad said, and you believed him.

Dean watched you as you got ready for the class, clearly not taking your words seriously. You didn't even know if you were taking your own words seriously. You wanted to- wanted to tell him to find a seat on the other side of class so you could focus and do what you would normally do- but something inside you stopped you from doing it.

"I don't really think you want me to move, swetheart." his voice was playful and cocky at the same time, and he was looking at you with a lopsided smirk.

"No, I'm just too nice to actually ask you to leave." you sighed, already trying to focus on the board, which was getting increasingly difficult with Dean staring at the side of your face. Damn him. "Whatever, just stay quiet this class, okay? I don't need you being the reason I fail."

Dean doesn't comment on the way you seem way to smart to fail anything, even with him talking. He doesn't comment on anything during the whole class, instead keeping himself busy with his own thoughts.

My name’s Dean Winchester. I’m an Aquarius, I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and talking about my feelings to this girl.

"Sammy- I swear this chick is totally into me!" Dean beamed as his hands drummed a familiar rhythm on the wheel of the impala. The day had gone amazing in his eyes- he got a few girls numbers, kissed one or two of them, and met you. You were the most important part of his day.

"Uh-huh, I'm sure she is" Sam's voice was tired, clearly not having as good of a day as Dean. "Do we have dinner at home? I'm starving."

Dean ignored the way his stomach grumbled at the thought of food, focusing on Sam instead. "Nah, but I'll stop by the gas station for you, alright? Can't have you staying this short forever."

"How was your day, honey?" your mother asked from across the table, the sound of utensils on plates finally being interrupted- even if it was with awkward small talk. Dinners weren't often filled with conversation, unless it was about your grades or upcoming cheer competitions you would need to attend. You just weren't a close family, and that was okay.

"It was alright," you dismissed, playing around a bit with the food on your plate. "there's a new kid that just moved here." you mumbled before taking a bite of your food, trying to ignore the way your mom watched you lift the fork to your mouth.

"A new kid? This late into the school year? How odd." Your mom commented, still watching you eat with her brows furrowed a bit. She cleared her throat before she spoke up again, not bothering to look at you this time. "Remember that diet coach said you should stick to, honey. Don't need him to up your training again"

"Yeah, mom. Can't forget."

The next few days were like a broken record. Everyday, Physics, Chemistry, English, then History. And everyday, it was the same “Hey sweetheart.” over and over. You got used to it eventually- it was like a new, slightly annoying routine that you found yourself growing fond of every time he said it.

The day you first met Dean Winchester was on a Wednesday, and you didn’t know it yet, but he would change your life.

a/n- im soso nervous to post this but gosh, this idea has been brewing for everr and i just had to get it out, especially after a few anon reqs to have this be made!! im hoping to have multiple parts to this fic, and i can't wait to see where this takes me <33

i dont know if anyone will want this, BUT if you want to be tagged for the next chapter, comment and say you want to!

[zepskies]

Oooh my God, that was so hot--and then fucking hilarious 🤣🤣🤣❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

"God –" you both freeze for a moment, chuckling "– We're so hellbent on this." "Not one to half-ass," he grins. Then playfully bumps your forehead with his, "C‘mon, sit down on my fingers. Ladies first."

Oh how I was invested 😏👌🏽

Once Dean gets an idea in his head (and clearly her too), there's no going back. But I was freaking cackling by the time we got to "SPLASH."

Rocking Wet

Main Masterlist ❀ Dean Winchester Masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆ PAIRING Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆ SUMMARY "Paddleboards' for chicks," Dean argued. "There's more playroom for below-deck action," you countered with a wink. Next moment you're somewhere off shore, the sound of the waves surrounding you while you're making out on a paddleboard like a pair of horny teenagers.

WARNINGS / TAGS NSFW, 18+ MDNI, Smut, Established relationship, Basically pwp, Thigh riding, Kind of a slick-play kink??, Playful bantering / teasing, Pushing the bikini aside (it’s a thing lol), Fingering, Handjob, Dean’s needy and whiny !! 😫👌, Horniness cannot be stopped, Kinda public smut, No use of Y/N.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ WORDS 1k + 1 SPLASH (These 1k wc limits are killing me)

⋆ ˚｡⋆ J / NOTES Here's my smut piece as an entry for @ambiguous-avery's Summer Snapshot Challenge !

Your tongue swipes along the curve of his salt-sprinkled lips, tasting the sea. Dean lifts his head off the paddleboard, his teeth going at your lower lip as he tugs at them. You both moan in unison - break apart to catch each other's intense look.

The summer sun paints his freckled cheeks with a hue of red while perls of water still collect below the soaked hair of his, dark and stuck to his skin.

Your fingers tug at his waistband before you let it snap back against the wet skin of his stomach, earning yourself a wide-eyed, surprised "O" of his plump lips.

Then you sit back, reach down to your spandex to nudge it partially aside.

Dean's eyes widen even more when his leg hair's slicked back by your own wetness as you drag your core across his thigh. Slow. Heavy.

His reaction's instant - the string of muscle twitches between your legs while blunt fingernails clamp down on your ass.

"Fuck," he groans, head tipped back, "You marking me, babe?"

"Mhm. Saw those Baywatch girls oggling you," you hum. Wiggle your ass down, just enough to watch his eyes flutter as you part your folds around his thigh, searching for that perfect angle. "Making sure you know who you belong to, Haselhoff."

Dean bites back another groan.

He pats your ass with one hand and strokes his free thigh with his other - lips parted into that teasing, smug grin of his.

"'Tis one for you and one for cute little Casey Parker*."

You snort-chuckle.

"You think I'd be sharing?"

You raise your hips to give Dean a nice view of your fingers as they slide down your glistening body, then part your folds to collect some of your arousal. Dean's eyebrows pop, breath hitches, as he watches you with parted lips how you spread your slick across the top of his other thigh.

"Goddamn, honey," he rasps out.

"Both mine." You shoot a smug smile down at him with another roll of your hips. Dean chuckles. "Damn right - show me." And you go in with a little more force, the angle perfect for that sweet friction of his hard muscle against your clit.

The board trembles - you freeze - Dean's grip on you tightens and your eyes lock.

"Need more?"

You bite your lips. Wait for another beat until the plane below you calms again.

"Yeah."

Dean hums in response.

His hand wiggles down between your bodies where his fingertips tap against the inside of your thigh. You nudge your knees a bit further to the edge of the board - careful not to shake it.

The tip of his forefinger follows your curves, teases you right next to the crease between your leg and groin where the hem of your bikini bottom's cutting into your wet skin.

Dean pushes the thin piece of spandex fully aside. You shudder, forehead dropped to his. Next moment he runs his fingertips through your folds, then pushes two fingers inside.

You groan. He moans – begins to pump them until your thighs are shaking and you suddenly pull back. Leave his fingers slip out as you begin to reposition yourself to take care of him – but Dean hooked his finger under your bikini's string.

"Wait," his voice equals the whine of a pleading dog, "Wanna feel you cum."

His hazy focus snaps around the limited space you have to work with.

This' gonna be like twister erotica.

"Lean on me, I've got ya."

He inches further down, keeping the balance of the board in check, while you crawl on top of him – every movement followed by waves splashing over the board.

Dean‘s arm comes up to stabilize you with his hand on the small of your back as his other returns between your legs.

You lower your chest, angle your shoulders to rest your weight on top of him, forearm braced against the board next to his head, one knee pushed up to his groin where your other free hand trails down.

The angle's a bit awkward. But you manage to slip your hand into his trunks and wrap your fingers around the base of his hard cock – he hisses – his grip tightens, before his jaw goes slack with a long-drawn-out, whining 'ahhh' as a visible shiver shakes his body.

You pause – let his shaky exhale jiggle the amulet on his chest while his eyes screw up.

This view never gets old.

You begin to palm him, skim his sensitive head with your nails and watch through your own blissfully lidded eyes how his bottom lip's trembling, mouth dropped further open with a shuddering whimper.

"Paddleboard's just for chicks, huh?"

"Fuck- please –" he rasps out your name, and you begin to pump him faster with a satisfied smile.

His long fingers push in deeper. Adds his ring finger to the party before he goes to rub the spot that has you buckle and the board sway.

Dean‘s eyes snap open and lock with yours. Noses touching, your soaked hair sticking to his damp forehead. Panting heavily.

"God –" you both freeze for a moment, chuckling "– We're so hellbent on this."

"Not one to half-ass," he grins. Then playfully bumps your forehead with his, "C‘mon, sit down on my fingers. Ladies first."

You let go of him, reluctantly. Lean back and slowly sink down on his fingers, his hand - palm‘s up - flat on the thigh you‘re straddling.

"Use me, baby," he urges you.

You begin to rock your hips. Carefully.

Dean curls his digits and grinds the heel of his palm against your clit for that extra friction and sounds.

Your head drops back, eyes fluttering as you feel your pleasure building. You rock harder – when the world suddenly begins to tilt.

Like. For real.

You squeal, "Move left– Dean– left!"

"Bossy today, are we?" he grins, oblivious as he is, and scissors his fingers.

"NO DEAN – MOVE YOUR ASS TO THE LE––"

SPLASH.

*Dean’s pop-culture guide: C.J. Parker is Pamela Anderson’s character in Baywatch!

⋆ ˚｡⋆ J / NOTES I realized that I haven't written smut in quite a while. And uh, packing this into 1k turned out to be more difficult than I thought... I hope it was still enjoyable 😂

Dean Tag List:

@aylacavebear @jc-winchester @ambiguous-avery @bettystonewell @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @v1v1-3 @maddie0101 @livya99 @supernotnatural2005 @youdontknowe @zepskies @waynes-multiverse @123passwort @lamentationsofalonelypotato @my-stories-vault @lillied31

@champagnepoets @salemslostwitch @chevroletdean @multiversefanfics @toxicfataldestiny @sunnys-struggles @kimxwinchester @carliebear23 @alexxavicry @ladykitana90 @woaheasytig3r

❀ꗥ Want to join my TAG LIST? Fill out this form!

[incorrectanything]

Dean: WAIT Y/N, DON'T LOOK AT MY LAPTOP!

Y/N: Why...?

Dean, sweating: I was doin'.. uhh... adult things on there.

Y/N, glancing at the screen: But this is a Buzzfeed quiz...?

Dean, slamming the laptop down: What Disney Princess I am is none of your business!!

[stargazedwinchester]

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `delightful, dean winchester ༘♡

summary: you're meeting your friends brother for the first time. he's all things cocky and outward... and maybe a little bit of a dick. word count: 513 pairing: dean winchester x reader prompt: "Ignore him, he's a dick." "I think he's delightful," prompt can be found here! credit to: @prompts-in-a-barrel <3

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

Sam looks exasperated. Which is funny, because you’ve only known Dean for half a day, and you’ve already seen that expression plastered on Sam’s face at least five separate times.

“Ignore him,” Sam mutters, not bothering to lower his voice. “He’s a dick.”

You glance over to where Dean is leaning against the motel room doorframe, arms crossed, mouth tugged into the barest smirk like he knows exactly what’s being said about him.

"I think he's delightful."

“You don’t know him,” Sam huffs, “seriously.”

Dean pushes off the frame and strolls closer, that smirk deepening into something just shy of cocky. “Delightful, huh?”

You meet his gaze and smile, just enough to let him know you’re not bluffing. “Well, you’ve not insulted me, tried to kill me, or told me I’m not cut out for hunting. So yeah. Pretty charming compared to the usual crowd.”

He whistles low under his breath, pointing his finger at you as his eyes flicker to Sam. “I like her.”

“She’s not a dog, Dean,” Sam grumbles. Dean ignores him — all his attention is on you now. “So, what did you think of the hunt?” He cocks his head. “Besides the part where I got thrown into a fence?”

“You landed fine.”

“You watched me get thrown through a fence.”

“I also shot the vamp trying to eat your face, sweetheart. That earn me any points?”

Sweetheart.

Sam lets out a long, pained sign and mutters something about getting coffee. You hardly notice him leave.

There’s a short silence before Dean sits beside you.

“You’re not what I expected,” he says.

“Neither are you.”

His gaze sharpens. Not suspicious, just interested. Like you’re a puzzle he didn’t know he wanted to solve. His eyes flicker down your frame and back up, thoughtful, not sleazy. He looks at you like he’s trying to decide whether you’re trouble, and if so, whether he minds.

“I mean it, though,” you say. “About you being delightful.”

He raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “Yeah?”

“Sure. You’ve got this whole gruff, tough-guy persona going, but underneath that? I bet you’re a decent guy.”

He laughs softly. “That’s the nicest insult I’ve ever had.”

“You’re welcome.”

For a second, the motel room is just the two of you, the dim light buzzing overhead, the scent of old wood and gun oil lays thick in the air. Dean tilts his head.

“You sticking around?” He asks, clearing his throat. You shrug. “Depends.”

“On what?”

You grin at him. “Depends on whether you keep being a dick or not.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll try to rein it in. No promises, though.”

“I’d be disappointed if you did.”

He’s still smiling when Sam walks back in, holding two coffees and a confused look clouds his face.

“Seriously?” Sam mutters, handing you a cup. “He flirted with you already?”

You blow on the coffee, not meeting Dean’s eyes. “I flirted with him.”

Dean just smirks, all smug and warm and unbothered.

And okay… maybe he is a dick.

But he’s your kind of dick.

[castielscaplan]

Embracing Solitude (Crowley SPN)

Summary: you visit Crowley while he's locked up in the bunker.

Warnings: fluff? S9

WC: 1.1K

Read on ao3!

Crowley’s chains rattled, the sound echoing through the cold silence of the bunker. He leaned back against the stone wall, his sharp eyes trained on the steel door, waiting. It had been days—maybe weeks, he couldn’t remember anymore. Time lost all meaning when you were locked away, alone, in this place without a single hint of communication from others. The Winchesters, ever the cautious bunch, had left him there again, their trust barely more than a passing joke, like everything else they did to him.

But there was you. You were different.

The first time you had come, Crowley had expected the usual mockery. The others would send you—some innocent bystander, probably—just to taunt him. To throw salt in the wound, as it were. But you hadn’t. You’d shown up with something simple—books. A few mundane things to occupy your time, a smile, and a glance that made him wonder if you really were one of them.

“What are you doing here?” He had sneered at you, though it was far from his usual biting sarcasm.

“I’m bored,” you had said, shrugging as you sat across from him. “And it’s more interesting here than in the library with Sam. Or dealing with Dean's drinking habits.”

That had been the start. The first of many days where you would come and sit with him, talking—about books, about your life, about whatever seemed to pass the time. You were never afraid. Never repelled by the demon in chains, the one who had once ruled Hell, now relegated to a prison cell. The Winchesters had their reasons for locking him up, for keeping him contained. But you... you were the one who still cared to show up. You were the one who didn’t make him feel like a forgotten relic... It was almost as though you mattered to him, in a sense.

At first, Crowley had kept his distance. He'd tried his best to hide the growing attachment, to mask it behind his usual mask of sarcasm and arrogance. He wasn’t one for bonding, not when you’d spent centuries betraying and manipulating. But somehow, with you, it was different. You were the only one who saw beyond the demon he was. You didn’t look at him with distrust, didn’t react to him like a threat.

He had once mocked you for reading him books, and yet now, he cherished those moments. There were even times when he found himself waiting for you, eyes flicking to the door, willing it to open. Sometimes he wondered what he was hoping for. Another conversation? Another hour of companionship? Or was it something deeper?

You came again that day, your soft footsteps echoing in the corridor outside his cell. Crowley, ever the observer, sat up a little straighter, his eyes fixed on the door. When you stepped into view, holding a new book, he couldn’t help but offer you a small, almost hesitant smile.

“Got something new for me, love?” he asked, his voice smooth, though there was an undercurrent of something he couldn’t quite name.

You grinned back, a spark in your eyes. “A book on the history of Hell. I figured you might appreciate it.”

His heart skipped a beat, and he cursed himself for it. You handed him the book, your fingers brushing his. The light touch lingered for a second longer than necessary, and Crowley quickly looked down at the book in his hands, unwilling to meet your gaze.

"You know, you could just ask them to release me," he said, though there was no real venom behind the words. "I’m sure there’s a far more comfortable way for me to spend my time."

You sat across from him, that same calm, gentle smile on your lips. "Maybe. But I think you’re better off in here. Keeps you from making trouble.”

“Ha, yes,” Crowley chuckled darkly, flicking through the pages of the book. “I suppose you’re right. No one else would come to visit me if they thought I was out and about.”

There was a pause between you, one filled with understanding. He wasn’t used to that—being understood. But here, in the quiet of the bunker jail cell, he felt it more and more with you. It was a dangerous thing for someone like him to feel.

"You should come with me sometime," you said, surprising him. "The world isn’t all bad. There’s still a lot of beauty out there. You’ve been trapped here for too long. There's this river I like to go to after hunts and sit and think."

Crowley’s gaze lifted to meet yours, and for a moment, the mask of indifference slipped. He was vulnerable now, more than he ever let on. Your compassion had chipped away at his walls. And that scared him.

"I’ve been in Hell for centuries," he said softly, his voice betraying a hint of something raw. "What could the world offer me that I haven't already seen?"

"You’ve never seen it with someone who cares," you replied simply, your gaze unwavering. "Maybe that’s what you need."

Crowley didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t used to hearing words like that. Not directed at him. Not from someone who wasn’t trying to manipulate or use him for some purpose. He swallowed hard, feeling an unfamiliar lump in his throat.

“Maybe,” he finally muttered. “Maybe I’ve been alone for so long that I’ve forgotten what it feels like.”

You leaned forward, your gaze softening. “I’m here,” you said, and the sincerity in your voice left him speechless. You didn’t need to say more. In that moment, he understood.

You were here because you cared, and that small, fleeting truth was enough to make the walls of his heart crack just a little bit more.

Crowley let out a long breath, setting the book aside. His eyes were locked with yours now, something unreadable swimming in their depths. He had never been good at showing affection, never good at trusting others with his vulnerability, but here you were, and he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

"You’ve got a lot of faith in me, don’t you?" he asked, his voice softer than it had been in ages.

“Maybe,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But I believe everyone deserves a second chance. Even demons.... Even the scary King of Hell.”

There it was again. That damn warmth. Crowley wanted to pull away, to shut it down before it could grow, but something inside him rebelled. Maybe he didn’t want to shut it down. Maybe he wanted more of it.

“You’re a strange one,” he murmured, leaning back against the wall again. “But I think I’ll keep you around.”

And with that, he allowed himself to rest in the strange, delicate comfort of your presence, knowing that for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t truly alone.

--

Please show appreciation and reblog this if you enjoyed!

If you'd like to be tagged in future fics Click here!

[jollyhunter]

I'm back to catching up with my tbr list and ayyy carramba what is this dark sexual tension we've got going on 'ere 💃💃💃

a sultry beckoning and a plea all at once, like a heady sip of Merlot somehow scarring down the throat.

His fingers delve into your hair and slip around the strands, the same way you suck his tongue into your mouth.

Loved the way you played with your sensual descriptions!

You know, I was absolutely convinced that this was taking place that time Dean was turning into a vampire himself and she just didn't realize it yet, but then you just tossed this sneaky twist my way! Loved it!! 🧡

He just jabs the needle into your neck.

TASTE

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Vampire!Reader

Summary: It’s a devastating hunger. He finds you, at his own risk.

AN: Surprise! Here’s a short drabble for @chevroletdean's 500 follower celebration! (Moodboard created by Liane!) 💜🖤❤️

Word Count: 900

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, spiciness, set circa season 6, little twist ending…

A tease, a whisper of heated breath, a soft streak of cherry red lipstick drawing a lazy path to his ear; your lips brush against his jawline.

“Dean.”

His breath hitches. Perhaps it’s a reaction to the way you say his name, a sultry beckoning and a plea all at once, like a heady sip of Merlot somehow scarring down the throat.

Perhaps it’s the way you’ve caught him. He clears his throat.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, sweetheart,” he intones.

You can hear every uptick beat of his heart while his big hands find an achingly familiar stronghold on your parted thighs. You’ve always admired the strength in his hands, and the way he can move you even without their talents—with just his lips, his voice, his eyes.

He’s found you in this hovel. Deep down, you knew he would eventually. You have him trapped beneath you on this dingy couch, your long nails biting into chipped leather instead of his skin. You’re the one who’s stronger now. And no matter how many warnings blare like a fiery lashing in your mind, you can’t help yourself. You want him more than ever.

It’s a devastating hunger.

For every cell that no longer bleeds red inside you, there’s a demand for more. You crave his taste, now in more ways than one. It scares you. This scares you, more than you’ve ever been scared of anything—even though you’re the one who’s in control, grabbing his face with a slender hand. Your fingertips press into his jaw, digging firmly enough into his stubble-covered cheeks to have the jade of his eyes solely on you.

Your eyes are different now. Darker, sharper, a phantom haze of violet and crushed roses. You see the way he takes in your face, trying to find something recognizable in you besides your body.

“You shouldn’t have,” you finally reply, though there’s hesitation in your voice. Conflict. Pain. Need. A small vulnerability, slight tremble. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

And yet, that deep pit of empty, vicious craving deep in your core compels you to move, to take what you need.

“I think we both know I can handle it,” Dean says. His grin is cocky and familiar in its teasing, but his eyes hold the weight of more. He can’t just let you go. His grip tightens on your thighs to deliberately shift you against him, guiding your clothed pussy against the generous, straining bulge in his jeans. You feel the warmth of him already. You utter a soft moan, your brows knitting together.

Fuck. It’s only been days, but you’ve missed him.

Just a taste.

A threat of a kiss against his lips devolves into hungry devouring. A grunt and a groan loosen from the back of his throat. His fingers delve into your hair and slip around the strands, the same way you suck his tongue into your mouth.

Your hand slips around his back to pull him closer. Your nails rake down his spine, gripping the red flannel of his shirt. He hisses at the red lines likely carving across his skin, but his eyes open to you. They’re wild, alive in a way you can’t be.

The scent of his blood is earthy, rich, tantalizing—too much to set aside. What your flesh wants is secondary to the kind of lust that courses through you, black ink of nightshade in your veins.

Your fangs descend on reflex.

Your head moves fast, but your heart manages to win out the slightest bit; your sharp teeth nearly break the skin of his shoulder instead of tearing at his jugular, the way your instincts demand. A visceral cry for blood is trapped painfully in your throat. Your heart tears even more when you realize that you’ve failed. You couldn’t keep yourself away. You couldn’t stop yourself from—

Dean’s grip tightens in your hair, but he doesn’t bother to try and pull you back.

He just jabs the needle into your neck.

A full dose of dark crimson liquid seeps into your sluggish veins, making you gasp in pure shock. Though, you really should’ve known. Dead Man’s Blood.

Your limbs quickly fall beyond your control, and you slump against his shoulder. Your eyes begin to close, no matter how hard you fight to flutter them open. You can still hear his heart beating wildly, even as he holds you.

“Thought you were gonna take a chunk outta me, huh?” he remarks, with a flash of his wry smile. “Well, it’s been tried.”

Still, there’s more tenderness in his calloused hand when he sweeps your hair away from your cheek. He looks down at you with a note of devastation, apology, regret…but also determination. It furrows his brows and presses his lips into a line.

He sits up with you gathered in his arms, and he swiftly carries you out of this terrible old shed. It was the only place you could find in the city to hide yourself, to keep you away from living, breathing, movable feasts.

“It’s okay, baby. We found the cure,” he says. His voice is firm, reassuring, if holding the remnants of grit. “We’re gonna fix this. Just hold on…”

Your eyes have closed against your will, but his voice manages to move your heart that one inch. Hope.

Just hold on…

AN: Finally something short from me, right? 😂 Though it's actually the first time I've written a vampire reader. Felt like that's where the moodboard was leading me. 👌🏽

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories; send me requests, and more!

Dean Winchester One-Shots List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @kaleldobrev

@globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @0ccvltism

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @cheynovak @jollyhunter

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005 @impala-dreamer @spnaquakindgdom

[anonymousewrites]

Nobody's Soldier (Book 1) Chapter Thirty-Five

Found Family! Supernatural x Teen! Reader

Chapter Thirty-Five: Confronting a Brother and a Demon

Summary: Dean and (Y/N) find Sam and Ruby.

Mouse Note: One of my favorite chapters I've written (my fave for this book) so let me know what you think!

            “Hey, kid.”

            (Y/N) groaned and opened their eyes to see Dean and Bobby standing over them. They sat up, and Dean hauled them up to their feet.

            “What happened?” they said, rubbing the back of their head and wincing.

            “Sam got out,” said Dean grimly.

            (Y/N) blinked in surprise. He had gotten out of the panic room and attacked people who cared about him to get away? That detox wasn’t helpful at all.

            They followed Dean and Bobby downstairs to the panic room itself.

            “How in the hell did he get out?” said Dean, staring at the empty panic room. Somehow, Sam had gotten out and knocked both (Y/N) and Bobby out before leaving in a car.

            “Maybe he had help,” said Bobby grimly as he examined the room. “Room full of busted devil’s traps.” Even the iron devil’s trap embedded in the ground was broken.

            “Demons?” Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Ruby.”

            “That’d be my guess,” said Bobby.

            “How’d she get through the traps, though?” said (Y/N), frowning. “She can’t touch the door even.”

            “I didn’t think so,” said Dean, examining the door. “I don’t know, man.”

            “Well, what difference does it make? How he got gone ain’t as important as where he got to,” said Bobby.

            “Yeah, well, I’ll tell you one thing,” said Dean. “At this point, I hope he’s with Ruby.”

            What has the world come to? (Y/N) made a face. “Why?”

            “Cause killing her’s the next big item on my to-do list,” snapped Dean.

            “I thought you were on-call for angel duty,” said Bobby.

            “I am on-call! On my way to murder the bitch!” shouted Dean.

            “I’m coming!” said (Y/N) before any arguments. They wanted a swing at Ruby, too, on principle.

            “One thing,” said Bobby.

            “What?” said Dean and (Y/N).

            “Sam don’t want to be found,” reminded Bobby. “Which means he’s gonna be damn near impossible to find.”

            “Yeah, we’ll see.” Dean could always find his brother.

            And, soon enough, they were on his trail despite Sam’s attempt to steal a car that wasn’t his style.

l

            (Y/N) followed Dean into the hotel—not a motel, another attempt on Sam’s part to throw them off. After a quick distraction and peek at reservations for names Sam would never use, the pair headed upstairs. They hesitated at a corner, waiting around it. Dean kept an eye on the door, and, soon enough, Sam came out and headed down the hall in the other direction.

            Dean went to the door and opened it. No sooner did Ruby turn around and widen her eyes in surprise than he lunged at her. She blocked him, gritted her teeth, and twisted his arm back so the knife couldn’t touch her. Dean used her hold on him to swing her into a wall, and Ruby grunted. Dean forced the knife farther towards her throat, and (Y/N) moved forward. They kicked the back of Ruby’s legs, and Ruby’s legs gave way. She scrambled to hold herself up as the dagger dipped and touched her skin.

            “No! Let her go!” Sam burst into the room and grabbed Dean by the arm. He wrenched Dean back, and Dean spun and hit the ground. Sam gripped the knife tightly in his hand. “Just take it easy.” He looked warily at (Y/N) and angrily at Dean.

            Dean stood, face full of disappointment but far more powerful anger. “Wow, that must be some party you two had going considering how hard you tried to keep us from crashing it. Well, solid try, but here we are.”

            “Dean…(Y/N)…I’m glad you’re here,” said Sam, appearing honest, but (Y/N) didn’t—couldn’t—trust appearances. “Look, let’s just talk about this.”

            Ruby rolled her eyes slightly, exasperated, and (Y/N) glared.

            “Soon as she’s dead, we can talk all you want,” said Dean, vehemently against letting Ruby live.

            “Ruby, get out of here,” said Sam.

            “She’s not going anywhere!” said Dean, but Sam stepped between him and Ruby as she darted out of the room.

            (Y/N) took one glance at Dean and ran for the door. Sam moved in alarm but with far less harshness towards them, but Dean tried for the door, too, and Sam grabbed him.

            “(Y/N)!” he shouted back at them, but (Y/N) was already down the hall after Ruby, and the further shouts between Dean and Sam were nonsensical to them.

            (Y/N) arrived in the parking lot and looked around at the empty lot. They spotted Ruby hurrying away and sprinted after her. Ruby pivoted as she heard (Y/N), and she pulled out her own knife. (Y/N) slowed slightly, warily glancing at it. They had no real weapon to hurt Ruby, but they damn-well weren’t going to let her go.

            “Walk away, kiddo,” snapped Ruby in warning.

            “No,” said (Y/N). “You’re hurting Sam. That blood is killing him.” They swallowed and faced the demon head-on. “I’m not gonna let you hurt him.”

            Ruby grinned, and the expression sent a shiver down (Y/N)’s spine. “Oh, please. Sam loves the blood. He loves me. You can’t do a goddamn thing.”

            It was a threat. Towards Sam? (Y/N) furrowed their brow, and Ruby lunged. (Y/N) blocked her slash, swiping their leg. Ruby stumbled as she was pushed off-balance, but she recovered quickly and pivoted to stab at (Y/N). They blocked, but Ruby grabbed their arm, slashing across their arm with her knife. (Y/N) yelped and kicked to get back. They hit the curb and fell. Ruby stabbed downwards, and (Y/N) rolled to the side.

            Holy shit, she’s really going to kill me, they realized with their mind in a whirl.

            This was the Ruby Sam refused to see. She was a demon through and through, and she was going to kill (Y/N) before they could say anything to Dean or Sam about it. Ruby kicked them, and (Y/N) gritted their teeth, scrambling to get to their feet, but Ruby was on them in a moment. She hooked an arm around their throat and kicked the back of their knees. (Y/N) coughed and gasped for air, and they froze as Ruby’s knife appeared at their side.

            “You’re such an interfering little brat,” said Ruby. “This all would’ve been simpler if it was just the brother, but, no, you just had to survive.”

            What? (Y/N) had no time to review the words as Ruby choked them.

            “Whatever. I’ll fix that now.”

            (Y/N) gasped as the sharp, cold knife plunged into their side, reopening the healing wound from Alastair. Ruby wrenched it out, and (Y/N) whimpered painfully, scrambling to remain conscious and scratching at Ruby’s arms.

            “I’ll have to dump you somewhere…” mused Ruby, letting go of (Y/N), and they collapsed to the ground. “Otherwise, Sam’ll notice. Pity. He’ll be sad when you’re gone. Not me. But, you know, gotta keep the man happy.”

            I hate her… thought (Y/N) blearily.

            Hauling (Y/N) up over her shoulder, Ruby stepped towards the bushes leading down to a creek behind the hotel. Ruby tossed them over, and (Y/N) cried out as they hit the ground, rolling downwards until they lay half-submerged in the water.

            Ruby smirked down at them, wiped her blade clean, and walked away. (Y/N) stared up at the dark, starry sky above them. The stars winked in and out above them, and (Y/N) felt a painful, fearful sob bubble up in their throat. They had been stabbed with Alastair. The ghouls had feasted on their blood. But this was the most scared they’d been since their parents died. At least in those moments, (Y/N) hadn’t been alone. Now they were dying in a ditch alone and cold, abandoned to the world.

            (Y/N) felt a cold tear fall down their cheek. They sobbed, the sound dying with exhaustion in their throat. With all the effort they had, one of their hands rose to cradle their necklace as if it could truly protect them.

            Please…if anyone, anything’s out there… (Y/N) blinked, eyelids heavy. The world was growing darker, and the pinprick lights of stars were going out above them. Help me…I don’t want to die… (Y/N) sobbed, eyes falling shut to darkness. I don’t want to die…

            The wind whooshed over the small, cold, teenage body lying in the woods, but they were too far gone to notice.

l

            “He’s gone,” said Dean, groaning and holding his head. “Yeah, Bobby. Gone. Left with the demon bitch.”

            “He’s far gone,” said Bobby on the other end of the phone. “What about (Y/N)? Did he hurt them?” That would be unforgivable and a sign that Sam was completely gone. He wouldn’t hurt a kid like that.

            “(Y/N) went after Ruby to keep track of her,” said Dean. “So no. But they probably did something stupid.” He stood from where he leaned on the wall. “I’ll call you when we’re heading back. We need to regroup.” Sam was no longer on their team.

            “Right,” said Bobby.

            Dean hung up and headed outside. He looked around, expecting to see (Y/N) looking frustrated and grumbling about Ruby getting away and giving them a good hit over the head or something. But they weren’t by the impala. He couldn’t see them anywhere. Dean frowned. That wasn’t right.

            He opened his phone and dialed their number. It rang, but there was no response. It went to voicemail instantly. Dead or broken. Great, grumbled Dean. That was just what he needed. On top of Sam going off the rails for a demon, (Y/N) was missing.

            “(Y/N)?” called Dean. He listened for an answer and shouted again. “(Y/N)?” He walked towards the street and looked up and down it for an unconscious kid. Ruby would be the one to knock them out and just leave them there. She was a demon and a bitch. However, Dean saw nothing. He frowned. Where the hell are they?

            The wind blew through the parking lot, and a branch hit Dean’s face. He spluttered and stumbled clumsily. Only a bit, but it turned him, and when he wiped the leaves away from his face, he stood in front of the bushes at the side of the parking lot. Something glittered in the light, and Dean frowned. He peered over the bushes, and a small purple crystal glinted up at him.

            Dean’s eyes widened, and he scrambled down the embankment to the creek. (Y/N) lay unmoving, half in the water.

            “Shit, shit, shit,” he cursed, crouching beside them. “Hey, kid? Kid!”

            Dean shook them, but (Y/N) didn’t move. Their skin was cold, and blood stained their side. This was worse than the other injuries they’d experienced, and Dean felt his heartbeat quicken with panic. He pulled their shirt up slightly to examine the wound. By some miracle, it was no longer gushing blood, but with the amount that stained the dirt and leaves beneath them, it didn’t mean they were out of danger.

            Dean pressed a hand to their wound to staunch the bleeding and dialed Bobby again. He felt his hand tremble, and he forced himself to remain still. (Y/N)’s life rested in his ability to keep calm.

            “Dean?” said Bobby.

            “Bobby, I found (Y/N), but they’re bleeding bad,” said Dean. “I don’t know-I don’t know how long they’ve been lying here, but Ruby, she, shit, they’re dying, Bobby. They’re halfway there.”

            “I’ll get everything ready,” said Bobby instantly. He wanted (Y/N) to pull through as much as Dean. “Get them back.”

            Dean didn’t answer and hung up. Carefully, he picked (Y/N) up, and they remained limp and unmoving in his arms. “Come on, kid,” he whispered. “Keep breathing. I’ve got you.”

            As Dean carried (Y/N) to the impala, bundled up in his arms, their hand slipped off their necklace. Even with blood smeared across it, the crystal winked in the light as if mimicking (Y/N)’s life waning.

l

            “Sam?” Far away from the hotel, Ruby closed the drunk of her and Sam’s latest car. “Your head in the game here?”

            Sam swallowed and stopped staring into space. “I’m good. Let’s go.” He just had too much on his mind. He had needed to go with Ruby, and he wished (Y/N) and Dean understood that, but he regretted the way he had fought Dean and Dean’s last words to him.

            “You okay?” asked Ruby. She couldn’t have him backing out now.

            “I just said I was,” said Sam, facing her completely.

            “Look, I know hand-holding really isn’t my thing…but, still, Dean was wrong saying what he said to you,” said Ruby.

            “No,” said Sam softly. “He was right to say it. I mean, I don’t blame him, after what I did.”

            “Well, after we’re done, you guys will patch things up,” said Ruby to encourage Sam and get him out of his worry. “I mean, you always do.”

            “You’re talking like I got an ‘after,’ ” said Sam.

            “Don’t say that,” said Ruby.

            Sam shook his head slightly. “I can feel it inside me, Ruby. I’ve changed—for good. There’s no going back now.”

            “Sam—”

            “Look, I know what I got to do,” said Sam. He grimaced but shrugged. “It’s okay. I’m just saying…Dean and (Y/N) are better off as far away from me as possible.” He looked at Ruby. “Was…(Y/N) was upset, weren’t they?”

            “Yeah,” said Ruby. “They think they’re doing the right thing, but they don’t get what you have to do.”

            “Were they okay when you left?” asked Sam.

            “I lost them in town,” said Ruby. “I don’t know what happened.”

            Sam’s shoulders relaxed, and he nodded. “Let’s just get this over with.”

            Ruby watched him get into the car. She glanced at her knife and inspected it carefully. No evidence of blood remained. Good.

Taglist:

@snowy-violet

@girgal73

@neenieweenie

@yummycement

@pain-in-the-ashe

@w0mank1sser

@taeswolfie

@yappydoo

@demonic-insomniac

@aew-regression-cove

@grippledee-galaxy

@lemmejustreadman

@coffeecloud135

@star-maker-rain-dancer

@introvertathome

@trashcannotbealive

@iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

@dmitrytherat

@paastaboi

@kaz-2y5-spn

@mxvoid26

@ianiscool

[sacr1ficialang3l]

Do you want a Kiss?ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ ₊˚⊹

SUMMARY: sam has a little chocolate-dipped problem. 3.6k playlist!!!

WARNINGS: teen!sam winchester. high school au. characters are minors. fluff. just a small sweet treat from me to y'all. english is not my first language! enjoy<3

Sam has a problem. An adorable, caramel-scented, knitted-sweater-clad, huge problem.

Every day for the past few weeks, you have sneaked up on him—in the library, right after class, in the middle of the hallway, once even in the principal's office—and asked the same freaking question:

“Do you wanna kiss?”

Or at least that is what he heard the first time. 

You and Sam have been “friends” ever since you were paired up for an English project. He had seen you around before, but you never spoke up in class and kept mostly to yourself. Except when he caught you walking around with three other girls—just then, you would smile and joke around, standing in the background, embarrassed but giggly, as two of them broke into song out of nowhere.

So he didn’t expect you to participate much in the assignment. He assumed he would assign you your part, you’d do it by yourself, and that would be it.

The assignment had been easy—just a simple reflection project on The Iliad—and it would have been even easier if the rest of your classmates weren’t idiots.

Because, as it turns out, only you and Sam had actually read the book—the other three teens stared at you both dumbfoundedly when Sam tried to explain what each of them had to do.So obviously, you and Sam had ended up working on the stupid project by yourselves for a whole three days—in class and after school. It should’ve been tedious and exasperating, but Sam now mentally thanks his classmates for being illiterate. 

Because for three days, he got to discuss literature with a girl who was almost as much of a nerd as he was. You had so many interesting things to say—about Achilles and his character journey, about how heartbreaking his and Patroclus’ story is (you seem to swear they are romantically involved, and even Sam is almost convinced after hearing you talk about it for two hours), and you even go on a whole rant about Helen and why she deserved better.

Dean laughs and pities him when Sam tells him about it, but what he doesn’t know is that Sam might have just fallen in love. 

You got an A on the project, of course, and ever since then, you and Sam have worked on every assignment together—whether it’s supposed to be done in groups or not. You don’t actually hang out—you just chat in class and say hello when you walk past each other in the hallway, but nothing else.

That’s why, when you suddenly approach him one day in the cafeteria with a grin and your hand hidden behind your back, and ask him if he wants to kiss, his brain stops working.

He just stares at you, eyes wide and lips parted. All his intelligence leaks out of his ears and words escape him, so he just stands there like an idiot until you give him the sweetest giggle—the smell of hot chocolate and caramel filling his nose when you tilt your head to hide your smile, his breath hitching as you take a step closer—and hand him something.

In the middle of your extended palm, he notices some kind of foil-covered drop, and it takes him a minute to understand what it is.

A Kiss. One single Hershey's Kiss.

So now he knows that you’re actually asking, “Do you want a Kiss?”

But honestly, it doesn’t make it much better.

Because you take him by surprise every time, and every time he freezes and blushes and acts like the biggest fucking loser.

“Just kiss her, Sammy,” Dean suggests unhelpfully, once he catches on to the situation. “She’s so obviously flirting with you.”

“She’s not flirting with me, Dean. We barely know each other.”

“I swear to God, Sammy. Just grab her waist, pull her closer, and kiss her. You’ll thank me later.”

But Sam couldn’t just do that, because he isn’t Dean.

He doesn’t just kiss girls. He doesn’t give them that look-at-me-I’m-so-great grin, and they don’t fall at his feet like his brother’s do. He doesn’t walk up to the first pretty girl he sees and give her some cheap pick-up line that somehow ends up working because of his stupid charm. He doesn’t make out with a girl from every single town their dad takes them to. And he definitely is not about to start now.

Don’t get him wrong, Sam has been with some girls. He’s kissed a few chicks from the multiple schools he’s attended, and he had a girlfriend back when they stayed in Michigan for a whole month. He even dry-humped a girl he was supposed to be tutoring in History in his junior year. (Dean was pretty fucking proud about that one.)

But still, Sam is more… reserved. He isn’t shy (you couldn’t be when your dad has been forcing you to speak with locals and eyewitnesses before you even learned how to ride a bike), but he isn’t confident either. He is awkward, a little socially inept from so much time spent on the road, the boy with too much knowledge about ancient mythologies and Latin. Girls approach him because he is—in a way he still can’t understand—attractive, and he doesn’t usually turn them away, but he knows better than to give in to his heart’s desire for something else. Something different than his brother’s one-night stands, something gentle, something real.

Because Sam is the boy who gets straight A’s but no one puts them on the freezer. The boy who keeps people at arm’s length because “you can’t get attached to civilians, Sammy.” He’s the boy all the professors want to praise but whose guardians never show up for parent-teacher conferences. He’s the boy who one day simply disappears from school because his dad found a new hunt in a new town.

He’s the boy who’s pretty sure something isn’t right with him.

So when he sees you, sitting there in English class—your head buried in a book, your hair falling onto your face, the sleeves of your warm brown sweater too long, the shine in your eyes too bright—he doesn’t find it in himself to ruin it.

Instead, he sits next to you quietly, gives you a small nod in greeting, and tries to keep his heart from beating out of his chest.

The teacher is talking about some assignment you will do to prepare for your next reading—Sam is looking forward to sitting in the library with you during lunch, browsing through the shelves and hearing you tell him about every book you’ve already read—when you turn to look at him.

He expects an invitation to work together, or some jab at the boy in the front row who keeps drawing dicks all over his desk, but then you lean in until your breath brushes his ear when you whisper,

“Do you want a Kiss?”

It still makes him jump, even after all this time. His cheeks flush, and his fists clench. He turns to face you with his best attempt at a glare—but it looks more like a pout—and immediately regrets it.

You’re close. Your shoulder brushes his, and your cheeks and eyelids are dusted maroon, your eyes sparkle with gold, and your breath still smells like the mocha frappe he knows you drink every morning, and you’re just so fucking warm.

Everything about you smells like coffee and books and just-baked cookies; and it tastes like cocoa and cinnamon and red velvet; and it feels like putting on your favorite cardigan and walking through mountains of orange leaves and snuggling under the covers during a rainy autumn morning.

God, what the hell is happening to him? He’s such a fucking loser.

Overwhelmed by the sweet glint in your eyes he will never get used to, his eyes move down to your hand hiding under the table. He grabs the Hershey’s Kiss with a huff, and bites back a smile at your giggle when he quickly rips the wrapper off and throws the chocolate in his mouth.

“If we miss any important instructions for the assignment, it’s your fault,” he whispers to you, eyes on the board like he’s trying not to alert the teacher but actually he’s just trying to keep his cheeks from flushing even more.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” You roll your eyes, slowly unwrapping your own sweet treat. He wonders where the fuck you get so many of them. “If we miss anything, I’m sure Mrs. Keating will have no problem repeating herself for her favorite little student,” you murmur through the chocolate in your mouth, bumping your shoulder with his.

You love to tease him about your English teacher’s clear preference for him—in your opinion. Sam knows that she likes him, but he wouldn’t say he’s her favorite, even though she always praises his essays and has offered a recommendation letter more than once.

“Shut up and pay attention,” he mutters your name, and it leaves a syrupy tang on his tongue. But if he's being honest, he loves when you tease him. It shows him that you’re comfortable with him, no longer retreating to that shell you always seem to hide in when you’re alone, stuck with the rest of your classmates.

“Another Kiss?”

“Shhhhh.”

You end up, indeed, missing some important information. So Sam has to go ask Mrs. Keating about it and watches your amusement when she happily explains that they have to do a class presentation, sending him off with a sticker that says “Otterly amazing!” next to a cross-eyed otter who looks a little demonic.

You end up spending the whole afternoon in the school’s library. There are mountains of books around the table about the 1920s’ economic and historical context in America, along with a few books you recommended to Sam and he promised to check out. You end up reading out loud for him while he takes notes in his notebook, and he fights the urge to fall asleep to your voice that wraps around him like a fluffy blanket.

By the third time Sam yawns, you decide to go buy two coffees from the vending machine in the cafeteria. You put an alarming amount of sugar in yours, and grimace when Sam decides to take his black.

“That’s how my dad and brother drink it,” he explains in a voice he hopes is not as bitter as his drink. “So I just got used to it.”

Then you nod, giving him a look so kind he doesn’t know what to do with it, and you lean against him as you two lean back on the vending machine. Both of you are quiet for a moment, sipping your coffee and staring at the cafeteria tiles, before you sigh and take a step forward.

“Come on, we gotta at least collect all the information today. We can organize the presentation tomorrow in class.”

You grab his hand. Without even looking at him, you take his left hand in your right and start to pull him back to the library. Sam’s heart skips a beat, and he lets you drag him awkwardly for a few seconds before taking two long strides and falling right into your side. But even when you don’t have to pull him along, you don’t let go of his hand.

It stays wrapped around his—fingers not intertwined, but still warm and soft and perfect. And it stays there until you finally reach the table, when you let go of him and grab the book you were reading before the break. For the first time in his life, Sam hates books.

So you keep working until the janitor warns you that the school is about to close, and by then you have collected all the information you need. You walk out of the building, hands brushing but no longer grasped, and Sam feels something inside him ache at the prospect of leaving.

Because doing research with you is a hell of a lot better than going back to the moldy motel his family is staying at—where the shower only has cold water and there’s always someone moaning in the distance. It’s cold and stinky and lonely, and he desperately wants to stay with you, where it’s cozy and sweet and lovely.

He’s getting way too attached, Sam knows. He knows this is bad, and he will have to leave any day now. But fuck, it’s so easy to just look at you and your teddy bear–like gentleness and just… crave.

Because everything else in his life is painful, and ugly, and rough.

You turn to him, smiley and gorgeous. “Need a ride?” You point toward your car.

It’s one of the few still there, the parking lot almost empty at this hour. It makes it easy to spot the Impala parked on the opposite side—the car he grew up in. Sam can see Dean through the windshield, and his brother gives him a thumbs up and one of his goofy grins before making kissing gestures with his hands.

Before you can see his idiot older brother and Sam is forced to change identities and move countries, he looks back at you.

“Nah, my brother’s picking me up.”

You nod, chewing on your lower lip and looking like you’re about to say something else before deciding against it.

“So, see you tomorrow?” Sam is about to nod when you take a step forward and kiss his cheek, once again almost sending him into an early grave. “Get home safe, Sam.”

Before he can even attempt to blurt out anything, you turn around and rush toward your car, waving Dean goodbye through the windshield before you drive past him and away from the school.

“Not flirting, huh?”

Not even Dean’s incessant teasing or his dad’s grip on a whiskey bottle bother him that night, because all he can feel is your lips on his cheek and the small bundle of fire it set on his chest.

It isn’t like the fire he feels when hunting—angry and all-consuming, or the one he feels when he stares at one of his brother’s badly hidden adult magazines—prickly and wild. This one feels like sitting near the fireplace in the middle of winter—comforting and tender and oh god so fucking addictive.

Turns out you can’t organize the presentation in class the next day because there’s a gas leak from one of the chemistry labs. “Two dudes were ‘wrestling’ and they broke a freaking pipe. I swear to God they work hard to be this idiotic.” Sam has to agree, because now you don’t even have access to the library—and his brother would be busy helping their dad with the case all day, so he can’t pick him up.

“We still have to work on the presentation,” you sigh, twirling your hair with your fingers like you do when you’re deep in thought. It’s distracting, because it makes the caramel scent float all around you—and because you keep biting your lower lip while you do it.

“We can go to the public library,” Sam offers. He had been there to help look into the lore for this hunt, and the place is small and full of little kids running around during what was supposed to be “story time hours,” but it’d have to do.

“Yeah…” You turn to look at him, still chewing on your lip, eyes more nervous than he’s ever seen on you. He’s about to ask if everything is okay when—“We could go to my house.”

You need to stop doing that, or he’s seriously going to have a heart attack one day.

That’s how he ends up here, sitting on the couch in your living room while working on a presentation about the Roaring Twenties. It’s only you and Sam—both your parents at work, no siblings—and he’s trying to force himself to act as normal as possible.

But it’s hard when you bring him a homemade mocha frappe and throw a brown knitted blanket over both your laps before you get to work. When there’s soft piano music playing in the background, chocolate chip cookies on the coffee table, and you’re so fucking close.

Your thigh brushes his under the blanket, and it’s really hard to focus on speakeasies and the prohibition. You start to plan out who will present which part, and you tease him about asking Mrs. Keating for a jazz dance. He softly pushes you away until you’re giggling and falling onto his side for support.

“Stop! Stop! I’m about to fall off the couch!” No, you’re not. You’re not even near the edge—Sam would never push you that hard—but he stops all the same.

“She doesn’t even like me that much,” he argues, mourning the loss of your weight against him when you straighten up to roll your eyes at him.

“Please, you’re the only one she gives actual golden stars on your essays, and she’s always putting you up as an example of excellence.” You do a scarily good impression of the woman. “Not that I blame her, though, when you go up to her with those huge puppy eyes and fluffy hair and cutesy smile, and talk about symbolism and foreshadowing and archetypes. Anyone would be enamored.”

The words are supposed to be teasing, just another joke. But you murmur them so close to his face, looking up at him through your lashes, your thighs brushing once again. And they sound so genuine when you mention his eyes and smile and being enamored.

Sam stares down at you, cheeks flushing and brain short-circuiting. He blinks once, then twice, then…

“Do you want a K—hmph!”

This time, he finally presses his lips to yours. It’s a little awkward—just a dry, soft peck. But then you smile against him, and when he leans away, your cheeks are red and your eyes are extra shiny.

“Took you long enough, smart boy.”

He chuckles, head falling forward in embarrassment. “Yeah, sorry.”

You shake your head, tangling your fingers in his hair and forcing him to look back at you.

“You’re so fucking cute.” He has to kiss you again, if only just to hide the way his cheeks burn.

This time it’s better. You tilt your head and move your lips against his so sweetly, and you taste like chocolate and cinnamon when he licks inside your mouth, and your sweater is fluffy under his hands as he wraps them around your waist. You pull on his hair gently, and suddenly Sam has never felt cold in his life. All he knows is warmth and caramel and the fireplace on his chest, crackling and burning steadily.

“We both know what we have to do for the presentation,” you lean back from the kiss, and Sam can barely hear your words as he looks at your lips, puffy and shiny with his spit. “What do you say we watch a movie?”

He nods, so you turn on the living room TV and put on some rom-com with a side of murder mystery Sam’s never heard about—it’s mostly cowboy and action movies in the motel rooms, and even when his brother and his father leave him alone for days on end in some cabin, he watches sci-fi and what Dean calls his “nerdy shit.”

Neither of you end up actually watching the movie, instead making out under the knitted blanket right there on the couch. Sam cages you under his body and kisses the taste of mocha out of your mouth until a honk comes from outside.

You immediately break away, and Sam has to take a minute before he can function again.

It’s Dean, ready to pick him up and take him back to the motel. Sam tries to fix his hair and make sure his lips don’t look too bitten before he makes his way out the door, not in the mood to put up with any more teasing. He picks up his backpack from the floor and mutters a small goodbye before walking away.

He’s not sure what any of this means—if you just wanted to make out or if you feel the same way he does. And even if you do, he doesn’t know what to do with that. Because he isn’t supposed to get attached, but—

“Sam!”

He stops walking at the sound of your voice, wondering if he forgot one of his textbooks by accident. You run out of your house to meet him in the driveway, the orange light from inside making you look like an angel.

You stop right in front of him and extend your palm toward him.

“Your Kiss.”

He stares at the candy for about five seconds before meeting your eyes, and he notices the smudge of chocolate in the corner of your mouth. His shoulders relax, and a smile so tender he wouldn’t recognize it as his own if he saw it in a mirror takes over his face.

He takes the Kiss from your hand, but before he can retreat, you circle your fingers around his wrist and pull him closer, granting him one last slow, sugary kiss.

“Get home safe, smart boy,” you mutter against his lips, letting go of his hand. “Learn your lines for the presentation, and maybe I’ll take you to my room instead next time.”

“Next time” echoes through his head during the whole ride to the motel, drowning out Dean’s lewd jokes and the wind coming through the windows as they speed down the road.

Next time.

NOTES: writing about teen!dean got me thinking about teen!sam and i just couldn't stop myself from writing this. this is actually inspired by a little recurring bit me and my best friend have when we eat hershey's kisses, and i just thought it would be so cute to write a little fic about it. it was supposed to be super short but as always I can't stop fucking talking.

anyway, i missed my sweet boy so much. I love dean but i'm a sam girly at heart and i just wanted to write something cutesy for my doe-eyed love.

TAGS: @littlejackles @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @h8aaz @otteropera @xoswiftieprincess @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @losers-clvb @pieandflannel @southernimpala @jays-bonnie-on-the-side<3

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

[reginaphalangelobster]

Cuddles, Laughter and Forever

Sam Winchester x GN!Reader

Summary: A cold, late night researching in the bunker leads you and Sam to warm each other up, much to Dean's annoyance.

Warnings: none really, fluff, annoyed Dean but he really does care and thinks your sweet together, Sam calls reader "baby" once.

Word Count: 500

Requested

A/n: Recently been writing a lot of angst so this little fluffy drabble is such a cute change of pace, thank you for the request!

You were supposed to be researching. Key word being "supposed". It was just so hard, sitting there in the library, so cold and so close to Sam. The heating was playing up again and you just couldn't help but climb into his lap. Not that he minded, at all.

You curled up to him and he pulled you in tight, laughing lightly and looking at you with that soft, sweet smile. The one reserved solely for you. You wiggled around a little, getting comfortable and picked up your old law book again.

"Um, what do you think you're doing?" He asked in a playful tone.

"Cuddling? I was cold"

"Not that, the book" He said as he gestured to the book in your hands.

"What? You were the one who said, and I quote" You paused as you put on your best awful impersonation of Sam "We need to research even if it kills us, this time is really important guys!"

"Okay, first of all, I do not sound like that"

"Mm" You scrunched your nose "You kinda do though"

He just grinned and shook his head at you.

"And second, Dean left an hour ago, surely we deserve a break too"

"Well, I guess it is a little cold and pretty late, a little break wouldn't kills us, would it?"

"Nope, don't think so. Even if it does, I'll die a happy man"

You giggled as you threw the book into the table with a loud thud.

"Oops, I hope I didn't wake up Dean"

"I hope you did, I love how annoyed gets when he sees us cuddling"

"Yeah" You laughed "Like that time in Baby's backseat"

"You mean when he pulled over and said "No cuddling in my car, nuh uh""

"Then he said "Sammy, in the front, now!""

"Neither of us can do impressions, huh?"

"Not to save ourselves"

You both laughed your asses off and it echoed through the bunked, unknowingly waking a very annoyed Dean.

You looked up at Sam and saw the total adoration in his eyes.

"I love you" You said like it was the easiest thing in the world, and it was.

You had both said it before but it felt special every time.

"I love you too, baby"

Your lips met in a small but sweet kiss, soft and domestic, before someone interrupted you.

"Oh god, get a room guys! And stop traumatizing me, damn it"

"We have a room Dean" Sam said a little smugly as he turned to his brother.

"Then use it!" Dean yelled over his shoulder as he left the room with a huff, leaving you and Sam still sitting together, now laughing again.

You could cuddle up to him and laugh together forever.

Tags:

@dianawinchester03 @pinkthick @craftytacopiecash @meryuniverse @aliljaybird @macbaetwo @castielshunterwife @scarletluvsdanno @twentyonetornmyheart @neospacedoctor @destiel-1967-sammy @yigashimei @something0193 @ursamajor17 @colorfulavenuecollection @fairytailnerd1024-blog @daithideolishmer18 @am-i-the-villain-co @mameeta @bblessed @maximum-uwu @bbywonu @fmlariel @lipstickandlifts

[wetsocksinbed]

no words just 2005 Dean Winchester

[ateotdwinchester]

ꨄ︎ can’t save everyone

a/n: was watching an episode of spn (can’t remember exactly which episode?) where they mentioned that they can’t always save everyone, and that gave me the idea for this fic and i was desperate to write something about dean :)

also.. a part 2 may or may not be in the works

pairing: dean x reader

summary: you weren’t dealing well with how a hunt went a couple of weeks ago and dean is there to try and comfort you — even though it doesn’t go the way he expects

warnings: mentions of death in a previous hunt

word count: 2.5k

✩ ✩ ✩

You’d been on hunts before.

But never one like this.

It had been almost a year since you joined the Winchesters with hunting. You’d met through a mutual friend of Bobby’s and helped each other out on a case. Which went so well, you decided to team up as a trio.

You’d been on countless cases where things got nasty. Fighting spirits, demons, vampires… you name it, you’d fought it. All sorts of weapons were used, and you always had each others backs and always protected those that you could.

The job of being a hunter came with its risks and downsides. Any one of you could get hurt, any of the victims might not make it out alive every time. You knew that.

You’d worked cases with Sam and Dean where one of them couldn’t save or protect someone. It had happened multiple times, and you’d gotten through it.

Only… you’d never been there to witness that.

Everytime a victim had been killed, it was when Sam and Dean were with them while you were doing other things. Such as finding a body, or salting and burning bones.

This case was the first time you’d been set on the task of protecting someone. A girl around your age, which a demon happened to be after.

Everything was going fine, until… it wasn’t.

The girl got killed while you were forcefully held up against a wall, only being able to watch the scene unfold in front of you. You couldn’t do anything to stop it.

By the time Dean got there, it was too late. He found you sitting against the wall with tears streaming down your face as you stared at the body.

Since that day, you hadn’t spoken much about it. You didn’t want to. Didn’t know if you could.

Sam and Dean could tell it was bothering you. It was obvious on the hunts that followed. You weren’t yourself, you were unfocused, asking to do research tasks rather than joining in with the fights.

A day came where you had no cases. Sam and Dean couldn’t find another to check out. So.. as always on your free days, the brothers suggested going to get breakfast before leaving the motel you were staying at.

They knew you well, and knew you wouldn’t turn down a nice cooked breakfast. Along with a morning treat of pie.

Which was why it was a shock when you did turn it down. Insisting on just needing some more sleep to catch up on.

In the time they were busy having breakfast, you thought you’d have plenty of space to be alone to wallow in your sorrows while trying to get a quick shower in. You never made it into the shower. Too upset to do so.

It startled you when you heard the door to your motel room opening. They couldn’t be done with breakfast already.

You stood silently, hand over your mouth as you tried to quieten down your sobs of despair. You were unsure of which brother had made their back to the room.

There were footsteps, and then a gentle knock at the bathroom door.

“Hey, sweetheart?” It was Dean. “Uh, Sam’s still eating at the diner, I skipped out and thought to bring back some pie instead.”

He was met with silence. You were trying to gather yourself as fast as you could. Although, you couldn’t help but wonder why he wanted to bring pie back here instead of staying at the diner.

“It’s your favourite,” he was still at the door. “Banana cream.”

“I’ll be out in a second,” you managed to answer.

You heard his steps again, walking away from the door. Then the quiet sound of a chair being moved. Most likely one at the small wooden table opposite the bed you’d been sleeping in.

There was some rustling too. Or at least it sounded like a box being open and the use of a plastic fork being slightly scraped along the bottom of what the pie was sitting in as he gathered up a bite.

It was almost like a miracle to Dean when he heard the bathroom door handle twisting.

You pulled the door open, Dean looked up immediately. You hadn’t changed out of your black AC/DC shirt — which he’d sometimes mistake for his own since you like the same music — and navy blue shorts that you always wore to sleep in.

He saw the dark circles under your eyes, the way your eyelashes were clumped together giving away that you had been crying moments ago. Your cheeks a rosy pink colour, and this time it wasn’t from Dean teasing you with a flirty joke.

As you walked towards the table, you didn’t dare make eye contact with Dean as much as you knew he was looking at you.

You silently sat down, opened up the second box of pie, picked up the plastic fork he’d brought you and began eating the slice of banana cream pie that was there.

Dean kept looking at you and you easily felt his eyes burning through you. But you couldn’t look up, you knew if you did you might burst out into tears.

And you didn’t cry in front of Dean. You didn’t cry in front of anyone.

“You know,” he spoke up. “You don’t have to pretend around me.”

You took another mouthful of pie after he said that. That’s when he stopped eating, placing his fork down as he folded his arms with his eyebrows slightly raised.

“Just eating my pie,” you finally looked at him, chuckling. “Didn’t know there was a fake way to eat—“

“Stop it, would you?”

He took you by surprise at his harsh tone. Causing you to look away again. This time you put down your fork, pushing the box of pie away from yourself.

“That hunt was hard on you, I know that,” he softened his voice just slightly. “But not sleeping, sneaking out in the middle of the night, not speaking to me or Sam… none of that is gonna help.”

“I haven’t been—“

“Sneaking out?” Dean interrupted a second time. “Yes you have, I’ve seen you do it the past few nights.”

A smirk appeared on your face, “oh so you like watching me, huh?”

Dean clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Of course, he’s used to you having comebacks to the things he says, but he hadn’t expected it right now.

“Using my own words against me,” he shook his head with a laugh.

You both looked at each other as your smiles slowly faded. Back to the real reason Dean left Sam alone to eat breakfast.

“Look, it’s okay if you aren’t dealing with this whole thing very well,” he leaned forwards on the table. “Just because me and Sam are used to is doesn’t mean there’s any shame in getting upset.”

That’s all it took for the tears to resurface in your eyes. Maybe the mixture of the unusual softness in Dean’s voice, or just that he was willing to be more sweet for once to ensure you were okay.

You looked down just as a tear dropped, leaving a wet mark on your shirt. Your hair fell forwards, covering your face as you tried to subtly wipe away any more tears that fell.

But Dean could see it.

He shuffled his chair closer to yours, hesitating slightly before he reached out to tuck your hair behind your ears.

It was a such an unexpected thing for Dean to do, that the gesture alone caused you to look at him without him having to ask you to.

You tried as much as you could to hold your crying inside. You weren’t weak, you were far from it. And you didn’t want that to show in front of someone as strong as Dean.

Try as you might, he could tell by the way your chest was heaving that you needed to let it out. He might not be used to giving people a ton of comfort, but he would always try his best with you.

“It’s just me,” he placed his hand soothingly on your knee, moving his thumb back and forth. “Just us.”

And you broke down.

It was the fastest Dean had ever pulled you against him. An arm around your shoulders, one hand resting on the back of your head as he held it against his chest.

He decided then and there that the sound, and feeling, of you crying against him was one of the worst things he’d ever heard. Even over the shouts, screams or strange noises from victims or spirits.

Dean would never admit out loud, but he hated seeing you upset. He hated knowing you were hurting. Most of all, he hated that he couldn’t remove those memories of what happened from your mind. All he wanted was for you to be okay, to not be broken over losing someone you swore to protect.

“Shh, shh,” he whispered, leaning down to rest his chin atop your head. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

It took you a few moments to settle yourself. But Dean held you the whole time you cried, allowed you to get your emotions out within the comfort of his arms.

Even after you stopped, went silent, your hands stayed curled into the fabric of his shirt, his hand keeping your head against him. You could hear the steadiness of his heartbeat and it provided a strange calming feeling you hadn’t experienced before.

Eventually, you let go of him, moving to sit up straight as you were previously. Dean looked at you, saw how wet your cheeks still were.

He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to dry your tears with the pads of his thumbs. Allowing his hands to linger on your face just slightly.

You looked at him as he did so, involuntarily leaning into his grip. It almost felt natural, soothing.

As soon as you realised what was happening, your eyes widened, moving out of his grip as he dropped his hands from your face.

Dean cleared his throat, looking anywhere but you for a second. He shook it off, knowing why he came here, what he was doing sitting with you.

“Feels better when you cry it out sometimes, doesn’t it?” He asks.

You nodded your head, wiping your eyes one last time before taking a long deep breath.

Dean waited before speaking again, “I know I wasn’t there, I didn’t see what happened,” he paused, trying to be more sympathetic here. “We can’t save everyone. God, if we could I’d do it in a heartbeat, but stopping these creatures isn’t that easy.”

“I know,” you mumbled. “If i’d just acted faster, used the gun instead of the knife—“

“Wouldn’t have made a difference,” Dean cut you off for a third time today. “You said it had you up against a wall, even if you could pull out a weapon at lightening speed it would’ve knocked it out of your hands.”

“You always manage it.”

You weren’t completely wrong. But they didn’t always save everyone, didn’t always kill these demons on their first try. It took multiple attempts depending on who they were.

“I’ve been doing this hunting thing longer than you, I’m used to it,” then he thought about Sam. “And Sam… you know he has his thing going on, makes it a little easier for him when he knows what’s coming.”

“But you don’t lose people,” you look at him with sad eyes. “You protect them, hide them in other places, get them to stay behind you and I can’t seem to do that.”

Dean scoffed, “don’t give me that crap,” you frowned. “You lose someone on one hunt and now you think you’re this, weak, incapable hunter?“

You looked down, not saying another word. He was right though. It was making you doubt yourself, making you doubt if you’d be able to even help Sam or Dean, help protect your friends.

“You really wanna know something?” Dean leaned towards you. “You’re one of the strongest goddamn hunters I’ve ever met.”

He reached out, tilting your chin up with his forefinger to make sure you were looking at him.

“Yea, maybe that first case when we met was an easy one, and sure Sam and I had to teach you a few things here and there,” he smiled thinking back to those times. “But you took to it like a natural, you’re a great hunter, a great fighter and are an especially good protecter. Alright?”

All of that meant a lot coming from Dean. It wasn’t every day he’d willingly give out compliments, rather his specialty was poking fun or being sarcastic. Really, you wondered where all of this was coming from.

All you did was nod. Smiling a little to let him know you were taking in what he was saying to you.

“If you need to talk about what happened…” he left you time to start talking, or let him know where you want to start.

But that never came. You weren’t sure how to talk about how you felt in the moment, how useless you felt. Tears almost welled up in your eyes again.

“It’s fine,” you pulled your box of pie closer to yourself again. “Thank you for the pie, by the way.”

“That’s it?” Dean chuckled. “All that and you just thank me for the pie.”

You felt bad, but you didn’t look at him. Deciding on taking a bite of the delicious banana cream pie he’d brought from the diner.

“What do you want me to say?” You practically threw your plastic fork down onto the table. “That I’m traumatised because a demon held me against my will and forced me to watch them kill someone? Is that what you want me to say?”

“That would be a start,” he shrugged.

“Like you ever talk about what’s on your mind.”

“Nothin’ to talk about,” Dean stood up, tucking his chair in under the table. “Besides, this is about you, not me, sweetheart.”

It was silent again. You finished your pie, feeling a mixture of happy at what Dean said to you, as well as frustration that he obviously wasn’t happy with you not wanting to express your full feelings with him.

Like he ever willingly discussed how he felt with anyone.

“I was just trying to help,” he sounded like he was defending himself. “I’ll… start packing up the car.”

He went to walk away, when you rushed to grab his hand before he could move too far from the table. Dean looked back at you, expectant of something more than you’d given today.

“Thank you,” you said quietly. “For coming to check on me, I do appreciate that, Dean.”

He squeezed your hand in his, maybe holding onto it for longer than he should have. Looked at you with those soft eyes of his longer than he should have.

“Yea, yea of course,” he let go, walking to his bed to grab a couple of bags.

He left the room after that. Leaving you sitting at the table, empty motel room, alone, in the quiet.

You glanced across the table, seeing Dean’s leftover pie. He didn’t finish his slice. That wasn’t like him at all.

A telltale sign, that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t the only one with things on your mind.

✩ ✩ ✩

taglist: @h8aaz | if you would like to join my supernatural taglist, please comment here or see this post

[castiwls]

Dean Winchester, who is just sooo obsessed with you. Like he just thinks your the most perfect thing he's ever met. He sticks to you like a limpet whenever you're not in a life-threatening situation.

He's always finding a way to touch you, dragging you into his lap whenever your trying to research, small teasing kisses against your skin which slowly become more insistent. Kisses become his teeth scraping against your skin, red marks blossoming as whatever book you'd been reading, his tossed aside as his hands become more insistent. His fingers 'accidentally' grazing your thigh just enough to make you go soft in his arms.

He's a menace. Distracting you from any task you try and do which doesn't involve him. Trying to make breakfast becomes a balancing act between watching the bacon and smacking his wandering hands away as he presses up against your back.

Dean whines like a petulant child when you tell him no, sending him to the table as he mumbles something about you being a killjoy! So what if he was touchy? So what if you'd been through many, many bottles of concealer in the last few months in an attempt to cover up the marks he loved to leave all over your skin.

So what if you were spending more time letting him have his way rather than doing the research you needed?

He was just so obsessed with you...it's only fair he expresses his gratitude for the fact that you chose to put up with him.

[t1red-twilight]

masterlist d. w. masterlist blurbs

angst!

“i knew you’d be here,” you heard sam mumble from behind you. the chill of the night air enveloped you, but you hadn’t brought your jacket. hadn’t wanted to, if you were being honest.

you didn’t respond. you knew if you looked over your shoulder you’d see him; you see the remnants of dean in sam’s worried gaze. dean was dead, but not really. you could feel him in sam’s nurturing presence, in the burnt smell as you passed a dingy burger joint.

you grunted in response. sam called your name again, “c’mon, it’s cold. do you have a hotel room i could take you to?” you knew very well that sam would have already done the research to know where you were staying, he knew your aliases.

since dean passed sam made sure to keep an eye on you. make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.

a gust of wind brushed past you, and you shivered. the leaves crunched under sam’s boots as he approached you. “it’s cold,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“yep,” you mumbled back. “thanks captain obvious.”

the silence settled again; a thick tension of words left unsaid. the only person that could break the tension wasn’t, well, there anymore.

“i want to go home sam,” you finally looked at him. you saw the flash of dean in his eyes, and you noted the familiar leather jacket that was stretched across his broad shoulders. if you could’ve smiled bittersweetly, you would have. but the pain of your lost lover bore too deep in your chest, a massive part of your soul just gone.

sam nudged your arm with his own. “i can take you home,” he answered.

“no, sam. i want to go home.”

and the stars that night, they were dull. even though you were in the countryside, there wasn’t a flicker of starlight. and for a moment, a fleeting moment, you wondered if the angels had dimmed them for you. for your starlight had left when dean took it with him.

[dollyfetti]

“excuse me, miss?”

you turn around, startled by the gravelly, yet soft voice behind you. standing there is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, even under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital.

“yes?” you hum, blinking gently with a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

he inhales, eyes uncertain like a deer caught in headlights. “do you.. know where the bathroom is?”

you pause, your gaze drifting toward the hallway as you think for a moment. “i think it’s down that hall? i’m pretty sure, yeah..!” you gesture with a point of your finger.

he nods, but his gaze doesn’t follow your point. he’s still looking at you. intense, like you’re the center of his world.

“thank you,” he murmurs.

you smile again with a reassuring nod, your expression warmer than intended.

“hey, um—” his voice falters as he takes a step closer, his presence suddenly feeling all too real. “do you know a.. dean winchester by any chance?”

you ponder for all of two seconds before apologetically shaking your head. “i don’t, i’m sorry.”

his face falls. like a piece of him is slipping away.

he starts to panic, even though he knew this was destined to come. castiel told him, sam told him, bobby told him.

“really?” his voice suddenly cracks, catching you off guard. "he’s— he’s… the love of—" he cuts himself off with a frustrated huff, looking down at the floor. it’s not worth telling you. your memory is gone. destroyed.

you hear the rawness in his voice, the desperation he’s fighting to keep tucked away. your breath catches as you watch him, his eyes glistening with unshed tears now.

“the love of your life?” you murmur gently— god, always so gentle.

he lets out a small bitter laugh, but it’s barely there. he swallows, the sound thick in his throat.

“yeah.” he says, voice shaky but determined to play along. “sure, yeah.”

a wave of sympathy rises within you, one you’ve always given to those who seem like they need it the most. and there it is, that stupid face filled with sorrow you gave to people no matter their problem, big or small.

“where is he?”

dean stares hard, his gaze unwavering, as though your eyes might hold him together for all of eternity.

"he’s lost.”

[spitefulsatanfics]

“Ain’t Nothing Subtle ‘Bout the Way He Loves Her”

Word Count: 4,631

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Setting: Supernatural, Season 2 (set shortly after “Born Under a Bad Sign”)

Tones: ☑ Fluff ☑ Domestic Love (as domestic as hunters get) ☑ Pre-established Relationship ☑ Found Family Vibes ☑ Lovesick!Dean who tries so hard to be cool ☑ Reader overhears how gone he is for her and melts

Synopsis:

⸻

When Dean brings Y/N to the Roadhouse for the first time, it’s just supposed to be a pitstop. A beer, a burger, maybe a tip on the next hunt. But Ellen’s no fool, and Ash doesn’t miss much either—and neither of them can help but notice the way Dean’s entire world shifts a little when Y/N walks in the room. He’s trying to be cool. Chill. The guy. But when the woman you love knows how to stitch a wound, kill a wendigo, and laugh at your worst jokes? Well, you’re gonna talk about her. A lot. Y/N overhears every soft confession, every bashful brag. And when Dean finds out? Let’s just say… the flustered hunter is real.

⸻

“Ain’t Nothing Subtle ‘Bout the Way He Loves Her”

The sun was dying slow and gold behind the Colorado hills when the Impala pulled up outside the Roadhouse. Dust rose soft around her tires like the place itself was exhaling—welcoming, wary, watching. It was the kind of spot that made your boots feel heavier and your shoulders feel lighter, if you knew what to do with a whiskey and had something worth bleeding for.

Dean popped the driver’s door, stepping out with his usual lean-and-stretch maneuver. The leather jacket creaked, the air smelled like beer, old pine, and maybe a dash of demon stink from some nearby town they’d just cleared out. But for once, his muscles weren’t tight with mission or guilt. Instead, his eyes flicked to the passenger door where she sat, legs tucked under her, hair wild from the wind.

“Y’ready for the madness?” he grinned, cocking a brow.

Y/N stepped out, slamming the heavy door closed behind her. “Please. I’ve seen you try to eat gas station sushi. I think I can handle your friends.”

Dean laughed—full and unguarded, the kind of laugh that made him look five years younger and a little more like the boy his mom remembered.

Inside, the Roadhouse was alive with the usual hum. Darts clinked. Glasses thudded. Ash’s ridiculous hair bobbed behind the bar as he scrolled something on his ancient laptop. Ellen looked up from a rag she was wringing out, sharp eyes landing on Dean. Then on the woman walking in beside him.

And like a switch flipped, her entire face changed.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Ellen said, a grin crawling slow across her face. “Dean Winchester, bringing a date into my bar?”

Dean instantly stiffened. “She’s not a date, she’s—”

Y/N was already giggling. “Don’t worry, Ellen. I know how hopeless he is with labels.”

That got a laugh from Jo, who popped out from the back room like she’d been waiting for the curtain to rise. “He’s definitely hopeless, alright.”

Dean groaned. “Great. A tag team.”

But Ellen wasn’t done. She came around the bar and sized Y/N up like a general inspecting a new recruit. Her eyes were sharp, measuring—but kind beneath it all. “You hunt?”

Y/N nodded. “My dad started me off with salt rounds and silver before I was potty trained.”

That got Ellen’s respect. She reached out to shake her hand.

Dean, behind them, tried so hard to play it cool. Just nods, casual, stoic. But his eyes betrayed him. Every second, he was checking Y/N’s face. Watching her reaction. Smiling like he’d swallowed the goddamn sun.

And Ellen saw it. Oh, she saw it.

⸻

An hour in and Dean had loosened up. The gang had made room at their usual table, drinks flowing, stories flying. Jo was trying to one-up Y/N with old salt-burn tales. Ash was explaining the finer points of demon detection with his “genius-level IQ,” which basically meant “I drink beer and hack things.”

And Dean?

Dean was floating. One arm over the back of Y/N’s chair, one leg half tangled with hers. He wasn’t even subtle. Whenever she laughed at something Jo said, he grinned like he’d won a war. Every time she reached for her beer, he was already sliding it closer.

Ellen stood at the bar, arms folded, watching the whole damn thing like it was a soap opera.

“You ever seen him like this?” she asked quietly to Ash.

Ash didn’t even look up from his screen. “Never. Dude’s whipped.”

⸻

Later, Y/N excused herself to the bathroom, and Dean got up to grab her another drink—leaving her jacket slung over the chair.

That’s when Ellen made her move.

“You got it bad,” she said, flat-out, wiping down the bar in slow circles.

Dean raised a brow. “What?”

She stared him down like a seasoned gunslinger. “Don’t play dumb, sweetheart. You’ve been grinning like an idiot all night. The only time you looked away from her was when you were blinking.”

Dean scoffed, scratched the back of his neck. “She’s cool. That’s all.”

Ellen leaned in. “You called her your girl three times already. And just now? You ordered her drink before she even asked. You don’t do that unless you’ve memorized someone’s whole damn soul.”

Dean blushed.

Actually blushed.

“Oh, man,” Ash mumbled from the end of the bar. “It’s terminal.”

Dean shot him a look. “Bite me.”

But Ellen smiled—soft now, not teasing. Just… knowing.

“She makes you happy, doesn’t she?” she asked.

Dean looked down at the bar top, swirling the condensation off his beer bottle with one finger.

“Yeah,” he said. “She does.”

And like some cheesy fate-orchestrated moment from a movie?

Y/N had walked up just in time to hear that.

⸻

He didn’t notice right away.

Not until she kissed his cheek when he handed her the beer, still warm from the bottle but even warmer from her lips.

He blinked. “What was that for?”

Y/N just smiled, coy. “Just… felt like it.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “What’d I miss?”

Ellen chuckled under her breath.

Y/N leaned closer, her voice low and honey-smooth: “Nothing, baby. Just glad to be here.”

⸻

Outside, later that night, Dean had her pressed against the Impala, arms on either side, breath puffing warm in the chill.

“You heard me, didn’t you?” he muttered.

Y/N tilted her head. “Heard what?”

Dean groaned. “You know what.”

She laughed. “That you memorized my whole damn soul?”

Dean groaned louder, forehead thumping to her shoulder. “God, kill me now.”

But she pulled him in tighter, fingers sliding into the back of his hair.

“Not a chance,” she whispered. “I kinda like lovesick Dean.”

Dean grumbled against her neck. “I’m not lovesick.”

“Mm-hmm,” she teased. “Tell that to the three different people you told I’m the best shot you’ve ever seen."

“I stand by that.”

“And that I make better pie than you.”

“Lies. Slander. I was drunk.”

“And that you’d give up the Impala if it meant keeping me safe.” Dean stilled. Pulled back, looked into her eyes.

“I meant that one,” he said, voice low.

Her breath caught. “Dean…”

He leaned in. Kissed her soft. Then whispered against her lips, “Ain’t nothing subtle about the way I love you, sweetheart.”

⸻

Author’s Note:

Thank you for reading, you sinfully sweet sugar demons! If you ever wondered what it would look like if Dean tried not to be totally whipped in public and failed? This is it. Thank you for loving these soft moments with me, for believing in the kind of peace a hunter might dare to touch. Until next time, keep the pie warm and the Impala fuelled.

Love always, Little Devil 🖤🔥

[chxrrywines]

₊˚⊹♡ mean | sam winchester x reader

requested - heyy could u make a sam x reader thing where he fucks rlly roughly but he’s really sweet during aftercare bc the idea that sam is rough during but sweet after makes me weak in the knees🫠🙏 (anon)

a/n - this is. probably the most filthy thing i’ve written. it’s just filthy smut. with a hint of sweetheart sam at the end. i need him so bad it’s not funny. still working on my longer plot fics but i wanted to get this out today to get back into writing!! hopefully you enjoy :) would very much appreciate feedback! <3

cws - fem!reader, 2.4k, nsfw 18+, meandom!sam turned soft!sam, oral f!recieving, praise, very mild choking, condescending words, p in v, mild overstimulation, tears, aftercare, fluff

other fics can be found on my masterlist

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

She was convinced that Sam’s mouth was a whole new kind of heaven.

He’d already made her cum once with his mouth alone, large hands pressed into the plush of her thighs to keep them spread, her hips stilled, which were twitching with every sweep of his tongue. He was skilled, drawing the pleasure out of her like it was nothing. Sam had easily spent fifteen minutes down there, eating her out like a starved man, like it was all he wanted.

And she didn’t know how she was still breathing. There was a relief that ran through her that Dean and Castiel weren’t in the bunker that night, because even though they were shut away in the privacy of their room, she was sure that she would’ve been heard. Sam had been pulling noises out of her all night, obscene lewd sounds that she would’ve been embarrassed about being heard if it wasn’t Sam with her.

He always made sure that as much as he made her feel, none of it was embarrassment.

His tongue flattened against her, licking a stripe up between her folds until he pressed against her clit and she shuddered, a horribly whiny sound pushed from her lungs when he closed his lips around the bead and sucked, like he was trying to pull the life out of her. Her hips jolted, unable to go anywhere as he had her pinned down, and she was practically seeing stars as Sam worked down there. She wondered if he was even breathing.

“Sam- oh my god—” She whimpered, hissed in a breath when he licked back down to her entrance and his nose nudged against her clit, stomach clenching as she reached her hands down to grasp onto his hair, fingers curled into the soft strands.

And then he pulled away.

His hands left her thighs as his mouth left her, but she didn’t have time to whine her complaints at the loss of sensation as his long fingers curled around her wrists, yanked her hands out of his hair. “What did I say, huh?” The tone of voice made her pussy clench around nothing. “Hands to yourself. You’re pretty bad at listening, baby.”

Sam shifted over her, his face over hers as he pushed her wrists down onto the pillows above her head, and she almost squirmed when she saw the look in his eyes, the way his lips were wet with her.

“Are you listening?” He squeezed her wrists as a reminder, and her eyes quickly flickered back up to his eyes. “Do I need to tie you up, or will you keep these here for me?” She knew he wouldn’t hesitate to do it. Sam could be such a soft lover — he’d kiss every inch of her skin, whisper praises and compliments, tell her he loved her a thousand times as he made love to her. But he could also be like this, mean and demanding as he fucked her silly over and over. She wasn’t sure which she liked more.

“I’ll keep them there.” She breathed out, her voice still a little too whiny. He’d gotten her so close to cumming again, the lack of stimulation was driving her crazy, her cunt throbbed as she stared up at him.

“Oh yeah?” Sam narrowed his eyes like he didn’t believe her, and let go of one of her wrists to take both into one of his large hands. Her eyes left his face to follow his second as it dipped down between them, fingering at the waistband of his boxers, until she heard a sharp, “eyes on me.”

Her gaze quickly flickered back up to his face. “See? You can be good sometimes, can’t you?” Sam cooed, boardering on condescending, as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her mouth, allowing her to taste herself. “You just need some reminding, don’t you, sweetheart? Get so lost in that pretty little head of yours when I’m making you feel so good.”

She’d been so distracted by watching his face, head spinning with his words, that she didn’t realise that he’d freed himself from his boxers until she felt the head of his cock nudging between her folds, gliding easily against her with the slick and spit collected there, and she mewled at the feeling, eyes squeezed shut as he nudged at her clit.

“Eyes open,” his hands left her wrists — which she knew now to keep still — and his fingers splayed across her jaw, squeezing unkindly until she looked up again. “Don’t make me tell you again. You wanna be good for me, don’t you?”

She nodded dumbly, sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth as he rubbed her clit with his cock. Teasing her. “Mhm, I will.”

“You will?” Sam gave her jaw one more squeeze, just for good measure, before he wrapped his fingers around the bare skin of her throat. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t put any pressure, just held her, but the threat was there. The head of his cock rested up against her slickened entrance as his head dipped down, lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “what’s your colour?”

They had a pretty rigid safe word system set out — it was something he went over with her every time they had sex, especially like this, when he was mean and grabby and knew that she wouldn’t like it every time. If she so much whispered the word red he’d be up and off of her before she could blink.

But all that left her words was a whiny, “Green, please Sammy.”

She felt his lips curve up against her ear as he smirked. “Good girl.”

Without warning he pushed into her and she sucked in a sharp breath, her own fingers grabbed at each other in an attempt to keep her hands still, and she shoved a breath out of her throat. He’d worked her open with his fingers when he’d been settled down between her legs, but she still felt the stretch, the burn as he settled his cock deep inside of her, and for a moment she had to remember to breathe back in.

“Fuck honey,” he grunted in her ear, fingers gripped her throat just slightly tighter, still only enough for her to feel pressure. “So tight for me, baby. Can barely take it, huh?”

He pulled back before he rutted back inside and she whimpered, squeezing her own fingers together so tightly so she didn’t break his rule. Needing to hold onto him somehow, though, her thighs clamped harshly around his hips, already trembly from the first orgasm he’d pulled from her.

He thrust in again, and again, and again, and soon she saw stars, gasping and whimpering with every drag of his cock against her gummy walls, pleasure rippling through her in waves that made her stomach clench, her cunt clamped down so tightly around him it was a wonder he could move at all.

“So noisy baby,” he crooned on a particular harsh thrust that made her whine, fingers a little tighter around her throat. “Can’t help yourself, can you?” He huffed with another thrust. “Need me to do all the work, hm? Greedy—” he grunted, “greedy girl.”

It took an embarrassingly short time for her to get close again. Sam was fucking her with determination, grunted every time he pushed himself back in, the head of his cock nudged the soft spongey spot inside of her that made her shudder again and again and again until she was a mess beneath him, lewd wet sounds accompanying her whimpers with each shift of his hips, her pussy fluttering around the stretch of his girth.

He didn’t slow down, didn’t ease up, didn’t give her a breather. She was close to tears by the time she was almost there, already sensitive from her first orgasm.

She clenched around him and his fingers, in turn, tightened on the sides of her throat. She trusted him, she knew he wouldn’t push it too far. Just enough for her to feel a little dizzy, for the bliss to wash over her like a high.

“Sam- mm- Sammy—” She was practically blabbering as her eyes filled with tears, gasping with each thrust, each smack of his hips against hers.

“Oh honey,” he cooed, condescending, mean. “Too much, hm? Need something?”

His hand loosened on her throat and she inhaled a little shakily.

“Please—” she whined, blinking through tears up at him. She didn’t miss the flicker in his eyes as the tears dribbled down her cheeks, but she knew that he knew she’d tell him if it was too much. It had happened before, neither of them messed around when it came to their safe words.

“Please what, huh?” He thrust in harshly and she groaned, cunt fluttering, so close— “Ah-ah, not yet. Don’t you need to ask me something, dolly?” He squeezed her throat once. “You remember what happens if you cum without asking, don’t you?”

Of course she did. The week prior she’d cum too soon, and he spent the next what felt like hours edging her, too skilled with his fingers, words too filthy that they made her head spin. He’d made such a mess of her that she hadn’t been able to even get up off of the bed for a little while after he finally let her cum.

“Mhm, mm, yeah—” she inhaled shakily, whining, thighs clamped tighter around his hips. “Please- please can I- please let me—” she groaned.

“Let you what?” He was dragging it out, the fucker, grunting into her ear as he leaned down over her, pushed his cock so deep her vision almost whitened out. “Tell me, honey. Use those words for me, c’mon.”

The tears were bubbling over faster, rolling down her flushed cheeks. “Let me cum, baby, please.”

“Asking so nicely,” he grunted, pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear. “How can I say no to something so pretty, hm? ‘Course you can, baby, go ahead.”

It wasn’t his words that did it for her, but the hand that snuck between them and pressed down on her stomach, the press of his cock suddenly so much more delicious that she almost fucking fainted.

She came with a breathless whine, hips jerked as she finally gasped a breath and whined again, her cunt throbbed around his cock as he kept pumping, rode her through it entirely. Her head tipped back, his mouth on her neck as her eyes squeezed shut, colours danced on the inside of her eyelids, her own little fireworks display.

Sam came shortly after, groaned into her ear in a way that almost made her cum again, and he rutted into her a few more times before he stopped, warmth spreading through her as he panted against her shoulder.

“Fuck,” he huffed, his own chest heaved, brushing against her bare skin. “Oh sweetheart.” The shift in his demeanour was palpable, soft kisses immediately littered across her shoulder and collarbone, palms flattened to smooth over her sweat-dampened skin. He could be so mean in the moment, so dominating and controlling that he left her a fucking mess underneath him, but afterwards? He’d probably feed her grapes and fan her if she asked him to.

She was still gasping for breath, head spinning, and when she knew she wouldn’t be told off for it her hands lifted, immediately clung to his warm shoulders. She loved the way his shoulders felt underneath her touch, muscles rippling with every movement.

Sam kissed up her throat and jaw before he landed on her mouth, and he kissed her slowly, huffed breaths into each other's mouths as he licked between her lips, sweeped behind her top teeth, their lips both wet with spit.

By the time he had pulled away, he’d so thoroughly kissed her that she almost had her breath back.

“You okay?” His voice was so soft it was like there was an entirely different person on top of her compared to five minutes prior. His hand left her throat, smoothed upwards and cupped her jaw. She felt him thumb away tears that had fallen, some clung to her eyelashes, somewhat cool against her hot and flushed skin.

She nodded as she stroked her fingertips along his shoulders with her fingertips, like she’d committed him to memory. She had.

“Hey,” he lightly tapped her cheekbone with his thumb. “Need words, honey.”

She couldn’t help her smile. He was so caring she sometimes wanted to cry. “M’okay,” she whispered, voice soft like she’d shared a secret. “Really good. You’re so good, Sammy.” She praised, tilted her head to kiss his wrist, and he smiled and blushed like he hadn’t just been the one to fuck the life out of her.

“Says you,” Sam leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You’re perfect. Love you,” another kiss. “Love you so much.”

She smiled so much her cheeks hurt. “Love you too.”

Sam smiled too, that soft smile that made his dimples peek out, eyes crinkled at the corners, and he stroked her cheekbone again. “M’gonna pull out, okay?”

Only when she nodded did he shift, slowly pulled his hips back until she was empty, until all she could feel was the wetness coated between her thighs.

“Christ, made a mess of you,” he murmured, not in the condescending tone from before, instead something closer to admiration. “You’re so pretty when you cum, y’know that?”

She blushed, hard, and shrugged as her cheek dipped to meet her shoulder.

Sam laughed, rolled his eyes as he leaned in and kissed her again. “Don’t get all shy on me now.”

She was still blushing when he helped her sit up, fingers delicately curled around her elbows to pull her upright, her back also damp with sweat. They’d need to change the sheets.

“Two options,” Sam murmured as he gently stroked hair away that was stuck to her forehead, baby hairs that clung to her temples. “We take a shower and let me wash your hair and then go get food, or you let me run you a bath and you wait there looking all pretty for me while I get you something we can eat in there so I can dote on you.”

“You just wanna wash my hair huh?”

Sam smiled. “Guilty.”

Her fingers found his, intertwined with a squeeze. “Bath sounds nice,” she eventually settled on. “As long as you don’t take too long in the kitchen. I’ll miss you.”

He was laughing when he pressed another kiss to her mouth. “Of course. Promise to not take too long, okay?”

She giggled and nodded, smiled against his mouth when he kissed her again. “Okay.”