#cause he was relieved in seeing dean | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

perseephoneee · 4 months ago

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okie dokie does a Dean Winchester x reader fic work? Had an idea way back in s1 when jess first dies, (older sister, who kinda takes sam under her wing) reader ended up meeting dean through sam. They had similar personalities but (reader) was more of a hopeless romantic than Dean. Sam on the other hand could totally see them together but Dean always denied it.

“Stop eyeing her like she's a piece of steak, you creep” “The hell? I do not do that, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

so they left ca and travelled and maybe in s2-3 (doesnt have to be accurate) they end up back in ca because of a case or cause reader called sam for help. (not expecting dean to show up as well) and after shes not in danger, turns out they get along really well.

"Im not an arm rest, dean." "Mhm, then why are you so short?" "I'M 5'3 THATS NORMAL"

and just fluff..? idk man let me know if its not what you want to write, i can totally change it💜

not a steak (dean winchester x f!reader)

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wow remember when i could actually write things in a timely manner? yeah, me neither. i miss those days (that never existed). whomp whomp.

You don't necessarily remember the exact moment that you met Sam. He's been a constant in your life since you were his TA as an undergraduate, watching this freakishly tall freshman so eager to succeed in your class. He made your heart soft, and he made you feel protective. Even though he was so much bigger than you, a naivety in his persona made you take extra time to ensure he succeeded. He ended up getting an A in the class.

You do remember when you met Dean, however. You had heard stories of Dean from Sam the few times you'd catch lunch outside of school. By this point, you were a grad student, filling the void of the older sibling that Sam unconsciously needed filled. You never pried for too many details, and that's how you got people to shut up really fast. But you did meet Dean right as he left town to look for his Dad. Dean was coarse and dismissive of you as if you were just another roadblock stopping him from taking his brother. When you finally got his attention, it was just to size you up before wordlessly climbing into his car. Sam seemed apologetic, but mostly, you were just worried. You had every right to be. Jessica died a week later.

The thing about you is that you can't let a dead dog lie. Where's the fun in that? You'd much rather figure out ways to raise them.

Sam was brilliant, but he let enough details slip to allow you to research him. And you were a law graduate student; you knew a thing or two about studying. Random newspaper clippings, shoutouts of various names, and blog posts allowed you to figure out the supernatural aspect of his life that he had kept from you. You should've been more surprised, but you were more excited than anything. There was more out there. What a strangely relieving thought.

This knowledge proved helpful when you realized you had a poltergeist.

The new place you moved into was charming and Victorian, the dream of everyone with a Pinterest board. It was in fairly decent shape, and with your roommates, you guys thought you could polish it up to something livable during your suffering years of graduate school. Unfortunately, the price was too good to be true, which led to the unfortunate circumstance of hauntings culminating in one of your roommates in the hospital, barely alive. You called Sam that night.

"Hey Sam, it's me…" you trailed off at that, feet tucked under you as the machines' beeping cut through the silence. "I need your help."

The next day, he was at your door, enveloping you in a hug. He smelled exactly the same, and you didn't realize how much you missed him. Dean was with him.

"I'm Dean," he nodded, holding out a hand. You raised a brow.

"We've met."

"I would've remembered someone who looks like you," Dean scoffs, an easy smirk on his lips that probably made many women swoon. You just rolled your eyes, going back into your house and hoping Sam followed.

A week later, the boys were still here. This ghost was frustrating, and it was more the principle of it that was pissing you off more than anything. You let the brothers stay at the house since it was safer in numbers and cheaper. Plus, your roommates took a wide berth of the place before returning. A routine developed in the short time they were here. You cooked breakfast, Sam made coffee, and Dean woke up at some point. You and Sam would enjoy the paper before something happened (usually related to the crossword that Dean was totally not interested in), and you ended up bickering with the older Winchester until Sam got fed up with it and shut it down.

"Stop eyeing her like she's a piece of steak," Sam muttered to Dean when you weren't around, having stormed off to some other corner of the house. Dean almost spit out his coffee.

"The hell? I do not do that. I have no clue what you're talking about."

Sam just nodded, hiding a smirk behind his book as Dean grumbled about not checking you out.

For the first time that week, Sam was out that night. He was following "a lead." What that lead was, no one knew, but it meant you were alone. With Dean. In a house. Without supervision.

You grumbled something about making dinner. Dean followed you.

"Are you lost?" you asked, hands on your hips as Dean plopped himself at the counter.

"I'm following the food."

"Of course you are."

"Please, no more rabbit food," Dean groaned. "I can't take it anymore."

"Oh no, definitely not," you smirked, pulling out some steaks from the fridge you had been saving. Dean's eyes immediately lit up. "You're helping me cook these. I'm not letting your dumb ass sit around while I prepare a meal."

"You're bossy," Dean grumbles but doesn't complain further as he removes his flannel and sets it on the chair. You ignore that he looks really good in a t-shirt and return to grabbing ingredients. To his credit, Dean is good at letting you tell him what to do and following through. He is definitely a better chef than Sam, who has burned many things in your kitchen. Dean is an excellent sous chef. You tell him as such.

"The hell? I am not a sous," he says while furiously stirring butter.

"It's a compliment, you knobhead."

"Knobhead? What 1950s show are you living in?"

This conversation went back and forth for a while. But you finished cooking a meal, which is always considered a success in your book. Dean devoured him almost immediately before you could even finish cutting through it. Then, it was just you attempting to finish your meal in peace. This was difficult, as Dean continuously kept eyeing your food, hoping you might give it to him, and then would complain outwardly when you didn't.

"You're not going to finish it," he drank his beer, once again looking at your dinner. You glared.

"I can finish it."

"A girl like you doesn't finish an entire steak."

That comment pissed you off. You finished your steak in two bites, shocking Dean, and then proceeded to grab his glass of beer and down it in one gulp. You slammed the glass down, raising a brow. "You have no clue what type of girl I am."

You grabbed both your plates and made your way to the kitchen, putting them in the sink and starting to clean the dishes. You barely made it through a plate before Dean pushed you out of the way.

"Dean—"

"I'm not questioning your ability, but in my world, the one who doesn't cook cleans. So, sit your ass down," Dean said before you could chew him out. You bit the inside of your cheek and sat down, still glaring at him as he washed each dish meticulously and put them either in the dishwasher or on the drying rack. When he was done, he threw the dishtowel over his shoulder. The domesticity made you soften. "I'm sorry for earlier."

You blinked, not really expecting any sort of apology from Dean Winchester. You did expect that you would not get anything besides those words.

"I don't understand women."

You laughed at that, leaning on your hand with your elbow on the table. "Aren't you a self-proclaimed ladies' man?"

"I know how to sleep with women, but I don't get what goes through your heads," Dean leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "You want one thing and then a different thing, and I can't keep up."

"So, you're admitting you're slow." Dean threw the towel at you. "Women aren't that complicated; men are just bad listeners. You included."

"I can listen."

"Really? What was I frusterated about at dinner?" you challenged, getting off your seat and leaning over the counter. He blinked a few times.

"That I kept asking for your steak?"

"No, that you presumed that as a woman, I couldn't finish a steak."

"Well, that's not what I said," Dean replied, getting defensive. You just rolled your eyes, grabbing the wine bottle on the counter.

"Oh, also, insight into women; they lie about how good men actually are in the bedroom," you winked, leaving the room and taking the wine with you. You could almost hear Dean's jaw drop.

"It ain't a lie, princess," he intercepted you, his stupid legs moving much faster than yours. You frowned but didn't say anything. Dean took a breath, locking eyes with you. "Why do you insist on always pushing my buttons?"

"Because it's fun? Because you're both annoying and easy to annoy?" you shrugged, clutching your wine bottle to your chest. You didn't know why you picked on him, besides the fact he could be an absolute ASS sometimes that needed kicking. No, you suppose it goes back to early schoolyard days where instead of 'flirting,' you'd push the person and maybe claim to the entire class that they had cooties. To this day, you still had no idea what cooties exactly were, just that you never wanted to catch them.

"I think you like me," Dean smirked. He had crowded you against the wall leading to the living room. Your wine was an innocent bystander clutched to your chest. Maybe not as tall as Sam, but you still had to look up to see him. "I'm gonna prove it."

"Excuse me?" you breathed any sort of bite to your words caught in your throat as he reached up to your face and stroked your cheek. His hands found purchase holding your neck, tilting your face even higher and infinitely closer. Dean took the wine bottle out of your hands, your last line of defense, and stepped away for a second to put it back on the counter. His hands found your face again.

"Hey princess," he whispered, voice sultry. "Breathe." You couldn't do such a thing even if you wanted to because his lips were on yours, and he tasted like the draft beer in your fridge and apple pie. He was gentle, too gentle, and you wanted more. Your hands, first unsure of what to do, grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer. One of his hands moved to your waist, thumb brushing the exposed skin where your shirt rode up. He was everywhere all at once, masculinity encapsulated, and you were drowning in it. He pulled away, letting you breathe, the command you forgot to follow. "I wanted to do that since I saw you."

"Bullshit."

"Honest to god— well, not god, but honest— but then you had to go and be increasingly difficult," Dean scoffed, still holding on to you.

"You don't even remember the first time we met."

"Of course I do; it was a week after my Dad disappeared," Dean responded. "You were wearing pajamas and had a raincoat wrapped around you as you asked Sam not to go so that you could figure it out together. I was curt, and you looked like you wanted to call me a thousand horrible names, but you let it go as we drove away."

You smiled a little at that. "You do remember."

"What can I say? I like pushing your buttons."

You smacked him on the chest, earning a laugh as you fought off your smile. You did finally get your wine and let Dean choose something to watch. About halfway through your movie (and three glasses of pinot noir in), you got distracted by a makeout session that would've made your teenage self swoon, but it didn't progress more than that. Neither of you wanted to go too fast. Most of the time, it was just light conversation, cuddling, and the realization that maybe you two were much more alike than you thought.

Both of you fell asleep like that on the couch, blissfully unaware of the morning light. Sam came home early in the morning, dropping his bags before seeing the both of you entwined on the couch. A smile crossed his face.

"Finally."

taglist: @lover-of-books-and-tea @qardasngan @evasmlp

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #supernatural x reader #dean winchester imagine #jensen ackles #supernatural #spn #supernatural fan fiction #spn fan fiction #my writing

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agerefandomstuff · 3 months ago

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HI! i LOVED the fic you made abt the babyspace reader (finding comfort in your role) and i was wondering...could we PLEASE 🙏 get a pt 2? Your awesome, ☮️!

Sorry I disappeared for a bit. I started writing this as soon as you sent it but then life happened. I finished it tonight <3 I hope you enjoy!

Title: Finding Comfort in Your Role. Part 2

Word Count: 3990

Description: Sam and Dean came back to the motel to find you regressed. Sam got some one-on-one with you while Dean got sent to the store. Now they have to get you into a diaper. Which… is easier said than done.

Cw: cussing

Dean came back into the motel attempting to balance an ungodly amount of grocery bags in his arms and boxes of diapers obscuring his view. He gave a knock–well… kick– to the door out of courtesy, also maybe because he nearly dropped everything trying to reach for the handle. He was shocked when Sam opened the door with you back on his hip, a big smile on both your faces although Sam’s was directed just at you.

“Who is it, hon? Is that Dean with all your supplies?” he gasped softly and acted surprised as he opened the door further for Dean which made you giggle and reach out towards the mountain of baby items.

“Hey… kiddo–? Wait wait don't touch–!” Dean awkwardly started to greet only to panic as you touched a box causing him to lose the perfectly…awful balance of items he had. Everything came crashing down, toys bounced into the room and boxes of diapers crashed down onto his foot while he tried to catch anything only to fail spectacularly. “That… damn it.”

It took a second for you to decide whether you were supposed to be upset or not, turning to look at Sam with a worried expression which melted away seeing him crack up at his brother’s clumsiness. Relieved you weren't in trouble, you giggled along with him and Dean gave you two an unimpressed look that only lasted a few seconds before he had a small smile on his face as well. He couldn't help it. As much as it annoyed him that it was at his expense he also loved seeing you two happy.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up… little shits.” he grumbled as he began to pick things up hoping to hide his smile a bit and play into his hardass role, although he wasn't fooling anyone.

“Hand me a box so I can get one on the baby then I'll help you pick up your mess.” Sam held his hand out with a little snicker but Dean looked at him slightly offended.

“You don’t know how to change a diaper. I’ll have this all cleaned up before you even figure out how to unfold it and there’ll be a puddle on–” He glanced inside, noticing the towel set up on his bed. He shot up, dropping everything he’d just picked back up and pointed to the towel accusingly. “Is there pee on my bed?! If there’s pee on my bed we’re switching! I am NOT sleeping in YOUR kid’s pee stain!”

“No! There's no– Dean! We’re not switching! We already chose our beds!”

“That was before the baby pee!”

“There’s no pee!”

“I don't trust you. Lift the towel.”

Sam scoffed, “You lift the towel.”

“I’m not touching pee!”

“It’s completely dry!!”

“Then why won't you touch it?” Dean eyed him, not looking at you whatsoever despite how you were kind of the cause of this argument.

Truth was Sam knew the towel was dry. If it hadn't been he wouldn't have lugged you back onto his hip to open the door but as a sibling it was in his nature to argue with Dean and freak him out. It was fun. Plus it was making you giggle.

“Oh my god I'll help you pick things up, Dean, just stop being so dramatic.” He answered, instead acting like this had all stemmed from the mess instead of something he was definitely the cause of. Dean opened his mouth to argue more but with one more glance to the suspicious towel then the mess on the ground he gave up with a little grumble, deciding to just take advantage of the help. Afterall.. He bought way too much and it made a big mess…

Sam laid you back down on the towel, handing you a little stuffed animal that had landed near the bed, hoping it would distract you for the minute they were busy. Which, sure enough, it did. You happily squeaked and babbled to the stuffie while the boys got to work picking up items and setting them on the table in the room, Sam occasionally scoffing at Dean’s purchases.

“You really think we need this many boxes of diapers?”

“I didn't know what size to get or how many we’d have to change.”

“And what about the.. What even are these?”

“Well.. they’re.. baby supplements. Like.. vitamins, I think. Lisa’s friends would– just shut up and keep picking stuff up! Just be thankful I went and stocked up for you and your kid. That makes me a great uncle! Or– uh something.” Sam pauses to look at Dean with raised eyebrows, surprised by his ‘uncle’ comment. But right as he opened his mouth to make a smart reply Dean, who looked a bit flustered, struggled to even hold his gaze and cut him off with a defensive mumble. “Whatever. Shut up.”

Sam smirked, entertained by his brother’s embarrassment but also pleased he clearly wasn’t disturbed by his relationship with you. Even if Sam would tell you otherwise, he would always have that worry in the back of his mind that Dean might not approve of this dynamic but… Dean wasn't always a man great with his words, instead showing his true feelings through his actions. Which if his current actions were anything to go by… then a weight had been lifted off Sam’s mind, reassuring him again that being your caregiver was definitely something he enjoyed and wanted to be as long as you'd have him.

“Is that all of it?” Sam asked, glancing around the room once more and peeking out into the hallway to make sure they'd gotten it all before shutting the door and locking it.

“Yeah I think so.” Dean pried open a diaper box and tugged one of the fluffy purple diapers out, setting it beside you along with wipes and some baby powder. He smiled down at you for a brief second, watching how you chewed on the toy and played with it just like a baby would.

“Purple? There weren't any plain white ones?” Sam asked as he walked over, checking out the changing set up and pulling him out of the little moment he had with you.

Sam lightly ran his fingers over your legs and stretched them out over the bed thinking it would make the change easier than if you had them tucked up by your chest.

Dean cleared his throat hoping it would take some of the awkwardness away and batted your caregiver’s hands away, letting you bend and stretch your legs as you wanted. “I got white ones too. I got a variety.”

“Course you did.” Sam reached down for your legs again after Dean batted them away assuming Dean didn't mean to stop him from helping or that perhaps he’d done it because he had assumed Sam wouldn't want to do it. But he did want to help. You were his baby and he needed to learn this so he was going to have a part in this even if it was just something as small as straightening your legs out and tugging his shirt up to be out of the way.

But Dean quickly batted his hands off your legs again, not even giving it a second thought. He knew what he was doing and whatever Sam was doing to play with you was going to get in his way once he started to change you. This was his duty as your uncle…person… designated diaper changer? No, that sounds awful. He’ll just settle for… um…

Now Sam was annoyed. He was just trying to help and you were his anyway so why Dean wasn't allowing him to touch his own kid was ridiculous. He wasn't even doing anything yet. He was just unfolding the diaper and opening the wipes with his furrowed thinking brows as if this required a lot of deep thinking. It was putting a diaper on for heaven’s sake. How hard could that be?

This time he reached for your underwear, making an aggravated noise when Dean smacked his hands away again. It just felt personal now. “Quit it!”

“No, move over. I’ve got it.”

“It’s a diaper. I can figure it out! You act like I’m incapable or something!”

“You’ve never done it before! I have! Move over.”

Your eyes bounced back and forth as you watched them bicker, lightly shove at each other, and smacked each other's hands away when they reached for you, like teenage girls trying to avoid a full brawl but slowly bordering on one. You giggled around the stuffie’s ear in your mouth and squirmed when they would touch you for a brief moment only for the other brother to pull them back away, their focus going right back to bickering.

It took them a solid few minutes to realize that their bickering had wound you up, making you much more active and wiggly. Your clothing houdini act making a return when they both had to pause in surprise seeing your underwear had disappeared. Sam looked around the bed even peeking under it for the article of clothing, shocked and slightly horrified at your decision.

Dean was more surprised than Sam not expecting that. In fact seeing you half naked was like a wake up call to him that… you were not his kid. Or significant other. Or whatever you were to Sam. And he was… encroaching on that a bit actually. He was just supposed to be guiding his brother not over taking it. He was supposed to be his Shredder or Obi Wan… whatever. His mentor. His..big brother… not.. Dad.

Dean took a breath then put his hand on Sam’s shoulder pulling his attention away from his missing underwear search and held out the diaper to him. Sam awkwardly took the diaper from him and raised an eyebrow, unsure what he wanted from him.

“Slide it under the kid’s butt before any more pee gets on my bed.”

Sam’s gaze nervously flicked between you, Dean, and the diaper, the sudden task before him much more daunting. Sure he wanted to do it by himself a few minutes ago but that was when he was fueled by spite from his brother. Now he felt like he'd been thrown in the ocean with a boat he had no idea how to drive.

He clears his throat and tries to use one of your legs to lift you up so he could slide it under you. However.. he could only get it under one cheek and you kicked at the diaper with the other free leg. His brows furrowed in concentration as he reached for your other leg trying to lift them both at the same time but another problem arose. Adult legs were much bigger than infants’… even with his bigger than average hands. So when he attempted to lift you up with both ankles in one hand and you squirmed around you would effectively get one leg out of his hold. every. single. time.

Dean watched his little brother struggle with the first most basic step, struggling internally to not tease him ruthlessly or just take over and do it himself or both. It would be easier after all. But he told himself he would teach his little brother so he would.

Try.

He would try.

If his brother ended up being totally helpless then well… Dean would just be looking after his bed. Who could blame him?

“Roll 'em onto their side then roll ‘em back onto the diaper.” Dean offers only for Sam to huff and look at him a bit frustrated.

“Roll..? You mean right off the bed? Don't you see I’m barely keeping this little worm from squirming off already? The bed is too small for that.”

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam’s sassy complaint and stepped a little closer to gesture with his next suggestion, his subconscious itching to quit teaching to get it over with. He would do it so much faster. “Try putting your hand under the small of the back.. Right here.” He slides his hand under your back and lifts just enough for your butt to lift off the bed, your body automatically stilling and assisting his action. “To lift the butt up.. See? There. Then you can slip it under.”

Sam quickly slipped the diaper under your body before your momentary stillness ended and Dean set you back down on top of it. The material crinkled and you peered down at it for a moment. Your baby brain enraptured by the noise and familiar feeling under your butt.

Dean then took the leg closest to him and gently pushed it out, gesturing for Sam to do the same to the other leg as he reached for the powder. Realizing how hands on he had become again he quickly handed the bottle over to Sam. “Powder then pull up the front.”

Sam took the bottle in hand and looked at it like it was a new weapon for a hunt he’d only seen through research before but never gotten the opportunity to use. If he could do that he could do this. He just had to keep repeating that to himself and this would be fine. If he could do that he could do this. If he could do that he could do this. If he could–

Sam turned the bottle over to spray the powder out into the diaper but…nothing came out. He looked at Dean sheepishly as he turned it back over to screw open the top only to breathe in the cloud of powder that puffed out. You giggled uncontrollably at the sight of him coughing with a light dust of powder decorating his face which made Dean laugh as well.

Recovering from his coughs, Sam gave you both an embarrassed glare before trying again. This time successfully dumping the powder on you and the diaper. Although maybe a bit too much? He wasn't sure he didn't exactly have a reference to go off of. You giggled at the feeling of the soft powder and the cloud that came with it. You even held the toy, that you luckily had yet to make disappear like your clothes, down by your belly making it appear as if it were looking at the cloud on your skin as well. The sweet action made Sam relax once again knowing that even if he was somehow doing this wrong you were still happy and unbothered by his mistakes. You were being such a patient baby today and he couldn't be more thankful for it.

“Alright you kinda.. made a little mountain. In one place. So go ahead and rub that in a little. Like in the creases and stuff so none of us have to deal with a rash later.” Dean instructed, his mind conjuring up the image of listening to a little kid cry in the backseat of Baby due to a diaper rash they could’ve prevented... while they drove for hours… no gas station in sight… no place to buy more changing supplies… god. He had to stop before he gave himself nightmares.

Dean looked away as Sam hesitantly began to rub the powder around, hoping to give you both a bit of privacy as if he hadn't already seen it all by now. You wiggled around a bit as Sam’s hand brushed the baby powder into the creases of your hips and thighs, nervously pausing around your butt and genitals. It was an uncomfortable situation that was a part of the reason he suspected both of you hadn’t yet broached the topic of him changing you before and Dean turning away made it feel like it was.. a taboo… or extra intimate which made him more nervous but… he had to remind himself he was being a dad right now and even his brother knew that by calling himself your uncle. And while you two would have to have a conversation later about today plus reevaluating your dynamic and expected boundaries, this was an extenuating circumstance.

Assuming he was finally done he looked up at Dean and cleared his throat, holding his now powdery hand up, waiting for his instructions on what to do next. “Now what?”

Dean looked back at his brother for a moment then down at you to double check his work, still helping keep you in place with his hand on your leg while your attention had shifted to the pile of goodies on the table just a few feet away. “The front of the diaper, dude.”

“Right.” Sam went to pull the front of the diaper up to cover you but paused as he remembered his hand was still… dusty. “Uh.. what about..?” He led off holding his hand up for Dean to see better. To which he just rolled his eyes and grabbed a baby wipe, let go of your leg, and began to wipe off Sam’s hand for him. Because of course he had to do everything around here… big brothers and mentors just never got a break! He would be taking care of Sammy forever… ahem.. hopefully…

While he was busy cleaning Sam’s hand off, you took the opportunity of no longer being held in place to roll over onto your side, eyes trained on the other toys on the table and not the edge of the bed you were nearing as you turned. As you started to slip from the bed your hand shot out to the bed beside you trying to grab something to keep you from falling but you ended up only grabbing the towel which went down right along with you taking along the diaper and all the fresh powder Sam forgot to close.

Both Dean and Sam yelled as they lunged for you, Sam’s hand, damp from the wipe, slipped over your skin as he tried to grab your leg while Dean tripped partially onto the bed, snagging your arm roughly as he did which kept you from completely hitting the floor. Or at least kept your head from hitting the floor. Your feet still smacked on the ground and your poor white-powdered butt hit the bed frame but Sam was quick to wrap his arms around your waist and hoist you back into the middle of the bed, horrified you’d fallen and he hadn't been able to catch you.

Dean let go of your wrist, instantly moving to work in tandem with Sam without so much as a word spoken between them. He checked you over for injuries while your caregiver cupped your face and cooed apologies and… borderline scolds you with sweet words.

“Oh baby… I’m sorry. Daddy was distracted.. I thought you'd stay still for just a moment and… you can't just roll off the bed like that you could get hurt.. Are you hurt? Oh don't cry..” Sam kissed your forehead as your face scrunched up with tears. The way the boys were acting after your brief feeling of fear and the minimal pain you went through from falling was enough of a reason for any baby to cry. He looked at his brother much more seriously, his own panic coursing through him as he assumed you were crying from pain not reacting to them. “Dean, where’s the injury? I have tears at twelve o’clock.”

“Calm down. It’s fine. No broken bones. Maybe a bruised butt and wrist.” Dean was visibly more relaxed after his investigation, but was still looking over your wrist. He felt guilty for how hard he grabbed it when you were falling off a bed. It was embarrassing that they had acted like you'd nearly died off a cliff.

Sam sighed in relief and leaned down to press more kisses to your face, wiping any tears that started to fall down your face. If he could handle a diaper he could handle tears. If he could– oh.. He hadn't finished the diaper.

“Dean, could you finish the diaper situation?” He would have other chances to learn in the future but right now your tears needed him the most. He brushed his fingers through your hair and down your cheek as he moved to sit beside your head. Dean even helping to situate you so your head was in his lap while he finished changing you.

Sam pet down your face and spoke softly, “You're alright, honey. You're okay… you don't have to cry…”

His soft speaking was helping calm down the panic that lingered in your chest seeing them riled up but tears were still easier to start than they were to stop. You looked up at him through wet eyes, his blurred image from the tears made another cry slip out.

He ran his hand down to your shoulder, patting it slightly as he tried to think of how to make you feel better. But it was hard to think with you crying. You’d think all the years of hunting and thinking on the spot under extreme pressure would help in this situation but you were different than that. He was filled with the need to help his baby with something mundane not save you from being killed by a ghoul.

“Dean, why is it taking you so long?” he asked, the returning anxiety getting aimed at his innocent brother.

“You put the diaper under there backwards..!” Dean grumbled out in defense as he finished taping the diaper up then stepped away, subtly admiring his work.

Once he was done Sam scooped you up in his arms, putting you on his hip to hold you tight. “There. You're alright. See? Your bottom is all protected… and so are the sheets and daddy’s lap… and you're not hurt… you're okay..” He held one hand under your thighs while the other guided your head to his shoulder allowing you to cry into his shirt. He rubbed your back and shushed you while he rocked on his feet slowly, recalling how he’d seen people do that little movement to help soothe crying kids.

While you two were absorbed into your own little world, the older hunter stood back to watch in silent awe as his little brother parented. A part of him realizing his little brother wasn't so… well... little anymore. His heart squeezed at the sight of him doing for his little kid the same thing Dean had done for him when they were kids. He felt like both a proud uncle and a… and almost like a proud dad seeing his kid all grown up.

He wiped at his face hoping to get rid of some of those feelings, not that they were bad but… they only needed one big baby crying in this motel room.

After a few minutes of gentle loving comfort and Dean opening the things he bought to give you two your time, Sam had managed to successfully ride through to the end of your crying without having his own breakdown. It had gotten easier throughout your cry but there were still several moments when he couldn't stop thinking he was doing something wrong.

But now you were sleepily dozing on his shoulder, tired from the crying even if it wasn’t that long. Crying was hard work and Sam was right thinking you hadn't slept in a while. This hunt was dragging on and you didn't always get to sleep in the car very long to make up for the sleep you'd miss other times so the crying was just the right thing to push you over the edge.

Plus Dean had cleaned off a teether he’d bought and Sam had given it to you to suck and chew on while you drifted which only made you relax further into your daddy’s chest that smelled oh so perfectly like him.

You really hoped he wouldn't put you down while you slept.

For both your sakes.

#🧸mines🍼#sfw age regression #sfw agere #age regression #agere fandom #requests🧸✨#sam winchester #agere supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #cg!sam winchester #little!reader #baby!reader #sfw babyre #baby regressor #fics #agere fic #fandom age regression #fandom agere

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tuesdaykiss · 22 days ago

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“touching toes”

rafe cameron social media au

“he’s over more and more, had to give him a whole drawer. to be honest, kinda like seeing his trainers by the door.” — olivia dean, ‘touching toes’.

synopsis: after finishing her fashion studies at college in nyc, y/n moves to outerbanks to live with her grandparents. she worries about the loneliness that comes with being in a new place, knowing only her cousin topper and other relatives… that is until she is acquainted with a certain cameron.

part — 19 | 20 | 21

masterlist

“it’s not that complicated, though is it?” sarah pushed on, “i mean, you like him, don’t you?”

your head snapped to look at her, completely taken aback: was it that obvious? her face filled with curiosity and a glint of mischief as she ushered you to answer.

“i… i think so,” your voice barely above a whisper as you finally admitted it aloud. saying it made it feel more real causing heat to rise in your cheeks.

“oh my god,” her tone equally filled with shock and delight, “you like him!”

realisation hit you, your best friend was smart… too smart. she didn’t actually know if you liked her brother, but in stating her assumption as fact she had managed to encourage a confession from you.

“don’t make it a big deal!” you said quickly, as she clamped her mouth shut with her palm, a grin poking through, “it already feels complicated enough.”

sarah laughed, sitting up, “how is it complicated? i mean you’re into him… rafe’s into you. seems pretty straightforward to me.”

“rafe’s into me?” you echoed. of course, he’d confessed it to you earlier, but you were a strong believer in actions speak louder than words. hearing it aloud, from someone else, ignited butterflies in your stomach.

“he doesn’t just post anyone’s arse,” sarah burst out laughing as you took a pillow from behind you, swatting her with it, “okay, okay! i’m joking, i just mean he seems different around you, i’ve noticed it.”

you bit your lip, nodding slightly, “it’s just new, and messy, and we’re still figuring it out…”

there was a silent pause between you both, allowing your thoughts to simmer, “i’m sorry… for lying about it. when you asked me earlier, i said there was nothing going on—”

“hey, you don’t owe me anything,” she smiled, holding your cheek, “it’s a weird situation, i get it. if it makes you happy, i’ll support you… even if it is with my brother.”

her words helped relieve the weight building in your chest, “thank you.”

“just promise me,” sarah started, her tone more serious suddenly, “you tell me if he screws this up. immediately.” a chuckle erupted from you, smiling as she continued, “i’m serious, y/n. if he hurts you, i will absolutely kick his ass.”

“deal,” the pair of you shook hands, cementing the ‘deal’, an immense feeling of gratitude settled between you.

“good,” she returned to lying back on the bed, pulling the blanket over herself. “now, go to sleep. i need my best friend looking fresh and fabulous at my show, tomorrow.”

“love you, sarah,” you mumbled, as you settled back in the covers and turned on your side.

“love you too.”

what a success: you’d told your best friend about your antics with her brother, and she didn’t threaten to saw your head off… you highly doubted you’d have the same outcome when it came to your cousin, but that was a problem for another day.

johnbr

liked by yourusername, sarahcameron and 52 others

johnbr wishing my darling @/sarahcameron immense good luck for today, you will smash it! ❤️

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sarahcameron i love you ❤️

heywardpope do us pogues proud!

itscleo she’ll smash it, no doubt

jjmaybank sarah putting the pogues on the MAP

the next morning, soft sunlight filtered through the curtains of the hotel room, casting a warm glow in the scattered clothes and open suitcases from the whirlwind of sarah’s preparation. you were sitting on the edge of the bed, sipping coffee, while sarah hummed to herself, pacing back and forth as she readied herself for the fashion show.

a knock at the door pulled both of you from your respective tasks, sarah glanced at you, raising an eyebrow, “room service?”

you shook your head. “i didn’t order anything.”

“can you get it?” she shrugged, returning to what she had been doing.

you set your coffee down and crossed the room, opening the door to reveal rafe. he was dressed casually, his hair tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed. he gave you a crooked grin as his eyes swept over you.

“morning,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “miss me?”

you smiled, but before you could respond, sarah’s voice cut through the room, “who is it?”

you hesitated for a moment, stepping aside to let rafe in. he walked in casually, but the moment sarah saw him, her eyes narrowed.

“of course,” she muttered under her breath, crossing her arms as she glared at him. “you couldn’t even wait until after the show, could you?”

you watched as rafe glanced between you and sarah, clearly confused by her sudden hostility.

you sighed, stepping closer to him. “she knows,” you said softly, you voice low enough that sarah wouldn’t overhear as she continued getting ready.

his eyes widened slightly, “knows? about us?”

“yeah,” you admitted, biting your lip, “i told her last night. she kind of figured it out after… well, after the post.”

rafe groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “great,” he muttered, “and how mad is she?”

“not that mad,” sarah cut in, clearly eavesdropping on the conversation. she stepped closer, her arms remained crossed but her expression was softer now. “just annoyed that you couldn’t keep it under wraps for, like, five minutes. you do realise your ‘fan girls’ are already sniffing around about this, right?”

rafe shrugged, leaning against the wall of the hotel room. “it’s not like i planned it, sarah. i just posted a silly picture. i didn’t think it’d turn into this big thing.”

“of course you didn’t,” sarah said, rolling her eyes, “but you’re not exactly known for thinking things through, are you?”

“hey!” he protested, but his tone was light. he glanced at you, as you watched the siblings bicker in front of you, his lips twitching into a smirk, “well, at least she didn’t threaten to kill me.”

sarah sighed dramatically. “don’t tempt me,” but her lips quirked into a small smile, her irritation fading, “look, i don’t care what’s going on between you two as long as you don’t mess it up. and rafe? if you hurt her, i swear to god —“

“i know,” he interrupted, holding his hands up in surrender, “you’ve got a whole speech ready, i’m sure.”

“damn right i do,” sarah muttered, before turning back to her mirror, effectively ending the conversation.

rafe took the opportunity to step closer to you, you back pressed up against his chest as his large bicep covered the front of your torso, pulling you close. “so… she’s cool with it?” he questioned, in between the kisses he was placing down your neck.

you nodded, feeling the warmth of his touch, as you turned to look at him.

small smiles painted the faces of you both, as rafe leaned in. your heart skipped a beat, and you felt all your anxieties about the situation melt away.

“go and get ready,” you started, attempting to pull out of his grasp — it was no use — as you giggled, “and i’ll see you at the show, yeah? save you a seat.”

your story

rafecam

liked by yourusername, sarahfan101 and 62,081 others

rafecam thanks 4 dressing me @/loewe

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loewe our pleasure ❤️

yourusername bro looking fine asf

sarahfan101 bro? 🤔

user3 she ain’t fooling no one

ilovesarah they're just friends!

user my MANNNNNNNN

user2 WOOF WOOF

boykelce lookin good bro 😎

sarahupdates

liked by user, sarahfan101 and 48,231 others

sarahupdates rafe and y/n heading to the loewe show after party!

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user that should be ME!

sarahfan101 i think they did it but i just can’t prove it

user2 why is she always there!

user3 fr go away

ilovesarah it’s so cute that sarah has such supportive people around her ❤️

user2 she’s no real friend she’s just there to get with rafe

a/n: got this written with an hour to spare, we’re almost done with the LA segment so we can go back to obx 😜

thinking this will be about 30 chapters total?

i already have ideas of what i want to write next - i’ll be more planned out next time, this one was just a test… i’m going with the flow

taglist: @my-name-is-baby @yesshewrites1 @urbrunettebombshell @leather-n-velvet @fruitcakerafe @littlefreak-liz @wdwbts101 @akobx @lossfairy @marleymarleymarleymarley @jjmaybankmylovee @mbella607 @scream4mami @mrsdrewstarkeyy @honeyluvsatj

#dividers by pommecita #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smau #outer banks #rafe imagine #rafe obx #rafe x reader #smau #social media #outerbanks rafe #rafe x you #rafe outer banks #rafe fanfiction

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stargazedwinchester · 1 month ago

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The Witching Hour ♡ Dean

Summary: You go under a witch's spell, reliving the most recent heartbreak.

Word count: 1,199

Pairings: Dean x Reader ex-relationship

My new upload schedule has changed! There will be a new post every Wednesday and Saturday 12:30 GMT

The air stood still and torrid. The tension in the air lingers above you as a bead of sweat drips down from your hairline. You hold your breath, hiding behind a vast wall. You assume that the witch clan you’ve come to annihilate can’t see you. One of them cackles mischievously, her kitten heels echoing throughout the cave. “You’re here,” she bellows, the sound of her shoes getting louder. Your breathing hitches, and she stops in her tracks.

Panicking, you brought a potion with you and had already thrown the ingredients inside. Your hands begin to shake, and you recite the spell that you had found through research.

You had only been a full-blown witch hunter for 6 months. After your father passed a couple of years back, you went back to a regular life to cope with the pain. The thought of having to carry on like normal would’ve hurt you more, as he was your hunting partner. The pair of you only worked on smaller, more doable cases rather than the big shots. Your dad was close to 60 and he wasn’t getting any younger. You had always been worried about his health until he unfortunately declined rapidly.

Her shadow is creeping up on you and her footsteps grew faster and louder. You finish the incantation and nothing happens. Your eyes widen and your heart races. “What?” You mouth, your lungs in your throat. A skinny, pale hand slowly emerges from behind the wall, long, grotesque nails grip onto the brick. Some of the ends of her nails were chipped and broken off.

The frayed edges of her dress swing round and you’re met with a paralysing sensation shooting right through you. An icy white glow fills the room and you’re stuck.

She cackles, striking you again with the same feeling. This time, you’re levitating, and you can only move your eyes. You attempt to examine the rest of the cave but it’s pitch black and all you can focus on is the pain that’s being pumped through your whole body.

Suddenly, it’s dark. Reticent.

“Y/N?” A familiar voice calls for you, and you gasp. It can’t be.

“Y/N?” He calls again.

You find your feet back on the ground. You whip yourself round in every direction, searching for the voice.

“Dean?” You call, and there’s no answer. A hand slides down your forearm, causing you to flinch. Facing forward, you meet Dean Winchester’s gaze. His eyes are soft and sorrowful.

You place your hand on his cheek, his eyes close slowly and he swallows. Seeing that he’s somewhat relieved, you allow a tear to roll down your cheek. Your love for each other was immense and the pair of you were inseparable. That was until Lisa, his ex-girlfriend, came back into his life and he left you to return to his old life. Like you never even mattered in the first place.

You caress his cheek, and he pulls you into a hug. You wrap your arms around his neck and your hand lays softly on the back of his head. Stroking his hair, you pull out of the hug and he then leans in to kiss you. Your lips meet, his skin is warm and his lips are moist. The kiss is slow and welcoming, as if everything was back to normal.

“I’m sorry, I do love you.” He speaks out, tears welling in his eyes. You sigh, trying to reply to him. You’re inarticulate, struggling to make even a sound. As you stare into his eyes, you attempt to telepathically convey your love. All of this makes it 10 times harder because you can’t say anything back. You hope and pray to God that he hears you, that he sees you wanting to tell him that you love him, too. Just one final time.

You wake up inside of a hospital, the white lights are overbearing and they give you a headache. You attempt to sit up when a nurse enters the room. “Be careful, Y/N. Your lower body won’t be able to hold your weight just yet if you sit up,” she smiles and you smile back. “Okay.” Was all you could manage to get out. Your throat is dry, so you take a sip of stale water that must’ve been sitting on the bedside table overnight.

“You’re free to leave tomorrow, all being well,” she states. You nod. She unfolds a bed table and places it over you. She hands you a plate of vegetables, rice and chicken in an unfamiliar sauce. “Rest up, okay? Another doctor will visit you soon for a quick test to ensure you’re okay to leave tomorrow.” She gives you a reassuring grin, then exits the room.

You decide to pick at the food, attempting to eat what they gave you.

It’s gross.

It had been 8 days since you were admitted to hospital. No memory of anything other than your strange vision of Dean. You had to go back to the hospital for one last check up when you were greeted with ambulance workers rushing in with someone on a stretcher. They’re all yelling over each other, hastening to the emergency room straight down the hall. A familiar face races past you, attempting to keep up with the doctors. He doesn’t notice you, though, as you turn around and watch him panic.

Bobby?

You sit down, hand over your mouth. Trying to keep it together. “Y/N?” The doctor calls and you look up. “Are you ready?” He asks and you nod. Shaking your nerves away, you stand up and follow the doctor to his office. “Do you think he will be okay?” You ask hesitantly, and he shrugs it off as if it’s nothing. “In our care, he will be perfectly fine.” The doctor doesn’t even register who you’re talking about.

Once you leave his office, you notice that the light above Bobby’s door is red. Bright, like a flare. Assuming that means an operation is in progress, you pray that he will return alive and well. Whatever had happened to him must’ve proved a tough fight. Growing up with the Winchesters’ and Singer, you had always thought that Bobby is invincible and nothing could ever happen to him. Keeping your head down, a pair of feet accosts in front of you.

“Y/N.” He greets, and you look up. That familiar face once again.

Dean’s eyes are, yet again, filled with sorrow and regret and you’re not sure whether it’s because of you or because of Bobby. “Dean,” you reply back, and glance over at Sam. He’s sitting down, staring at you with disbelief. He lifts his hand up and waves, clearly tongue-tied.

“Can I talk with you?” He’s hesitant. His chest rises up and down. Dean takes his hand and rubs it across his face.

“About what?”

Dean looks at you gone out, maybe it was the fact that Bobby is in the emergency room, or the fact that you had a hallucination about him confessing his requited love for you that you just couldn’t quite get what he’d want to say to you. There’s so much, but so little to say.

“You know what.”

#supernatural #spn #supernatural imagines #spn imagines #dean winchester #dean winchester imagines #supernatural imagine #spn imagine #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x y/n #spn x y/n #spn x reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural x y/n

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 7 months ago

Text

The Tippington Affair

Summary: Y/N and Dean are unaware of just how similar they are.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: None really. Angst. Pining. Some making out. Kissing. Fluff.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N

Word Count: 5,314

A/N: In February I got a request from a lovely anon asking this:

hiii :)) idk of you're taking requests rn, but i was wondering if you could write something with dean x fem!reader where dean really loves her for a while but hasn't told her and plan on never telling cause he just thinks he's bad for her or that he's "poison", but he sees her getting close to some guy they're working with and starts to get like suuuper jealous, enough to make him forget he's not supposed to be with her. I absolutely love your writing and your stories, I'm pretty sure I've read them all haha :)) thanks!

It took me a while to get to this, but I hope you think it was worth it! Thank you so much for this request, Nonnie. And I hope everyone else who reads it enjoys it too. ❤️

Master List || Dean Winchester One Shots || Tag Lists

Dean shouldered his big green duffle bag, slamming Baby’s trunk and frowning at his phone.

Dean scowled at the name “Tippington”. Scott Tippington.

What the fuck kinda name is Tippington? Dean thought angrily. Sounds like he should be taking cigars and brandy in the library instead of out hunting with a flannel and a shotgun.

Sam joined him back at the car, having just checked them in and got their room key from the front desk. He tossed it to Dean.

“203.” He told him and they bounded up the stairs two at a time to the second floor of the Sleep Eazzz Motel.

When they’d spotted the motel on the side of the highway and Dean mentioned stopping, Sam told him the name of the motel was too close to “Sleazzz Motel” and they should keep driving. But Dean had already been driving for almost twenty-four hours straight. Sam offered to take over but Dean said he needed to stretch out on a real bed.

“Plus,” he’d pointed out, “you have a habit of really riding the brakes.”

So, they’d stopped for the night.

As they walked through the orange motel room door, they both gave a relieved sigh. The outside of the motel was hideous, but the room seemed decent. It actually smelled and looked clean, there was a decently modern TV, one from the 21st century anyway, and to Dean’s delight, both beds had magic fingers.

They each picked a bed and dropped their bags. Sam sat on the end of his bed and ran a hand down his face before turning to his brother.

“Hey, did you manage to get a hold of Y/N? Is she coming?”

Dean dug into his bag and started taking weapons out to clean them, doing his best to seem nonchalant. “N’ah, she’s werewolf hunting down in North Carolina.”

Sam nodded. “Ah. Too bad, we could use her.”

Dean shrugged. “We got this, it’ll be fine.”

Sam grunted his response and started unlacing his boots. Dean sat back on the bed and laid out a cloth to set the weapons on before starting in on his 1911.

After a minute Sam kicked off his boots and pushed himself backwards so he was leaning against the pillows on the bed as he picked up the remote and clicked on the TV. Dean was quiet until Sam settled on an old episode of The Simpsons and tossed the remote aside.

“Hey, do you know a guy named Scott Tippington? ‘Nother hunter?”

Sam scrunched his forehead thinking. “Out of Utah? Tall guy, blonde?”

Dean shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t know him, that’s why I was asking you. What’s he like?”

Sam sat forward a bit to pull off his overly warm flannel. “Well, if it’s the guy I’m thinking of, I only worked with him once, a few years ago.” He darted a look towards Dean. “When you and I were, uh, apart. After Amy.”

It was awkward for a moment before Sam looked back at the TV and continued on. “Anyway, I don’t remember a ton about him, but we ended up on the same Rugaru case and we hunted it together. He was good, I think. If he was bad or stupid, I’d probably remember him more.” He looked at Dean again. “Why do you ask?”

Dean shrugged. “Oh, just Y/N said she’s working with him again. This is like the third or fourth case in a row they’ve worked together, so I was just curious.”

Sam smiled knowingly. “Ah! I get it now.”

Dean scowled at his little brother and then went back to aggressively cleaning the barrel of his pistol. “There’s nothing to ‘get’.”

Sam cocked an eyebrow.“You’re worried Y/N’s getting a bit too close with this guy.”

Dean scoffed. “Whatever. She’s teamed up with him a couple times, and I just wanna make sure he’s not a tool that’s gonna get her killed.”

“Uh huh.” Sam said in tones of disbelief.

Dean shook his head. “Shut up.”

He didn’t bother arguing the point with Sam any further because he knew Sam would see through him - had been seeing through him for the last four years, since the day they’d first had a run in with the former FBI agent.

***

Dean had been immediately blown away by her. She was a power and a force all unto her own, and she was immediately suspicious of them.

They were working the case of a shifter who was shifting into different parents, and snatching that parent’s kid. They were pretty sure the bastard was selling the kids to other monsters for obviously horrific reasons.

Y/N was only aware of the most recent kid, snatched ten hours earlier. She was on the case, knowing that a twenty-four hour clock was ticking. There were witnesses and CCTV camera footage of the boy’s father picking him up from school, so of course he was their prime suspect.

But when Sam and Dean came into the local FBI field office and said they’d been instructed to interrogate that suspect, Y/N had just frowned at them and asked to see their badges again. She’d studied them for a worryingly long time before handing them back.

She squinted at them. “You look kind of familiar to me. Have we worked together?”

Both brothers assured her they’d never met and demanded again to speak with the suspect in custody. She’d reluctantly agreed and taken them into the room. But they got little new information out of the incredibly distraught father.

As they were leaving, Y/N caught Dean’s arm and he’d been amazed with how much that little touch had affected him and how badly it made him want to pull her closer, cover her delectable mouth with his and see what she tasted like.

But she’d merely asked him one more time if they’d ever worked together. When Dean denied it again, she shook her head and let him go.

But early the next morning, she’d been outside their motel room, pounding on the door. Dean’s bed was the closest and he stumbled out of it, half asleep, to open the door. He stood there in his black boxers and gray t-shirt and she seemed momentarily surprised, looking him up and down before she pushed past him into the room.

“Hey!” He protested. He looked over at Sam’s bed, but it was already empty and made up. Probably out running. Dean thought with an internal eye roll as he grabbed his jeans and yanked them on as Y/N spun around to confront him.

“I know why I know you.” When Dean said nothing, she planted her hands on her hips.

“You're Dean Winchester. And that guy with you,” she pointed at Sam's bed, “is your brother Sam.” When Dean still stayed silent she moved her hands from her hips and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Also, you’re dead.”

She began pacing back and forth in front of him. “After a horrifying and bloody murder spree across several states, you were both killed - ‘decapitated’ the report said. When I called the sheriff who wrote the report, I found out that both he and his daughter, who just happened to be the coroner who processed the bodies, were also missing and presumed dead.”

She turned back to look directly at Dean and in spite of the seriousness of the situation, he found himself once again caught up in how beautiful she was, in the way her eyes flashed as she studied him. And once again he had the impulse to wrench her forward and crush her mouth under his…probably a bad idea, he thought.

Y/N eyeballed him, but he couldn't decipher her expression. Her voice was stern when she spoke. “I should be here to arrest the murderers who faked their own death.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’re not?”

She stared at him for a minute before she shook her head. “No, because you and your brother aren’t the only weird thing going on with this case. After you left yesterday I dug deeper into the case and stumbled across six other cases, from local municipalities, of missing kids. The cases had been reported to the FBI for consultation, but they all seemed cut and dry, so the locals took care of it themselves.”

She inhaled deeply, frowning at Dean. “The disappearances of all six kids were reported as parental abductions. In every case, there was footage of the parent picking the kid up from school, but every accused parent vehemently denied taking them. Four out of the six suspects arrested, also had ex spouses who refused to believe their former partner had taken the child because they were in very friendly and functional co-parenting situations. Oh, and all six kids were never found, and no body was ever recovered.”

She shook her head. “Now there is a seventh kid missing and it’s exactly the same situation. If you add to that, two fake FBI agents who are actually mass murderers back from the dead, well I gotta think there’s something more going on here that I don’t understand.”

Sam walked through the door just then, freezing when he saw Y/N standing in the middle of the motel room.

“Uh…”

Dean waved him in. “Come on in, Sammy. Time to give the talk.”

So, they’d spilled the beans about who they were and the life they lived. She didn’t believe easily, but eventually she admitted that there had been a few other cases in her ten year career that had felt off, that left her with a bad taste in her mouth about what was really going on.

She’d insisted on helping them find the seven year old boy that was missing, and with her help they’d found the shifter and put a silver bullet in his heart in time to save the kid and return him to his real parents.

After that Y/N tried to go back to being an FBI Agent, but eventually she came to see the boys.

“I can’t go back to pretending that everything is normal. Everytime we’re going after a suspect, I’m wondering whether they’re actually a monster in disguise, or if they’ve got a monster framing them.” She’d shrugged. “So, teach me to be a hunter. I feel like there’s gonna be a lot of career overlap, and hey, the FBI doesn’t pay great either.”

So they’d helped her out, but she was a very quick study and it hadn’t taken long for her to become a great hunter. They often worked cases together.

Or they had until a few months ago when Y/N had met up with Scott Tippington and started working all her cases with him.

Tippington. Dean thought again, dismissively. Definitely a douche.

***

“Cheers!” Y/N reached across the table and clinked glasses with Sam and then turned slightly to touch glasses with Dean who was sitting beside her.

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Cheers.” He said with a nod.

They all took a big gulp of beer and then clunked their heavy glass mugs back down on the table.

“So, how have you guys been?” Y/N asked, wiping her hand over mouth to ensure no beer clung to her upper lip.

Dean grunted non-committedly and she looked to Sam for further explanation.

Sam chuckled. “That’s Dean’s way of saying taking down that nest of vamps we went after, ended up being a bit tougher than we thought it would be. Three of the vamps were friggin’ huge and they didn’t go down easy.”

“Shit!” Y/N said, shaking her head and looking Sam up and down. “They were bigger than you?”

Dean answered. “Yeah, believe it or not. One of them picked Sam up like he was gonna bench press him and then chucked him clear across the room. Thankfully, I was too quick and agile for him to catch me.”

Sam snorted. “Yes, you were just like a ninja while the one with the beard had you in a headlock choking you out.”

Dean waved him away. “Got out of it didn’t I?”

Y/N chuckled and took another sip of her beer. Sam shifted his gaze from his brother to her and gave her one of his dimpled smiles. “How about you? How’d your last hunt go? Wolves right?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, and then a wraith on the way back. They were both pretty quick and clean. We took them out without a problem.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Right you were working with uh…what was his name again?” He asked, as though the name hadn’t been plaguing his nightmares.

“Scott Tippington.”

Dean picked up his cardboard coaster and began shredding it. “Right. You’ve worked with him quite a bit lately. I guess he must be good.”

Y/N shrugged a shoulder, smiling fondly at the memory of her most recent partner. “Yeah, he is. I like working with him a lot. He makes me laugh.”

Dean nodded, a little rapidly, she thought. “Oh that’s good. Important that your partner can tickle your funny bone just before a demon smashes your head into a wall.”

Y/N frowned. “He’s a good hunter too.”

“Huh.” Dean grunted. “That’s good.” He nodded. “I mean it’s obviously more important that he’s a good hunter so, you know, he's not gonna get you killed. But it’s great that you get along so well too. Important.” He finished with a mumble.

Y/N looked at him askance. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The table was quiet for a minute until the waitress came by to drop off more pretzels and peanuts for the table.

Dean turned a bright smile her way and Y/N felt her stomach lurch as he moved into flirtation mode. She’d seen it many times before, over the last four years, and it never got easier. It was, in fact, the main reason she’d started hunting with Scott. She’d needed distance from Dean. She couldn’t keep watching him walk out the door with yet another new woman under his arm.

But once again, his charm was in full effect as he addressed their waitress. “Thanks sweetheart.” The waitress had long, dark hair, big boobs and a short skirt. She also had a very sweet smile that she flashed his way, making Y/N wanna scream or scratch her eyes out - maybe both.

The waitress popped a hip out as she stood beside their table. “No trouble, honey. Can I get you anything else? At all?” She asked, her warm brown eyes entirely focused on Dean.

Y/N thought the woman was being a little obvious and forward the way she rested her popped hip against their table and leaned forward so that Dean had a fabulous view of the cleavage revealed by her low cut, scoop neck t-shirt.

Dean didn’t even try to hide his ogling and Y/N gritted her teeth as he leaned his elbows on the table, looking up at the waitress. His green eyes glittered brightly with obviously dirty thoughts and promises. “Well, I wouldn’t mind knowing what time you get off.”

The waitress blushed prettily and bit her lip. “Um, I’m off at midnight.”

Dean gave an exaggerated expression of surprise. “Well, how ‘bout that, midnight is just when I was planning to head home. Maybe we could meet up.”

Y/N was clenching her teeth so hard she thought she might crack one as the waitress giggled and nodded. “Okay, maybe you can give me a ride home.”

Dean stared straight into the woman’s eyes and slowly licked his lips before speaking. “Oh, I can definitely give you a ride, sweetheart.”

“Jesus.” Y/N heard Sam mumble under his breath, but she didn’t spare him a glance.

She was too intent on staring at the waitress who was practically salivating as she stared at Dean, before she giggled again and bounced away from their table.

Dean watched her go with his head slightly tilted.

When he swung his gaze back to her and Sam, he seemed slightly angry and she figured he expected them to bug him about his carousing while they were all just sitting at the table.

She wanted to make sure he knew she didn’t care, so she laughed. “Jesus Dean, why didn’t you just mount her right here on the fucking table.”

Oops, she thought, that sounded a bit more angry than teasing.

Dean shrugged a shoulder. “What? I wanted a date, I got a date.”

Y/N snorted. “A date? A date implies dinner and a movie, I doubt very much you’ll bother with either. You don’t even know the woman’s name.”

Dean scowled at her. “It’s Cindy.” Y/N raised an eyebrow and he shrugged again. “She had a name tag, and I notice things.”

Y/N snorted. “Yeah, especially when they're pinned to a pair of enormous tits.”

Dean wore half a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He drained his beer in one swallow and stood up. “I’m gonna go ask Cindy for another one.”

He sauntered away and Y/N took her hands off the table and shoved them into her lap so Sam couldn’t see her shaking.

She raised her eyes to his and plastered on what she hoped looked like a real smile. “So, Sam, how is YOUR love life going?”

Sam chuckled. “Non-existent and boring.” He took a sip of beer. “How about you?”

“Non-existent and boring.” Y/N said with a small nod.

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

“So…” Sam cocked his head. “You don’t have anything going on with this uh…Tippington guy you’ve been working with?”

“What? Ew! No.”

Sam frowned in apparent confusion. “Ew? Why ew?”

Y/N shook her head, her face still scrunched. “Because he’s the same age as my Dad!”

Surprise registered on Sam's face followed quickly by confusion. “Scott Tippington? Out of Utah?”

Y/N shook her head. “No, he's from Virginia, or…no West Virginia.”

“Oh.”

Y/N shook her head and then grinned at the idea of dating the grumpy old hunter. “I mean he's pretty good-looking for a 68 year old hunter. But…I think we're just gonna be friends.”

Sam smiled, chagrined. “That's probably a good plan.”

Dean sauntered back towards them and Y/N felt her stomach muscles tighten at his long-limbed, bow legged stride. Dean moved in a way that always made her take notice. When he was hunting, his movements were crisp and efficient, no wasted motions. He was precise and deadly.

When he wasn’t hunting though, when he was relaxed, he moved his body through the world with a kind of ease, loose and almost carefree. He reclined in chairs, leaned in doorways, and put his feet up on tables. He stretched and relaxed his tall frame into comfortable positions that always made Y/N wanna climb up into his lap and cuddle.

He plunked himself back down beside her with a new mug of beer. Y/N tried to make her grimace look like a grin.

“So, you got your evening all planned out?”

Dean nodded and took a sip of his beer. “Yeah, we’re outta here in about fifteen minutes.” He looked at Sam and winked. “Don’t wait up.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Wasn’t planning to.”

Y/N let some of her frustration show. “So, you’re really gonna ditch us after like a half hour. I thought we were supposed to be catching up.”

Dean’s jaw ticked as she looked at his profile. “I figured we were all done catching up. Your wolf hunt went great cause you had your amazing new partner and our vamp hunt went kinda shitty cause we could have used an extra pair of hands.”

Y/N scowled at him. “Seriously? Are you pissed at me for hunting with Scott? I wasn’t aware we’d signed exclusive contracts.”

Dean chuckled darkly. “N’ah, we’re definitely not exclusive. You are under no obligation to us whatsoever. So, you’re good.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Y/N said and Dean turned to look at her. “You’re seriously running off to spend the night with wonder tits over there because you’re pouting?”

“Wow.” Dean said with a head shake. “Whatever happened to the sisterhood? That was pretty rude.”

Y/N scowled at him. “You know, you’re right. I should do my part for the sisterhood by going over to that nice girl and warning her to find another ‘ride’.” She said, using air quotes. “Cause God knows she’s gonna come to regret it when she turns into just another notch on your belt.”

There was no hiding her annoyance now and she didn’t bother.

Dean dropped his jovial pretext too and turned to face her better. “Why the hell are you being so preachy and judgemental? Since when do you give a shit who I fuck?”

“Dean-” Sam started to speak but Y/N spoke over him.

“I don’t.” she denied vehemently. “But I mean, Jesus. Do you ever think with anything other than the dick in your pants? I mean seriously, it’s gross.”

“Y/N-” Sam tried again but Dean leapt to his feet, banging the table and sloshing their beer across the wooden top.

“For fuck’s sake.” Sam mumbled as he jumped up too, trying to avoid the beer streaming towards him.

Dean’s face was furious as he stared down at her. “Well I don’t wanna gross you out, so I guess I’ll just go sit at the bar till I’m ready to go.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, guilt plagued her when she saw the hurt in Dean’s mossy green eyes as she slid out of the bench seat to stand just in front of him.

“Don’t bother. I’m gonna take off, got a lot of driving between here and my next hunt.” She stared up at Dean, hoping against hope that he might tell her that they should both stay.

But he just smiled a tight smile. “Yeah, say hi to Tippington for us.”

Y/N gave a terse nod. “Yeah, whatever.” She glanced at Sam. “Take care, Sam. Hope to see you soon.”

She didn’t bother addressing Dean again, just turning away and walking out the door, wishing she could leave behind her feelings for him just as easily.

***

Dean grabbed a rag from the bar and wiped up the spilled beer before sliding back into the seat across from his brother who was frowning at him.

“Dean, what the fuck is the matter with you?”

Dean glared back. “What’s wrong with me? Nothing’s wrong with me. Why don’t you chase Y/N down and ask what the fuck’s gotten into her lately. She goes months without seeing me, us, I mean, and then storms away just because I had the audacity to make a date for later.”

Sam let out a frustrated growl. “You really think she was just mad you made a date, which, by the way, is a very loose translation for what actually happened with the waitress.”

“No, she was obviously mad and took off because she thinks I’m gross, cause she disapproves of my lifestyle, I guess.” He said, trying not to let the hurt bubble up.

What the fuck do I care what she thinks of my choices? He thought angrily.

Sam opened his mouth to say something more, but Cindy showed up at the end of their table.

“My boss let me off a bit early.” She smiled bashfully and nodded towards the door, clearly anxious to be underway. “Wanna go?”

Dean smiled at her and stood up, grabbing her hand. “Hell yeah, let’s go.”

***

There was a pounding on Y/N’s motel door that would have woken her up if she’d actually been asleep. But she’d just been restlessly tossing and turning, feeling guilty about Dean, but hurt over Dean too. The fact that he hadn’t texted back, clearly meant he was still on his “date”.

The long and short of it was she was in a rotten mood and the pounding on her door at two in the morning wasn’t helping.

Stupid drunken idiots next door.

When they wouldn’t take the hint and go away, Y/N threw off the covers and stomped to the door, throwing it open, ready to tell them to fuck off. But it wasn’t her neighbors on the other side.

“Dean!” Y/N exclaimed, her surprise turning into a frown. “What the hell are you doing here? Where’s your date?”

“I got your text.” Dean answered, brusquely.

He was staring at her, raking his eyes up and down her form standing in the doorway. Two spots of pink rose in Y/N’s cheeks as she realized she was just wearing a ratty old t-shirt and panties. She tugged self-consciously at the front hem of the shirt trying to ensure she was covered.

She opened her mouth to ask again what Dean was doing, but before she could get a word out, he’d pushed her backwards into the room with his hands at her waist. In one quick motion he kicked the door shut and spun her so he could slam her up against the wood-paneled wall.

She gasped, her eyes wide and her heart slamming against her ribs. Before she could get a word out, he was crashing his lips onto hers and sweeping his tongue into her mouth. He tasted like smooth whiskey and she was quickly drunk on him, her head reeling as his hands moved from her waist to grasp her cheeks and hold her steady.

His mouth ravaged her, pulling shocked and hungry whimpers from her throat. When he finally pulled his mouth away from hers, he simply trailed his silken lips down the length of her throat, while his rough hands strayed down her body to slip under the hem of her shirt and up her ribcage. His hands rested there, and he lifted his thumbs to brush tantalizingly against her rock hard nipples.

Y/N threw her head back, cracking it against the cheap wood paneling and knocking some sense into herself along with the slight pain.

She shook her head and pushed against his forearms. “Dean! What the hell? What are you doing?”

He pulled his head up, licking his lips and panting heavily. His hands stilled, but they stayed warm against her ribs.

She tried to make sense of what was going on, but his tantalizing lips were still hovering above her and it was everything she could do to not simply ignore her sense of reason and latch on to them again.

Instead she shook her head again and frowned. “Dean, what's going on? You were supposed to be on a date, remember?” She tried not to let too much vitriol into her voice, but felt like she’d failed.

Dean’s jaw ticked. “I just drove her straight home.” He paused, still breathing rough. “I don’t want her.” His gaze dropped to her mouth again and he bit his bottom lip. “All I want is you.”

Y/N shook her head, willing herself to wake up and live with the disappointment of this all being a dream. “Dean,” she whispered, “what are you saying? Where is this coming from?”

Dean’s gaze turned sad before he closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to hers. “Don’t date him.”

Y/N frowned in confusion. “Don’t date who?”

Dean shoved away from her and ran a hand through his hair as he began pacing. “I know I have no right to ask you, I have no right to you, no right to love you, I know I’m poison, I know I’m an asshole for trying to make you connected to me, I know I’ll never deserve you.”

He stopped pacing and turned to look at her. “I know Tippington is probably a much better option, but…” He strode three paces back to her and cupped her cheeks in his big hands. “But he can’t possibly love you more, want you more. I know that too.”

All Y/N could do was blink at him and then suddenly his words penetrated her brain and tears flooded her eyes and she begged her mind to just let her keep sleeping, keep living in the dream.

Dean’s face crumpled and he looked stricken. He pulled her against his chest and she buried her face there. “Shit, sweetheart, I’m sorry. It doesn't matter. Ignore me. It’s okay, I’ll be okay. You don’t have to say anything back. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Please don’t cry.”

His voice sounded choked and he rubbed a hand soothingly up and down her back. “I shouldn’t have come here like this. I’m an asshole, just ignore me, okay?” He repeated, and took a shuddery breath. “Date who you want, of course. Don’t cry.”

Y/N pulled back from the softness of his flannel beneath her cheek, raising an eyebrow as she shook her head. “And what if I wanna date you? Does that declaration of love come with dinner and a movie?”

It was Dean’s turn to stare blankly at her. She reached up and dashed away her tears before wrapping her hands around the back of his head and pulling his lips back to hers. Y/N kissed him for a solid thirty seconds before his brain seemed to kick into gear and understand what she was saying. When he did though, he growled and deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms tightly around her ribs and pressing her close. She reveled in the long, hard feel of him pressed up against her, the way she’d dreamed of him for so many years.

When they were both desperate for oxygen they finally broke the kiss and panted harshly as they looked into each other’s eyes, both of them thrilled when they read the real, solid proof of love in the other’s gaze.

Dean’s beautiful face split into an equally beautiful smile. “So, are you really picking me?”

Y/N smiled back warmly and let her hands rest against his scruffy cheeks. “Dean, I love you, and I choose you completely, over everyone, anyone. But…” She grinned at him mischievously. “Scott Tippington is sixty-eight years old and has never been anything more than a good hunting partner. Just so we’re clear.”

Dean frowned. “But Sam said -” He cut himself short before closing his eyes and shaking his head. “So, I was jealous of nothing.”

Y/N laughed softly. “Were you jealous? Really? Like me with the waitress…Cindy.” She gave a little eye roll.

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, we’re a couple of dumbasses.”

Y/N punched him lightly in the bicep. “Speak for yourself. I wasn’t a dumbass, I was a tragic pining heroine. After all, you gave me no hints you felt this way; how could I have possibly known?”

“Are you serious?” Dean asked incredulously. “I did everything but climb into your lap and beg.”

Y/N laughed and then felt her body warm as she laid her hands on his broad chest. “I’d be onboard for that.”

Dean’s eyes darkened as he lowered his head and captured her lips in a long, languid, sensual kiss, just dipping his tongue in to taste her and sipping at her lips.

When he pulled out of the kiss to nuzzle the shell of her ear and then suck her earlobe between his plump lips, Y/N gasped and clutched his shirt in her hands.

“Please.” She whimpered.

Dean gave a soft, slightly wicked chuckle against her neck as he skimmed down her skin. “That was supposed to be my line, sweetheart.”

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters:

@lyarr24

@lacilou

@deans-spinster-witch

@globetrotter28

@suckitands33

@alwaystiredandconfused

@evznackles

@jackles010378

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@envyaurora95

@spnwoman

@deans-baby-momma

@luvr4miya

@arcannaa

@viviwatchestv

@winharry

@rizlowwritessortof

Dean Fics Only:

@roonthelittlespoon920

@slamminmine

@zepskies

@safiyas-world

@aylacavebear

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom:

@kazsrm67

@slut-for-evans-stan

@sexyvixen7

@nancymcl

@hobby27

@waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits:

@k-slla

@leigh70

@eevvvaa

@kickingitwithkirk

@foxyjwls007

@notinthislife50

@roseblue373

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@avanatural

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@deangirl96

@stoneyggirl2

#dean x y/n #dean x reader #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester one shot

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beanzwrites · 1 year ago

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Late Night

Dean X Sister! reader X Sam

Description: The youngest Winchester takes care of her brothers after a hunt gone wrong.

Warning: Drinking, mentions of blood

.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°

Dry mud cakes off Dean's boots as he stumbles inside the motel with his siblings. The atmosphere was tense and none of them could even smile to make things better. Sam slouches over himself as he examines the wound in his leg. A hiss comes from his throat as his fingers graze over the tender flesh.

(Y/n) gently places her hand on his arm for comfort. "Let me get you a wet rag and a first aid kit," she coos softly. She walks over to the end of the bed to grab a fresh cloth from her duffle bag. She carries on to the bathroom and finds Dean sitting on top of the marble counter.

He moves his feet slightly so she can access the sink. As she runs the water over the small towel, she notices a beer bottle in between Dean's thighs. "Don't you think it's too late to be drinking," she asks cooly before ringing out the rag. Dean huffs in response and takes a swig of it.

(Y/n) lowers to her knees to reach inside the cabinet. She takes out a decent sized medical box and sets it on the bathroom surface. Taking out a bandage and ointment, she casually lifts her hand to Dean. "I'm not going to pretend that I didn't see your arm bleeding. Give it here."

"I'm fine, go help Sammy," Dean slurs.

"Please."

Eventually, Dean gives in to his sister's soft nature. He rolls up his flannel sleeve to reveal a large cut oozing down his arm. It didn't look deep, but it looked like it hurt like hell.

"I'm going to have to get another rag- do you know what caused this?" (Y/n) questions.

"I ran into a saw blade when we were in the barn," Dean replies.

"Did you check to see if it was rusty?"

"It wasn't."

"Good. No tetanus shot for you today." A ghost of a smile etches on her lips. She places the rag on the wound, making sure to cover the whole infected area. "Clean that up for me, I'm going to get another rag."

Sam managed to get himself out of his dirty blue jeans and into some boxer shorts. His back presses against the headboard of the bed with his legs relaxed out in front of him. "Sorry Sam, I was just making sure Dean took care of his wound. Are you alright?" (Y/n) asks sweetly.

"Yeah. I feel better now that something isn't rubbing against it," Sam sighs out.

"Good. I'll be with you in a moment."

Dean was in the process of trying to wrap the gauze around his arm when (Y/n) made it back to the bathroom. His hands were shaky as he did so and he had to place his feet on the cool tile floor. " Did you put the ointment on?" (Y/n) asks.

"What do you take me for," Dean replies.

"Here. Let me help you," (Y/n) instructs as she takes the bandaging. "Hold out your arm." Soon enough, Dean's arm was securely wrapped. "Is that too tight?"

"Nah, it's fine."

"Great, now clean yourself up. You smell like cow manure. I'm going to help Sammy."

---

"That burns," Sam cries out, biting his lip harshly.

"I'm sorry, but it's the only thing that we have right now- stop that!" (Y/n) barks. Sam quickly lets go of his lip with a scowl. "I'm almost done, just a few more layers."

"I don't know how when we just went out for a supply run a few weeks ago- Charlotte's town sound familiar to you?" Sam retorts with a snap.

"Does watching out for Vermin teeth sound familiar to you?" They glare harshly at each other before smiles crack through their faces. "I'm just going to move your leg a little bit to wrap it, okay? Try not to tense too much," (Y/n) says with a giggle.

Carefully, Sam is allowed to rest his newly swaddled leg. A relieved sigh carries out of Sam's mouth before he glimpses over to his sister. He notices the way her frazzled hair carries across her shoulders messily. A few bruises and scrapes are scattered across her delicate skin. "What you did was very dangerous," He announces after a while.

"I know," (Y/n) acknowledges quietly. "If I didn't do what I did though, we might have had to amputate your leg- I don't think you want that."

"I don't know what we'd do without you," Sam chuckles.

"We would bleed out," Dean's voice conveys from the bathroom doorway.

"What happened to your bottle?" (Y/n) queres.

"It's too late to drink, especially with a kid around."

"Yeah, Sam doesn't really need that right now."

"Are you calling me a child?" Sam interrogates.

"Can I call you both children?" (Y/n) says playfully.

"I'm not a child," Dean retorts in offense.

"I had to help two grown men clean and wrap their wounds because they didn't want to do it themselves," (Y/n) explains with a proud smirk. Both went silent with their argument.

"Toshee," Dean remarks.

"You guys want to watch a movie?" (Y/n) asks, changing the subject. "I like to think we have the right to mellow out for a while."

"I'm down, as long as it isn't thriller. I think we've had enough action for tonight," Sam replies, eyeing his leg.

"Agreed."

#dean winchester x sister reader #supernatural x reader #sam winchester x sister reader #supernatural x sister! reader #fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #dean x reader x sam #platonic reader #sister reader #fluff

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merlinpotterandtherandom · 10 months ago

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Harry and Draco have been secretly dating since 4th year and they manage to hide it pretty well, so well that not even his friends know they're in a relationship.

By the end of 5th year Harry and Draco have this huge argument, Draco knows that Voldemort will probably want to recruit him to the Death Eaters as a punishment for Lucius' failure so he tells Harry he wants to let that happen so he can be a spy to Harry and Harry, who has just lost Sirius, is not happy about it at all, Harry refuses to let Draco do it, Harry refuses to risk his boyfriend's life for something like this. But Draco manages to convince Harry to let him do it, Draco tells Harry that it's the best if Harry has his own spy so he can get unfiltered information. Harry still isn't happy about it, but after Draco did an unbreakable vow to run straight up to Harry if he felt he was uncovered or if Draco just feels like his life is in way too much danger, Harry ended up agreeing with Draco that it would be nice to have his own spy in the Death Eaters.

6th year comes around and Draco is a bit distraught by the task Voldemort gave him, so he tells Harry everything and shows Harry that Voldemort really did mark him, which he wasn't expecting Voldemort would do. Harry just gently presses a kiss close to the mark, 'cause he's afraid he's gonna accidentally activate the mark if he touches it, and then pulls Draco closer and kisses him and tells Draco he's gonna help him to fix the vanishing cabinet so Draco doesn't have to do it all alone. Harry really couldn't keep his eyes out of his boyfriend, he knew Draco was worried with his mother and with everything so Harry was really watching Draco like a hawk to make sure Draco was eating and sleeping. Hermione, Ron, Neville, Ginny, Dean, Seamus and basically all of the Gryffindors thought Harry was obsessed with and/or stalking Draco, and Harry was just like "No! I'm not stalking him!" and Hermione was like "So you admit you're obsessed then?" and Harry really didn't deny that he's obsessed, Draco is his boyfriend! Of course he's obsessed with his own boyfriend! But he couldn't tell Hermione that, so he just shrugged and moved on with the conversation. During all of this, Harry also insisted that Draco learns the Patronus, 'cause it's useful.

While Harry is with Hermione and Ron hunting Horcruxes, Draco is between Hogwarts and the Malfoy Manor. Draco sends Harry his patronus with information. Harry just smiles everytime he sees Draco's patronus, even though it usually brings bad news.

The battle of Hogwarts happens. Harry saves Draco from the Fiendfyre and Harry just can't control himself anymore and ends up pulling Draco closer and kissing him when they're out of the fire. Hermione and Ron are shocked when Draco actually just lets Harry kiss him and even kisses back. So when Harry finally kills Voldemort, he keeps ignoring everyone around him and keeps looking for Draco, Hermione pops up on Harry's side and points to a direction and says she saw Draco in there. Harry thanks her and runs to Draco, who he finds all alone outside the castle just staring at it and Harry just wraps his arms around Draco's waist and kisses Draco's cheek, Draco turns around after that and kisses Harry properly in the lips and then blurts out a "Marry me" and Harry is shocked so he doesn't answer immediately so Draco just starts trailing off about how scared he was when he saw Harry in Hagrids arms and how relieved he was when he noticed Harry was alive and how all of this just made him realize how short life can be and how he wants to spend the rest of his with Harry. Harry kissed Draco before he could say something else and said yes.

Harry testified for Draco, saying that Draco was his spy since the beginning, that Draco was never a real Death Eater and it was all part of their plan.

Harry and Draco's wedding happens just a week before they go back to Hogwarts for the "8th" year.

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studiogrimm810 · 23 days ago

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Speak of the Devil >Edging Sleep // part 3

pairings: (established) sam winchester x gn!you, dean is also there

summary: you are taken by lucifer for over a week and sam damn near looses his head. when you are finally rescued, the trauma of what was inflicted on you has left it's mark and it's up to sam and dean to keep you put together this part showcases you trying to sleep and your mind becoming overrun with a pestering hallucination of lucifer that sam tries to talk you down from

warnings: torture, ptsd, flashbacks, hallucinations, graphic depictions of said torture

word count: 4,064

A/N: this work is now on AO3! i'm unsure of how many parts i'll be doing, but figured it should go there too just to be safe and have it more complied ^.^

read other parts here

———————

Sam’s arm is wrapped around your torso, holding you firmly to his chest. He stays quiet but fully awake as he wants to keep an eye on you as you try to sleep.

However, every time you start to relax and fall asleep, Lucifer’s piercing red eyes burn your eyelids like lasers and alert you awake. Sam feels the flinch that ripples your body whenever this happens but he tries to keep his hold sturdy and consistent.

He places a soft kiss to the back of your head and whispers sweet nothings every now and again because despite the current state of your mental health, he’s just beyond relieved that you’re back here in his arms and safe.

Honestly, so are you.

Despite a deep claw of paranoia screaming at you that this could all be a dream, you know that deep down Sam is the most real thing you’ve experienced in weeks.

Well, maybe that’s a bit of a stretch because the torture you suffered was real. Each gash, burn, stab, singe, or sting of a weapon in Lucifer’s arsenal embedded itself into your skin and left its mark- scar or no scar… right?

That really does beg the question- was it real?

Even if your skin is now not marred and free of remnants of the past inflicted pain, you still felt everything. You still saw everything. Lucifer kept you physically unconscious as he tortured you in the consciousness of your own skull, laying you out on some made up table and securing you with made up chains and using made up weapons- but it was a real table, and real chains, and real weapons. Just fake- but real.

God, it was starting to piss you off how you ran in circles. You just wanted to know if it was real- because it felt real. There are actual memories of each and everything he did to you burned into your brain- the very brain he cooked it up in the first place- and that had to make it real, right?

But then, where is the line of reality? Sam was tortured in Hell, not his physical body, but his soul and it was still real.

But now if you fall asleep and wake up in a dream of Lucifer carving you up like it’s Halloween, is that real? Or is that just a left over figment?

If you didn’t feel crazy before, this unhelpful trainwreck of thought will surely do the trick.

You’re unsure of how much time passes again before you finally start to doze off but the feeling drifts you lightly into a bliss of sleep. With your body warm and protected, sleep swallows you easily.

But it barfs you right back up when a playful whisper makes you suck in a sharp breath as you jolt awake.

Your heart races as you frantically look around the room for the source of the hiss but can’t find anything.

Sam sits up, as he shakes off his sleepiness to assess the situation- you hyperventilating and completely awake as you search the room frantically.

And that’s when you see him.

The Devil himself leaning against Sam’s desk with his hands clasped in front of him, he shrugs with a cheeky smile as your eyes land on him.

“It’s me!” He beamed, clasping his hands back in front of him as he stands fully and stalks close to the bed, causing you to scoot back into the bed frame.

“Hey- what’s happening, what’re you seeing?” You can hear Sam’s voice, but you don’t process it.

“He asked you a question, doll face, ya’ better answer him- be rude not to,” Lucifer scrunched his face dramatically, crossing his arms in front of him.

“Honey? Can you hear me?” Sam asks with more urgency, pulling off the blankets and grabbing your wrists lightly. You startle at the touch but don’t flinch away- it’s enough to get you to look at him.

“H-he’s here,” you whisper, frozen in fear. This was so odd for Sam, he was used to seeing you as a strong, capable hunter but of course he knew first hand how Lucifer changed a person.

“Okay- okay,” Sam swallows, looking around the room for a moment.

“Hi there, pretty boy, it’s been a while,” Lucifer winks in Sam’s direction but of course only you see it.

“You’re okay, you're here and you’re safe. He’s not real, sweetheart,” Sam pushes some hair out of your face, trying to get you to focus on just him but your eyes keep darting back and forth between him and Lucifer.

“Hey- that hurts my feelings,” Lucifer feigns offense and clutches his non-existent pearls, “tell Sam that hurts my feelings,” he flicks his finger up, pointing at Sam like this was casual.

Your back stays glued to the headboard as you just watch Lucifer in front of you. You take in the details of him to look for anything to prove that he’s just a figment- wrinkles, stubble, torn clothes. It really looks just like him. But was it the him that tortured you or the him you’ve yet to see in person- but that’s when you remember.

Okay, to really lay it out, before your abduction, you had never seen The Devil in the flesh- well, not his, but someones. Regardless, you had only heard stories from the brothers, you had never come face-to-face. At least not until that Wednesday night outside of some bar a few hours out from the bunker. Lucifer had appeared out of nowhere and even then, you thought he was just another patron.

The fucker was charming, but even then he made a brick of unease settle in your stomach as he spoke. It seemed like a situation you could handle- potential intoxicated man trying to make a move or bother you in some way- but when his eyes beamed red with a split smile, that is when you knew you were outmatched.

That’s when his face solidified into your skull, his real and in-person face and-

Wait, no.

Not his real face.

Because that’s not really Lucifer but just some poor bastard who said ‘yes’.

No no, Lucifer’s real face was something of an exhibit of him. Something that he spotlighted for you in the confines of your own skull. Your own…

So, let’s get this straight- the in-person Lucifer you saw was the one you see before you, at least they look the same, but so does the all-in-your-head torture Lucifer. But the all-in-your-head torture Lucifer was also the one to show you his real face- like actual his true face. The face of a mangled, neglected, torched angel. Something so horrific but incomprehensible- pure terror.

You’re getting derailed as you try to organize your thoughts and the jumbled confusing mess of what’s classified as real is truly starting to wear you down.

“You’re not telling him,” Lucifer pouts, barring any sort of intimidating scowl or hint of actual anger.

You’re still frozen though, thoughts in disarray, sounds muffled, vision tunneled.

“Look at me!” Sam’s rough voice- a voice that he’s never used with you- rips you out of your shock. It rumbles his chest and reverberates off the walls as it echoes in your ear long after it’s left his lips. “Talk to me, baby, what’s happening?” His voice instantly soothes back down, guilt ringing his glossy eyes but barely showcasing much as he knew he had to yell to snap you out of the invisible hold.

“Now, I’ve been listening,” Lucifer resumes, “and I’ve come to a conclusion that you, doll, don’t know whether this is a crumb of our connection,” his use of ‘our’ makes your throat tickle with a threat of bile, “or a delusion my inflicted presence,” his lips curl into a smile that the Cheshire Cat would be envious of.

“You’re okay, you’re here,” Sam emphasized his words with a gentle squeeze around your wrists. To him, he hoped this could work as a grounding technique for you just as the cut to his hand worked for him during his struggle with hallucinations.

“And I think that’s a very fun starting point for round two,” Lucifer pounds his fists out as if he’s warming up for a boxing match.

“He’s talking,” your lips barely move as your vocal chords decide to work out a word or two. The gentle rumble past your lips is enough for the tension in Sam's chest to lighten just a tad.

“What’s he saying, honey?” He asks, gentling reaching up to tuck a strand of hair out of your face then returning to his hold on you.

“Don’t ignore me, sugar, I’m very entertaining,” Lucifer promises with a wink as he hops onto Sam’s desk and keeps his eyes set on you. His face melts into a cold and unsettling look of waiting- just waiting. No major emotion lighting up any particular corner, just a standby look of indifference.

“A lot,” only your tongue flicks weakly to produce this response.

“Is he angry or just being annoying?” Sam asks simply.

“Hey!” Lucifer scoffs, the nonchalance melting away as he appears offended by Sam’s words.

“Annoying,” you croak softly before you can stop yourself. The Devil ticks his gaze towards you with a ‘oh-no-you-did-not’ look and with a roll of his eyes and exaggerated rock back of his head, he pushes off of the desk and starts pacing.

“Annoying? You both really find my presence annoying?” Lucifer bites at his lip, arms crossed with one wrist brought up so he can nibble at his fingernails as he paces.

A small smile pulls up an edge of Sam’s lips at your response, finding a glimpse of peace in the fact that you seem to have even a sliver of humor still working.

“What happens if I,” Sam asks cautiously as he squeezes your wrists, as if trying to wring out a towel. You make a small sound of protest at the pressure but it doesn’t actually hurt or make you tug away. He waits for any update from you but you don’t even know what he’s waiting for exactly.

“I- I don’t know,” you mumble.

“Tsk, tsk, Sammy, it’s not gonna work like the hand scar,” Lucifer shakes his head. He gasps lightly with fake wide-eyes and a hand going to cover part of his mouth. “Have I just given myself away?” His eyes shimmer with amusement.

“Keeps talkin’ to you,” you whisper. This makes Sam still, turning to glance back at the area surrounding his desk- where your eyes keep darting. The thought of what Lucifer might be saying hacks at the bundle of nerves wound tight in his gut. Sam forces himself to turn back to face you, holding your wrists still securely in his own grasp.

Hand scar, yeah- okay. You remember Sam telling you about that once or twice when you asked about the particularly puffy scar on the inside of his palm. He explained it as the thing that kept him grounded and that the reason it healed so funky was because of how often he dug into it for a solidification of reality.

“Maybe not,” Lucifer shrugs.

Was this the real Lucifer or not?

“Just shut up,” your chest voice startles Sam. His eyes darted up to examine the pestered look on your face. A look that’s quickly wiped off with a jump and strangled whimper erupting from your throat.

Before you, Lucifer scowls with a twisted twitch of his lips and his features morph into an angry picture of mangled skin and dripping blood- you recognize it as your own face.

One form of torture he inflicted on you was by taking pieces of a shattered mirror and decorating your face like candles on a cake. The reflected glares on the glass had caused a migraine to form each time he performed this act.

The repetition was something you felt you could best put into a glitched painting- the image before you being the same image Lucifer had reflected at you during the act and even then the shards in your face reflected off of each other, bouncing between you like a trail of threads. Too many shimmers in too many directions. Too many reflections.

The reflection of you before you.

The miniature reflections- of you- on the blades burrowing into your mimicked face.

Too much.

A strangled cry breaks out of your mouth as your eyes punch shut and you curl your head into your hands. The quickness of your moves causes Sam to let his hold slip off of you like discarded silk sheets.

Lucifer is cackling, a loud, mocking sound that hammers in just how little you feel right now. The sound sends shivers down your spine and you feel a ghost hand walk up your spine ever-so-lightly and it makes your back straighten to try and press into the wall so that reasonably, nothing could touch you, right?

Right?

That’s reasonable.

Sam is beside himself, he doesn’t even know where to begin. He hoped that being the only other person who has dealt with Lucifer’s prolonged torment, he would be able to coach you through this or at least know what to say. But upon being here and in this moment he realizes that there just is nothing to say. There’s absolutely nothing he can do to make right now better for you.

He feels useless.

Your hands clamp the back of your neck, trying to guard the sensitive area with a firm grip.

“Talk to me, baby,” Sam’s voice cracks, his handles idle and- what’s the devil's playground again?

“M-mirrors-,” barely a comprehensible word really, but Sam looks right at the only mirror in the room. He tears through his brain, trying to remember everything that Lucifer did with mirrors. It’s a nauseating shuffle through memories but it’s necessary to you which makes it absolutely vital to him.

There were the ‘self-displays’, as Lucifer would call it, where he would be forced to watch as Lucifer did what he did but through a mirror opposite to his positioning. There was also the extensive periods of time where Lucifer would pry open Sam’s eyes so he was forced to watch only his reflection for days on end- something that really fucked with his head more than he’d like to admit. And then the ‘splicing’, where Lucifer would take shards and line them up along Sam's face to almost entrap him in an eternal peripheral vision that made Sam dizzy just to remember.

He wasn’t sure which, or if any, of these you were talking about, but he hoped that the lack of mirrors and overbearing light were enough to help just a bit. He struggled with saying something before deciding to just get up and act. He flicked off the bathroom light and closed the door before covering the mirror and returning to right in front of you again.

“Okay, honey, I need you to listen to me,” he coos softly, caressing your cheek gently to test where you were at with physical touch. You tensed under his hand but didn’t move away which was enough for him to continue. “I’m real, I’m the man who loves you and who searched for you. You are at the bunker in Kansas. Dean is up the hall and you and I are in our bedroom- our bedroom. We have been in bed for a while but it’s still me who has been holding you, okay? I need you to know that for a fact,” he could see in your eyes that you were at least absorbing the assurance. He reached out to cover the back of your neck as you were- ghosting your hold like a shadow. “You can let go, sweetheart, I’ll cover your neck, okay?” He hopes this helps at least a little, just enough for you to hold your own wrists that he’s concluded is the most comforting thing for you at present.

You hear Sam, you can hear the bouncing echo of his voice around you, the reassurance that you know you believe, you just need to trick your body into believing as well. Pulling your eyes up to look at him, you can feel the swirling pit of dread in your stomach seem to slow a bit from its growing whirlpool that is destined to drown you- pulling you down and trapping you in its aerated water.

Your hands tremble as you unhook them from the back of your neck and you let Sam rest his own palms on the back of your head- strong, sturdy hands that cover double the space you were able to. It’s hard to regulate your breathing at first as your own paranoia is trying to scream at you that this isn’t really Sam, but you know it is because it has to be. If it isn’t then there really isn’t any hope for you.

Even if the Lucifer before you is him actually projecting his presence into your brain again, at least he’s sticking to only him.

“There you go,” Sam nods with a cracked smile as he breathes out a puff of relief. The scent of him- the heat of his breath- dusting over your face is enough to further solidify that it really is him.

Lucifer has morphed back into his vessel's face when you look at him again and he seems to be fuming with annoyance and contemplating his next move which makes you shiver with nausea.

“Can he touch you?” Sam asks and you’re not really sure how to answer. He hasn’t tried to but does that mean that he can’t? Lucifer scoffs to himself at Sam’s question and he seems even more annoyed. That gives you a sliver of hope that maybe he can’t.

“I-I’m not sure,” you croak. Your voice has stopped sounding like your own because nothing really feels like your own right now. Upon learning that you were trapped in your own consciousness while Lucifer inflicted his torture has made you completely loose any sense of bodily autonomy.

You go down to reach for your wrists once you’re completely settled with Sam’s hands palming the back of your neck.

“Now doll, why don’t you tell me your favorite part of your time with me,” Lucifer leans back against the desk as he stares you down, holding up his chin to look down on you as if he’s 10 feet tall. Your throat goes dry as his attention is fully on you again and you feel like an ant under his magnifying glass on a particularly clear day.

Images flash through your brain as you catalog through dozens of sessions with him, it’s against your own will as a few stand out- the mirror incident being the front runner.

“S-Sam, I can’t-,” you choke out through a sob that rattles your throat. You feel utterly sick and completely disoriented as the memories swirl around you and pull you deeper into the whirlpool picking up speed in your stomach.

Sam doesn’t know what to do or what to say. His mouth gapes open with an empty queue of words to speak. He just keeps his hold on the back of your neck as sturdy and still as he can, hoping to act as a shield for at least this part of your body. Even if he can’t coax you out of your own mind at the moment, the least he can do is take one worry off your list.

“You’re okay, baby, you’re safe,” he speaks through a thick fog in his own mouth, stiffening his jaw like it’s encased with molasses.

“Answer me!” Lucifer roars, slamming his fist onto the desk. The burst of anger pulls a helpless whimper from your lips that cracks Sam’s chest. He feels like this is hollowing him out completely- leaving him an unhelpful shed of skin in the wake of your breakdown.

“Make him go away,” your beg warbles through your wracked sobs.

Sam has to think of something to do to help, anything.

That’s when a thought pops into his head- if it’s really Lucifer projecting into your mind, would the sigil work? He has no time to ponder the theory or warn Cas of his plan because he has to act now.

You’re trembling under his hold, tear stained cheeks and raspy voice provoking a deeper sense of urgency within him. He hates to do it, but he has to let go of his hold on your neck to perform the sigil. He mumbles a regrettable ‘sorry’ as he moves his hands back to pull a knife from its sheath that’s secured to his side of the bed. There’s no particular flinch or whine of protest to the now exposed skin of your neck as you're still curled into yourself and holding your own wrists.

Sam slices his palm and starts the sigil on the wall above the bed, right behind you. He moves to unintentionally shield your body as he does so, creating an arch that blocks The Devil from your immediate sight.

“Sammy, you stop that!” Lucifer growls, trying to advance towards him but before he can make the full stroke, he’s shredded away in a blaze of white fire.

The silence leaves a ringing in your ears and you peak out from behind the wall of Sam in front of you.

The room is empty.

Your sobs are halted, the disappearance of Lucifer's nail-on-chalkboard screams seem to shock you out of the panic you were experiencing.

Sam feels frozen after the sigil burns with contact of his palm. He knows that it will still glow due to Castiel's angelic presence that has also been blasted away, but the room suddenly feels lighter- calmer. Has it worked?

He looks down at you under him and his heart is in his throat preventing any puffs of air to pass as he awaits your reaction. He leans back to sit on his heels to get a more forward look at you, holding his hand up to let the excess blood from the cut pool in his palm.

When you finally look him in the eyes, your breathing has returned as it rocks your shoulders and neck with each puff- as if you need to physically move your upper torso to force your lungs to work.

“What- what did you do?” Your words formed around the exhale of your quick breaths instead of your actual vocal chords. The exhaustion of this experience has drained your muscles of any energy.

“Angel sigil,” Sam scoffs a breath of relief followed by his lips flicking in a flash of a quick smile. He felt lightheaded as you turned to look at his blood that now stained the wall behind your shared headboard.

Once getting a good look, your body relaxes as it automatically turns back to face him almost fully again, he could tell you were making sense of what this meant.

“That was really him,” the words leave your lips with a shutter. Sam just nods.

Part of that was terrifying to you because it meant that he was real in your newfound definition of such. It was his actual soul- or whatever it is he has- that was before you just now. He projected himself to you again.

But another part rationalized that maybe this meant the projections/hallucinations would go away when the potion fully cleared your bloodstream.

The possibilities that follow the conclusion just founded only weigh down on your already exhausted shoulders.

“What matters is that he’s gone now,” Sam speaks softly- so warm and kind. “So you should try to rest, you must be spent,” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and as much as you are scared to try and sleep again, he’s right.

You just nod softly and let him help you back under the blankets and into a comfortable and safe position in his hold.

That night, nightmares plague your dreams and cause you to wake often. Sam is quick to comfort you and ease you back to sleep, even repeating the sigil when you start to worry about him coming back.

Something that screams at both you and Sam is that just because the presence of Lucifer would most likely be temporary, his stain surely won’t be.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @internallysalad

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wolfgiselle · 10 months ago

Text

Cage Wi-fi

"Can I ask, once again, how it's even possible we get wi-fi down here?"

Adam knew he was beating a dead horse, at this point, by getting worked up over this, but he was only human. Even in these trying times of Angels and Demons—of cages in Hell that were supposed to hold the literal Devil but, for some reason, also currently held him and the Archangel Michael—he needed things to make sense. Nothing had been going as it should lately. Not for a long time. Yet, here he was, trying to find logic where it seemed none existed.

"I assume the computer and its 'wi-fi' are here for entertainment purposes. There's not much else to do down here," Michael murmured. His face was practically hidden behind the screen. It had been for the last few days. At least, Adam thought it was days (Hell time was different, Cage time worse). Adam hoped Michael wasn't becoming addicted—that was all they needed—but there wasn't anything he could do to get it away from him.

Lucifer, at least, seemed to find Michael's newfound fascination and obsession amusing. "The demons snuck one down. I enjoyed the machine last I used it, so I, uh…let's go with 'asked' them to bring one down."

Adam should've guessed Lucifer was behind this. Even when he searched his brain, he couldn't figure out how a simple laptop could cause much, if any, damage. The whole situation seemed harmless. It was because Lucifer was the one who wanted it that he couldn't help but be suspicious.

His relationship with the Devil was mostly cordial. Michael had made it clear early on his vessel was off-limits when it came to torture or harassment. But the warning had ended up being unnecessary. Lucifer had, at first, focused all of his attention on his own vessel, Sam.

Adam had felt a bit bad then that Sam was experiencing such a thing while Adam was getting off scot-free. But, as he'd understood it, it was Sam's fault they were down there. Sam had decided to jump and take Lucifer with him—dragging him and Michael along for the ride. For such reasons, Adam also couldn't help but feel a little vindictive himself after all was said and done. All Adam had wanted was to see his mother and help save the world.

Lucifer did torture Sam for a while, but he must've gotten bored or finally calmed down because one day—for no discernable reason—he stopped. Sam didn't react as though he'd stopped, though. Instead, he kept screaming and tearing into himself, yelling words like "Stop!" or "No!" even though Lucifer was no longer touching him, basically torturing himself.

It almost made him relieved for Sam's sake (as well as his own) when, not long after, they saw Castiel appear. He shot into the cage with as little subtlety as a flaming meteor to snatch him, somehow managing to grab Sam's body but fly off, leaving his soul behind. He hadn't even spared a glance for Adam, despite Michael's (very much appreciated) attempt to get his attention and remind him.

The results of Sam existing in the cage without his body were a trial of their own. If Sam had seemed off or unhinged before, he was an absolute basket-case now. Lucifer even became desperate enough to try and calm him down, to no avail.

Then, once again, they had a visitor. This time 'Death' of all things. (And had Adam mentioned before he wasn't cut out for this?) While Adam was busy trying to fathom the idea of Death having a physical manifestation—on top of still trying to come to terms with Angels, Demons, and… well, everything else he'd ever thought was fantasy being real—Death retrieved Sam's soul.

Death, at least, was polite enough to acknowledge them. Adam included.

"I'm sorry, but the deal was only for one. Dean made his choice," he had said to him.

He'd immediately understood. It hurt, but he wasn't surprised. Their relationship had been short and brief, and for all they'd gone on about family and tried to appeal to him with that argument, he'd meant what he said when they first met. His mom was his family. She was the one he'd been doing all this for.

After Sam was gone, Adam worried Lucifer would get bored and come after him. After a while of showing no such inclination, though, Adam relaxed.

Adam was also surprised when Michael and Lucifer didn't fight each other. He'd been under the impression that had been the whole point of the Apocalypse. Michael had pointed out that neither could kill the other as long as they were down here. The cage kept whatever was in it alive. Fighting would be an exercise in futility.

The two of them still argued. But it was more like your average brotherly back-and-forth (if you considered disagreements over whether God would return and save them, or whether humans deserved to live or were insignificant ants that polluted and destroyed all God's other creations average).

Adam was doing okay. He figured for a guy stuck in Hell (possibly for all eternity), he was holding together pretty well. There was just some confusion over the computer.

"If we can get a signal down here, could we send messages to Earth?" Adam asked.

"And who were you planning on sending messages to?" Lucifer drawled, his human manifestation sprawled out against one of the corner cage walls. That was another thing that confused Adam. This wasn't their 'true' form he was seeing.

When Michael first appeared to him, he had been pure light. His presence had been so bright and heavy it'd felt both like staring directly at the sun and, somehow, being surrounded by it. Michael had later told him it was a miracle he'd been able to look upon him at all. Apparently, it was common for people to burn their eyes out when directly looking at them outside of a vessel. The Winchester blood that'd made it possible for him to be a vessel for Michael period must have saved him.

This meant he'd seen Michael before and had at least an idea of what an Angel could look like through human eyes. He also thought he'd caught a few glimpses of Lucifer when he was still torturing Sam. But he wasn't sure if what he'd seen was accurate after so long. Or if what he'd seen at the time had been distorted by Michael back then, trying to keep him coddled up within his…well, wings in an attempt to keep the awful things happening in front of him from view. As if not seeing Sam's torture made him any less aware of it happening. In some ways, the not seeing, the not knowing, was worse.

Lucifer's image—if his sneaked looks had been accurate—gave off the opposite impression of Michael's. If Michael was the sun, then the Devil was a black and oily hole, primed and ready to suck off or destroy any of the light that wandered near.

Adam wondered if Lucifer stayed in this humanoid form lately (despite his proclaimed hatred for the species) because he hated what had become of his original form or if it would be presumptuous of him to believe he chose to look that way to ease any discomfort Adam might've once shown at his true but now contaminated, visage.

Surely, the Devil would prefer for him to be uncomfortable? No matter how well they seemed to get along, it made little sense for Lucifer to play nice with the vessel of the brother he'd set out to kill. He'd never question such things out loud, though. Or admit to his confusion regarding the…Angel? Archangel? Devil…? Oh—whatever classification he considered himself now. Adam figured as long as he wasn't getting tortured, the status quo was best kept as it was.

"I don't really have anyone to message," he replied, remembering Lucifer's question after way too long a pause.

"Not even the Winchesters? They're your family, after all." Lucifer said it with little inflection, not at all as if he was intending mockery. But Lucifer knew he hated to be reminded of his blood ties to the brothers and how little such a tie had come to mean. Sometimes, Adam thought Lucifer missed Sam, and that was why he always brought them up when they were no longer a necessary topic of conversation.

"You know, very well, I wouldn't wanna talk to them, even if I could. They already know I'm down here. What else am I gonna say to 'em? 'Hey guys, it's your brother—you know, Adam? The guy you left in Hell? Yeah, remember him? That's me.' Nope—not at all interested in having that conversation. I was speaking in hypotheticals. Like, does social media work down here? Could we actually, like… set up a Facebook page or write a blog and call it "The Hell-Cage Experience? That would probably get a lot of page views even if nobody took it seriously."

"Yeah…I didn't understand half of what you said right there, but the computer should be capable of everything it was when it was on Earth. Of course, if you order something, we're obviously not getting it. I learned that lots of humans used that machine or ones like it to acquire food."

"Yeah." Adam brushed his hand through his hair, mentally shaking his head again at the added absurdity to this already mind-breaking situation. What was his life that he was having a casual conversation about computer usage with the Devil? In literal Hell? Adam needed to get over this. He was starting to sound like a broken record.

Music suddenly started playing from the computer for the first time since the device had appeared. Although Michael's human manifestation (an almost duplicate of himself with an added Angel aura) didn't jump or display any sign of startlement, the place where his wings would be visual when displayed distorted and, for a moment, the room became slightly breezy, portraying the Angelic version of the same thing.

Adam didn't recognize the song but could admit it was catchy. What was Michael even watching? He could admit to being a little jealous that he didn't have his own computer down here to whittle the time away—If Lucifer was going to insist on ignoring the laws of reality and physics by having a working computer down here, couldn't he have at least gotten them all one? Why was Lucifer even letting Michael hoard the thing in the first place if Lucifer had it brought here for himself? No way was he about to ask, though. Not for his own computer or about whatever his Angel companion was watching.

Lucifer had no such compunctions, of course. In fact, looking at that human face, which showed his emotions maybe a little too well, Adam would say the Devil looked a little too much like the cat that had captured the canary but wanted to play more with it before he ate it. Adam was instantly suspicious.

"Sooo…what's that you're looking at, Michael?" Lucifer asked, sounding almost like he already knew and just wanted to hear the answer aloud. The whole thing made the human nervous, and he wasn't even sure why.

Adam glanced back at Michael. He didn't seem horrified, angry, or any other emotion the human might've expected if some joke or prank had been pulled on him like he had every other time Lucifer had gotten the better of him while down here. In fact, if he had to guess based on familiarity with his own facial expressions, he would say Michael looked curious.

"It appears to be a live performance of the Winchester Gospel," Michael said. As if that simple sentence alone was self-explanatory.

"A live performance of…what?" Why were the Winchesters being mentioned again? And by Michael of all people. His Archangel roommate usually agreed with Adam that it was best they weren't discussed. The topic had negative connotations for them all. It only led to bad moods and tension.

Suddenly unable to hold back his own curiosity, Adam deduced that it was safe enough to leave his claimed corner of the cage to approach. It was only Michael, after all. He'd already spent a lot of time cuddled up within his wings. He'd felt what it was like to have that being inside him: for some moments, what it was like to share all thoughts and feelings with another without walls separating their personhood. There might as well be no more boundaries left between them to break.

Once he was practically on top of Michael—trying to get a good look at the screen he'd become affixed to—the Archangel, still perfectly attuned to him and his needs from their joining, moved the computer from his lap to in front of him and bundled him into the cleared space. Now, nothing stopped him from getting a good view of the computer. He was a lot more comfortable, too.

It only took him a couple of minutes to register what he was seeing. An 'understanding' of what he'd seen didn't end up following close behind.

There on the screen, clear as day, were Sam and Dean. At least he was pretty sure it was Sam and Dean. If not, these people were dead wringers, and…. wait, no…that was their Impala. It was definitely them.

"What the fuck am I even watching right now?"

"Weren't you listening? Michael said it was a live performance of the Winchester Gospel."

Adam jumped slightly at hearing Lucifer's voice suddenly coming from behind him. He hadn't even noticed him move. He'd been too distracted by the video—whatever it was supposed to be. Michael rested his cheek on his forehead and held him tighter as if trying to offer comfort.

"Yes, I heard him," Adam answered, trying not to sound too smart or snappish (just because Lucifer had, so far, respected Michael's demand to leave him alone, that didn't mean he was going to push it by being purposefully rude) "I just don't know what you mean by Winchester Gospel. Do you mean the prophecy that said they were supposed to be your vessels for the Apocalypse? What does a…, um, TV show?—with them in it—have to do with that?"

"The Winchester Gospel isn't the prophecy, exactly. Not in the way that you're thinking, anyway. But I guess you could call it that since it was written by a prophet."

"Prophet?" That was the first he'd heard about them. Adam supposed he shouldn't be surprised that prophets were real, too, since it seemed pretty much every other imaginary thing had turned out to be.

"Prophets are humans born with the ability to read and understand God's word. The Winchester Gospel was the written version of the Winchester's story leading up to the Apocalypse. A prophet would have been able to see it himself for documentation purposes; think of a modern-age Bible with the brothers smack-dab at the center of it."

Adam tried to take in this information while being distracted by the scene of a horrified Sam screaming up at his girlfriend as she burned to death pinned to the ceiling.

Yikes.

He wasn't particularly fond of either Winchester right now, but they did get the shitty end of the stick, didn't they? The people around them, or in any way connected to them, seemed to die in rather gruesome ways.

"Wait," he said, realizing something. "If it's like a new-age Bible written by a human, does that mean it's available for anybody to read the same way the actual Bible is? And if it's about the Winchesters and the Apocalypse, we're all in it, too, right? Even me?"

"I am soooo glad you asked," Lucifer replied. It didn't escape Adam's notice that he sounded practically giddy. He moved to where Adam could see him, shooting him a wide smile (frightening) before he huddled beside them and took control of the computer.

Lucifer exited the TV show—which had continued on to another episode—with a casual, "We can watch the rest of that later," and typed something into the Google search bar. Seeming to find what he was looking for with a satisfied "ah, ha," Lucifer turned the computer back around. "See for yourself."

Adam had been briefly distracted by wondering why Michael hadn't fought for the computer when Lucifer grabbed it but focused again as soon as he processed what he was looking at.

"What on Earth? Are you fucking serious!?"

"Well, we're certainly not on Earth anymore…" Lucifer started, but Adam wasn't listening.

The website the Devil had switched to seemed to be some sorta fan-made page. The background was all black, the continuing image of pentagrams a recurring theme. There was a banner with a picture of the Impala in it and a stylized font spelling out the word 'Supernatural' over the top of it.

There appeared to be books for sale on the site with the same series title. Was this supposed to be the Winchester Gospel? These books looked like cheap drugstore romance-novel-trash… Much like the kind Adam's mother would buy and sneak into the cart and then hide under her mattress when they got home. They were one of the only splurges she made for herself. Kate Milligan never realized that her son snuck into her room when she wasn't home (often) to read those secret books. It was the closest sometimes Adam could get to porn before he'd had his own computer at home. These books couldn't be as important as the Bible: Not looking like this.

He reached out and scrolled over to an icon titled 'characters,' determined to answer his question on whether he was included in this trash.

Did he even want to be?

No, not really.

But the idea of being forgotten, not just by the people who'd claimed him as family but by the entire world, instilled a sudden existential dread.

It took scrolling through tons of names he didn't even recognize to finally find his own, and it was with a strange mixture of relief and trepidation that he clicked on it.

A page with a picture of himself and some general information popped up—which was weird enough, but he could get over it; he was most disturbed by the info section and its accuracy despite the brevity.

"Apparently, I'm only in about four episodes of this show and two books. But one of my main appearances doesn't count because it was a ghoul pretending to be me, and the other doesn't because it was Michael. That's bullshit!"

Adam wasn't even sure why he was mad. It's not like he wanted people to be able to watch his life unfold. As he continued to look through his character page, though, he couldn't help but feel robbed—or like he was being made a mockery of somehow.

"Yawn. This is getting boring now."

Lucifer took control of the computer back, and Adam let him, unsure where else to go and not sure he even wanted to see more. He had the sneaking suspicion that being bombarded with this crap had been Lucifer's intent all along and that he and Michael were just along for the ride. 'Why' Lucifer wanted to watch, read, or interact with any of this was beyond him. Maybe he just wanted to watch himself, but Adam didn't think it would be fun to watch the events of their last year or so re-enacted when it was already such a misery experiencing them.

"It'd take forever to read through these books or watch the show. I'm sure none of us want to spend all our time staring at Sam and Dean's ugly mugs, no matter how limitless it currently is. Sooo…I say we check out some of this fan content first. Music videos, fanfiction, blogs, pairings: I don't even know some of these terms, but they all sound interesting. Humans come up with some of the most depraved—"

"Fanfiction!?" Adam practically yelped, interrupting what was sure to be another 'humans suck' rant from Lucifer he wasn't quite in the mood to withstand. Adam hadn't even given a thought to fanfiction. An old friend of his had been obsessed with Star Trek to near insanity and had introduced him to the concept by forcing him to read a story they'd written using the show's characters. Adam had learned a lot about his friend that day, and he'd never been able to watch an episode of Star Trek with a clean mind again. It had made his mother's erotica seem like child's play.

"Well, that's an interesting reaction," was all Lucifer had to say. Damn it! He should've controlled himself better. Adam could already see the cursor heading towards that 'cursed' word.

"Wait! You really don't want to…see any of that…" Adam trailed off, seeing Lucifer was no longer paying attention to him. Michael's eyes were still glued to the computer, and Adam wondered if he'd glanced away from it even once since it'd appeared down here.

"So 'fanfiction' is 'fan' stories written by fans about certain characters and events. I don't see the problem here. What wouldn't I want to see?"

"Weren't you just saying, 'Humans come up with some of the most depraved—' and so on? You telling me you can't imagine what could be terrible about stories possibly written about 'our' lives?"

Adam knew he shouldn't be saying this even as it came out of his mouth. It'd be smarter to let Lucifer think the topic is dull. Maybe part of him wanted Lucifer to suffer what he'd once had to endure. Then again, the Devil had a strange sense of humor. He was just as likely to find the whole thing amusing. What the fuck did Adam know? He'd almost suspect torturing him, and Michael, with fanfiction, was actually part of his motive here if it weren't for his seemingly ignorant confusion on the topic. If Adam had learned anything, it was that Lucifer was manipulative. But he never lied.

"Depraved?" Lucifer asked with new interest, his face inching closer to the screen.

Yeah.

He wasn't faking that.

Adam resigned himself to the inevitable and braced for impact. Being a minor 'character' might be his only saving grace here.

"I wouldn't get too excited. Don't say I didn't warn you when you find something you don't like," Adam warned. Lucifer getting pissed off would benefit none of them.

"Oh, I see. So, this is where pairings come into play. I wonder…"

Adam caught Lucifer's glance at him out of the corner of his eye and the following smirk. So much for that 'saving grace'. He was clearly Lucifer's first target.

"You were so upset about not having many appearances. About being the unimportant brother—the spare—even here."

"Brother—" Michael finally chipped in again, and Adam recognized his warning tone. Lucifer sure liked to kick below the belt and, not so surprisingly, play with fire.

Adam tried to control his face enough so his scowl wasn't obvious, but had a feeling he'd failed spectacularly. He snuggled further into Michael's arms—his only comfort down here—and felt his body relax when the Angel squeezed him even tighter.

Thankfully, Lucifer only rolled his eyes and mumbled what Adam was sure was 'so sensitive' before continuing with his clicking, undeterred.

"Well, look at that! Most of the 'fanfiction' here involves you and Michael in a sexual or romantic relationship. Wow, big brother! Never thought I'd see you degrade yourself this way. Even if it's only in a piece of fiction written by humans."

Michael's posture straightened, and he could almost imagine the look of contempt he'd be sending Lucifer even with his back to him. Adam rubbed the Angel's arm, attempting to return comfort and calm.

"Not that I can blame the humans for speculating about how you two act. You're way too soft on your vessel, Michael. You might as well glue him to your side and be done with it."

"If I wanted your opinion, I'd ask for it."

Lucifer hummed and continued messing with the computer.

"Here's an interesting summary: 'Michael has a boner but doesn't know what to do with it. Adam teaches him one of the pleasures of being human.'"

Adam cringes but isn't surprised. Yeah, that was to be expected. Adam supposed it also made sense that any fan-made material would focus on him in conjunction with Michael. He was the 'character' he'd interacted with the most. He'd literally been inside him (yes, he could grasp the erotic implications).

Adam snuck a look at Michael, relieved to see he looked more confused than angry. He thought about what he wanted to say.

"You realize you've probably been paired up with everybody at least once yourself, right? You're too important. You probably had plenty of 'screen time' or 'page-time,' or whatever the fuck we're going with here."

"And why should it bother me what humans write about me?"

"Well, as you've probably gathered, most of it is porn. Here, let me see the computer for a minute?"

Lucifer arched an eyebrow at him but pushed it over. Adam was clearly being humored; he hoped he could find what he had in mind.

It was easier than it should've been to navigate the website. And it took less time than it should've to find something inflammatory.

"Look at this," Adam said, passing the computer back. Adam took a perverse amount of pleasure in the blank expression that came over Lucifer's face as he realized what he was reading. Adam might not agree with most of Lucifer's anti-human dogma. But he could get behind his belief in their depravity. The human imagination could be downright vile.

"Did you want to read the summary of that one out loud? Or maybe you'd like to check out the story itself." Adam hoped Lucifer didn't call his bluff and actually attempt to read what he'd found. Adam had no desire to hear such things and was sure Michael would find it equally traumatizing. It might even have Michael agreeing with Lucifer about humans being disgusting and all deserving to die. Now that he was thinking about it… showing Lucifer such a thing and daring to taunt him might not have been such a good idea.

"We're moving on to something else. There's nothing of value to see here," Lucifer growled. His hands were clenched, and his eyes glowed a burning red. If Lucifer had had laser vision, the computer would be a smoking, charred pile of unworkable parts.

Adam relaxed.

Lucifer was clearly pissed, but it wasn't at him.

"How about some videos, or… Oh, here's a fan song."

The look on Lucifer's face now scared Adam. More than the one he'd given the computer after reading the summary of the story that ‘must not be named or explained.'

A tune started up, and Adam frowned at the almost immediate mention of Sam and Dean. Adam wasn't sure what he was supposed to be waiting for. Lucifer was watching him with what could only be anticipation. It was clearly an Apocalypse song, and he could only assume he'd be getting a mention. It was nearing the chorus when he heard the first hint of himself: a mention of the writers forgetting someone. He just knew that had to mean him.

And then he heard the actual chorus.

"We are never ever saving Adam ever!? Really?"

Someone had written an actual song about how forgettable he was. Sam and Dean's perspective added extra sting to already painful mockery. Was this all he was to anyone who knew his story? An unremarkable, unimportant joke.

It was one thing for Lucifer to tease him: Lucifer was just being Lucifer. And this was obviously his revenge for managing to make him uncomfortable. It was a separate issue to know his fellow humans could think so little of him when he'd only ever tried his best to be respectable. When he'd been willing to give his body over to do what he'd believed to be right. When he'd only wanted to see his mother and now might never be reunited with her again.

Lucifer smiled at his reaction. But Michael, who'd always been so unnaturally attuned to his emotional state, straightened up. He flared his wings in a way that made his presence seem towering and finally put in his two cents.

"While I'm not averse to studying the Gospel—as it may have answers to our current predicament and shine a light on what has been happening among the host since I have been gone—I have to protest this obvious targeting of Adam for your sick entertainment. I've told you time again that my vessel is off limits."

"And you haven't seen me lay a finger on him. Have you?" Lucifer sneered. Adam wondered if this would escalate into another 'bitch-fight-argument.' (Man, was he glad Michael wasn't currently paying attention to his thoughts.) Experiencing more of this Winchester-based crap didn't appeal to him in the slightest: Not with how he'd been depicted. He wasn't much in the mood for listening to them go back and forth, either, for however long they'd decide to have a go.

"Can't we just decide on something that won't make any of us angry? Maybe get started on that learning Michael mentioned. Because he had a point, you know? There's a good chance we could learn about what's been happening while we've been down here. It hardly benefits us to be uninformed."

Some of Michael's tenseness relaxed, and a slight breeze from his wings told Adam they'd also been put away. Adam turned to look at Lucifer again.

"We could get info on what's been happening in Hell too." Adam's careful not to say what he's actually thinking: that Lucifer could see Sam again and learn how he's doing. Lucifer's obsession was one best not spoken of; he'd deny it anyway.

Both Angels agreed with Adam with only a little grumbling and a couple murmured insults from Lucifer that Adam pretended not to hear. Lucifer was just upset they'd managed to ruin his fun.

Now that they had a plan, they just needed to put it into motion. Adam reached towards the computer again slowly, wondering if Lucifer would put up a fight about handing it over, but he shoved it at him instantly. Adam guessed Lucifer didn't want to have to put in the work if he couldn't fuck with them anymore. Adam wasn't about to complain.

Adam settled the computer into a position far enough from him so Lucifer could still see the screen. It'd been paused on the YouTube video for the song he'd been so hurt by. With a quick type of 'Supernatural mvs' in the search bar, it directed him to other options. Lots of options! Man, this show was popular. He hardly knew where to start.

Adam clicked on a couple random vids but got nothing out of them beyond further confirmation of Sam and Dean's life sucking, their codependent relationship, and the strange homoerotic tension between Castiel and Dean which the fans not only noticed but seemingly loved.

"Well, those weren't very helpful. Why don't we look up some videos focusing on the Angels."

Adam did so, and this time hit paydirt. These videos focused a lot more on the Angels and what they'd been up to. Some of it was hard for him to follow without the context, but he was focusing on trying to absorb everything until—

"You killed Gabriel?" Michael didn't yell, but his voice seemed to boom and almost shake the cage from being so powerful. The grip Michael still had around him was equally strong. Adam was grateful he couldn't actually die down here. And that he didn't need to breathe. Otherwise, the hold would have already suffocated him. Adam tried to pay attention to what Michael was actually saying.

Gabriel?

Right, Gabriel.

Apparently, Lucifer had killed him.

The video was still going, but nobody was paying it any mind. He reached a hand out to pause it, trying not to attract the attention of either of them. Michael was angrier than Adam had ever seen him. Adam trusted Michael to not want to hurt him, but that didn't mean he couldn't end up collateral damage. His ribs could attest to that.

Would this be the inciting incident? The thing to finally turn them to violence? Adam supposed Lucifer's response might be the determining factor.

Lucifer looked surprised. Adam wondered if he'd forgotten that he'd killed Gabriel or if he simply assumed nobody would ever find out.

"It wasn't Gabriel's place to interfere. He helped Sam and Dean get away, kept waving his Angel Blade around in my face, and seemed very protective of the humans, above all else. He'd clearly been down on Earth too long and became too accustomed to their ways. What else would you have had me do?"

"Maybe not kill your brother. You were always Gabriel's favorite: The only one to enjoy his pranks. The only one who could understand his jokes. You taught him to fly. Even during our fights, he never once took sides. He had to know you were in the wrong, but his love and worship for you prevented him from ever truly standing against you. Were you truly incapable of subduing him long enough for you to get away? You couldn't appeal to him… or talk him down—someone who once loved you that much?"

Lucifer, for once, appeared lost for words. (Talk about family drama. And he thought his issues with his own were bad.) Adam suddenly had a lot of questions he'd never thought to ask: What happened to an Angel when they died? Did they stop existing? Did they have their own afterlife? Was it better than here? He supposed it had to be.

There was still no answer from Lucifer. Adam knew better than to dare ask any of his questions now. His mouth would stay firmly shut while letting them sort this out. No way was he getting in the middle of this.

"Your silence might as well be an admission of guilt." Michael was trying his best to sound all-commanding and unemotional. The bond between him and Adam that let Michael perceive what he was feeling, however, worked both ways. Right now, he was feeling a grief Adam hadn't yet felt from him before. Not even their fall into the cage had elicited such an emotional response; he'd mostly just been angry then.

"Like you're squeaky clean being Dad's loyal soldier. You'd have killed him yourself if it'd been an order from God. Just like you threw me down here on his orders. You're the last person who'd have any right to lecture me on betrayal: on family loyalty." Lucifer sneered again as he practically spat the words.

Michael glowered and shot right back: "Your actions led to me striking you down—not just God. If you'd just listened—"

"—Here we go again: 'If you'd only just listened and followed orders like every other Angel, we wouldn't be in this situation right now. If you'd only just listened and been a good puppet soldier, none of this would've happened,'" Lucifer mocked with a roll of his eyes. "Don't take any accountability for your own mistakes. The 'Great and Powerful Archangel Michael' doesn't make mistakes. He's just Daddy's perfect boy. Well, it doesn't seem like he's coming down here to rescue you, does it? God has abandoned you too! Despite your enduring loyalty and stupidity."

"Faith is not stupid," Michael retorted. "And must you insist on talking poorly of our father?"

"He's the reason we're both down here, Mikey. The reason we're all down here. Apparently, he doesn't care about your vessel, either—despite insisting we prioritize these humans above all else. What excuse can you even give for that, huh? Are we meant to believe that he just… what? Didn't notice our Apocalypse: Didn't notice one of his Archangels dying and another falling into the cage? 'He who supposedly sees all'? What's more likely? That he hasn't realized or doesn't care? About any of us."

Adam didn't much appreciate being brought up in this conversation, especially when said conversation was a reminder that nobody seemed to care that he was here (aka: In Hell). Secretly, though, while he'd never tell Michael, he agreed somewhat with Lucifer; God didn't seem invested in any of them. One of the things that had brought him closer to Michael—that had made him sympathetic—had been his…well, 'toxic' relationship with his father. Even easier to empathize with was Lucifer's hatred towards that same father due to a disillusionment Michael had yet to overcome.

"We're down here to pay penance," Michael shot back in defense. "Father is hardly going to reward failure."

"Well, he certainly doesn't reward loyalty. What's your human paying penance for? What did he theoretically do wrong in this scenario? He was just doing what he thought was right, wasn't he? Doing what you and the other Angels told him to?"

Michael seemed to struggle with this, and Adam tried peaking up at him to see if he could catch his expression. Adam was curious what excuse he'd come up with for this one, if any; he wouldn't even be mad at the insinuation that Adam could've done something deserving of spending an eternity down here when he'd managed to make it into Heaven before.

Michael's arms clenched around him again, but softer this time and without the anger. Adam didn't manage to get anything from his expression (Adam admitted to stupidity in hindsight; Michael's face was hardly a display of emotion, and there was no reason for this time to be any different), but Michael let out an almost audible sigh. His Archangel's emotions, unlike the rest of him, were anything but tame. Adam could feel the conflict and confusion as strongly as if they were his own.

Lucifer seemed to grasp from Michael's sudden silence that he'd scored his first point in this back-and-forth because he smirked, suddenly confident from this small but important victory. At any other time, Adam might have been amused and grateful that Lucifer was getting through to Michael on the whole 'God issue.' Right now, though, Lucifer trying to use this to distract from him having killed their brother and then throwing Adam into the argument made Adam furious.

'Screw it,' Adam thought, 'I'm done shutting up.'

"Look, obviously, none of us are having the time of our lives down here, but it doesn't really do to dwell on the whys and hows. We have to make the best of our situation while still being ready to take any chances that turn up to get out of here. This, right here—" Adam shook the laptop to remind them both that it was there. "—this is the closest we've gotten; the only information we have available."

Lucifer stared at him. He could sense he had Michael's attention as well.

"Michael's got a right to be mad. His brother's dead, and he's only just found out. Lucifer, you have a right to be mad too. About being stuck here again, I mean. But that doesn't mean you have to take it out on Michael since it wasn't even his fault this time. You told me, yourself, that fighting down here's pointless, so maybe stop trying to instigate one." Adam glared at Lucifer, trying to look braver than he actually felt. "And stop using me to antagonize Michael. It's hardly very creative of you."

"Your vessel's got bite, Michael. Real Winchester trait."

"Milligan," Adam corrected in further irritation. "Can we please just—" Adam shook the computer again in frustration. "We were really getting somewhere. Do you two wanna keep fighting about something neither of you can do anything about, or do you want to get educated? Cause I'm telling you, right now, if it turns out there was some way outta here we didn't know about that this did and we miss it, I'll find a way to make the both of you regret it…" Adam took another look at the both of them as they stared at him—Lucifer with an arched brow and Michael curiously—and felt his temporary bravery abandon him.

"…somehow," he muttered in a much weaker, lower voice.

For some reason, his outburst seemed to kick the two of them into gear. Michael suddenly arranged the laptop and the both of them so he had better access to the controls while still having a firm grip on him. Adam wondered if it was a good idea for Michael to be in charge—given his previous immersion (more like obsession) with said computer—but Adam figured he'd already said his piece. For now, he just wanted to feel like he was accomplishing something.

Neither Lucifer nor Michael apologized, but Adam assumed by their behavior that it was implied. Lucifer, at least, would never lower himself enough to do so—and Adam knew Michael would never do it in front of Lucifer, who'd no doubt use it as an excuse for further mockery.

Sometimes, seeing the devastation that was their relationship made him happy about never being able to build anything real with his own brothers. If having siblings caused one this much pain and drama, maybe he was better off without them.

Michael continued with the video route since they'd already proven useful. (And Adam's heart did ache for Michael about the Gabriel situation. Of all the stories Michael had told Adam of Heaven, the ones involving the trickster Angel had been his favorite.)

These videos involved more Angel drama: Drama that Adam still lacked some context to entirely understand. He could tell it was bad, though. And not just from the tenseness and feelings Michael was projecting from their bond.

"Raphael is dead too," was Michael's next despondent comment. The hurt practically emanated from him at this point—a dark rolling cloud of misery over his usual sunny brightness.

"Well, you can hardly blame me for that one. I think Castiel might have single-handedly done more damage in these videos than I managed during our entire apocalypse escapade. I'd be in awe if it weren't so insulting." Lucifer certainly didn't look amused.

"Much as I hate to agree with you, there is something seriously wrong with that Angel. He seems incapable of following orders or respecting authority. There's no need to make light of our prophesized battle by referring to it as an escapade, though, Lucifer."

"Sure. Disrespect of authority. That's the problem." Lucifer's eyes rolled back so far in his head that Adam feared they'd get stuck that way. His sarcasm was so thick Adam could drown in it.

The videos kept going and kept getting progressively worse.

"At this point, the question we should be asking is if there are any angels left. Also…what's so special about Castiel that his death never seems to stick."

Neither Michael nor Lucifer appeared to like the implications. They both had to know the most likely reason for Castiel's constant revivals was God's favor. How Castiel could have earned said favor without trying when even Lucifer and Michael's fanatical bids to garner attention had resulted in radio silence, Adam didn't know. It just left the increasing impression of God being that crappy, absentee father Lucifer had painted him as, whether Michael was able to admit to it yet or not.

Purgatory, Soulless Sam, The Trials, The Angels Falling, The Mark of Cain, The Darkness: The hits never stopped. And…wait, was that supposed to be God? The guy writing the Winchester gospel and pretending to be a Prophet? What? When Michael and Lucifer said nothing, Adam decided to do the same. They either hadn't reached the same conclusion (noticed) or didn't want to discuss it and were ignoring it. Adam could get behind that.

"I can't believe I'm about to say this—feel free to slap me if I'm being ridiculous, 'cause I'm probably way out of line here—but…do you think maybe…we might actually be safer down here? Everyone up there seems to be cursed or something."

Apropos of nothing, without the slightest warning, Lucifer disappeared.

Adam stared at the now empty space. Gone. Just like that. Adam tensed and grasped onto Michael's arm around him, worried he or Michael might be next. Michael held on just as tight, also wary. Only after a few minutes of neither of them going anywhere did he lower his guard.

"Was it something I said?" Adam asked, suddenly feeling the need to whisper. "Did I jinx it?"

"Of course not. Lucifer must have been summoned."

"Who would or could summon Lucifer out of the cage?" He asked, then almost knocked himself out from the force of his own palm meeting face at his stupidity.

"Winchesters," both Adam and Michael ended up saying simultaneously.

"But why?" Adam asked.

"They must need an Archangel for something." And, boy, was Michael mad; the increased thunder and lightning noises from outside the cage evidence (representation) of his vast displeasure.

"They needed an Archangel, and they chose Lucifer?" That was dubious. Lucifer might help—especially if Sam was doing the asking—but he'd hardly do it for free. God knows what other mischief he'd get into while up there.

Given how they'd just been talking about a curse, there was also a good chance Lucifer would be killed. Adam felt weird thinking about it. Lucifer drove him crazy, and he was hardly a pinnacle of moral righteousness. But Adam would miss him. Adam had gotten used to thinking of Michael and Lucifer as his eternal companions. Now, one of them was gone. He couldn't help but grip Michael harder again, still slightly scared that he'd vanish, too, and Adam would be alone. That would be the end of his sanity right then.

"If the darkness destroyed the world…or whatever it is she does, would it affect us, too? Could Lucifer even defeat it?"

"Everything would be affected. The last time the darkness had to be shut away, it took the combined power of God and all four of his Archangels. Even then, it was still difficult and resulted in grievous injuries. I don't see how it could be accomplished unless God has returned to fight and decides to bring us all back."

Michael didn't even look hopeful while saying it, proof this new information and situation had him out of sorts. Adam just had to hope that if Michael was summoned, Adam would be taken as well. The Angel would still need a vessel, after all. Adam doubted Dean had suddenly changed his views on possession. Adam could also admit to jealousy at the idea of Dean taking his place in this instance. Dean hadn't wanted to be Michael's vessel, but Adam had been filling that role for so long now he no longer knew any other way to be.

"So what are we supposed to do now?"

"There's nothing we can do," Michael admitted reluctantly. Adam knew Michael hated feeling helpless and not being able to do anything. Michael hadn't known a day of idleness until he found himself here. Adam had promised himself if they ever escaped, he'd insist on a vacation. They both deserved one, and there were so many places Adam had never gotten to see while alive that he thought Michael might get some pleasure from now.

"We should be on our guard, though, I'm guessing?"

Michael nodded against his back.

For a moment, Adam wanted to say, 'screw this,' and hide again in his angel companion's wings as he had so long ago. To forget everything and make that feathery embrace his entire world. It was strange, almost, how that seemed like a simpler time. It certainly hadn't seemed simple at the time.

"You just wanna watch some more of this Supernatural crap? It won't take our mind off anything, but I'm sure there's still much to learn. Why don't we look up some videos about ourselves? I'm sure we must have at least a few. Oh, and your brothers! We could find some about them too. See what they'd been up to before…well, just before. I hope this computer doesn't run out of power. Now that I'm thinking about it, it already should've run out if it was going to. You'd been messing with it for days before we'd even commented. I'm not even going to ask what had you so engrossed." Adam knew he was babbling but also knew Michael wouldn't mind. He'd told Adam before that he liked knowing what Adam was thinking but had difficulty figuring it out.

Adam rearranged himself again until he was comfy and brought YouTube back up. He was determined not to think about their imminent demise, the possibility of Michael disappearing, Lucifer being dead, or the Winchesters (despite them being prominent in everything and, therefore, impossible to ignore).

No.

None of those things existed right now. Adam and Michael were watching fiction. Pieces of a TV show. It had nothing to do with their lives at all. If he thought of it that way…maybe it would make these viewings easier to bear? Put less of a strain on his heart and his mind.

Adam took a deep breath, ready to start the next set of videos.

"You ready?" He asked Michael.

"It's only pragmatic to learn all we can. You said something similar yourself."

"Okay, what have I said about using my own words against me?"

"To not do so. Though I'm slightly confused about whose I should be using if not yours."

Adam sighed and shook his head.

Angels.

Hopeless.

All of them.

"Let's just get watching."

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deangirlsstuff67 · 2 years ago

Text

Wanna Touch?

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Nipple and Clit Piercing, dirty talk, fingering, oral mentioned, Unprotected sex, P in V, cum play, creampie, PWP

Summary: Dean's been with his share of women, but none have ever had piercings.

Masterlist | Patreon

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Dean's always been a charmer. Could get into any woman's panties with just a sexy smirk and wink. Y/N was no different, you'd have to be blind not to fall in love with the man.

The boys saved y/n ass on a solo hunt one day years ago and since then the three have been inseparable. Even added Cas and Jack to their little family along the way.

You never allowed yourself to cross the invisible line you placed in the sand. You also highly doubt Dean sees you any other way than a friend. Knowing your luck he sees you like he sees Charlie, a little sister.

Friend zoned by your own doing.

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Dean and you are training yet again this week. It started when you went to the gym this morning sexually frustrated after dreaming of a certain green eyed hunter.

Hoping hitting the bag will relieve some tension.

Wrong.

Dean found you a hour later asking if you wanted to do some training. Knowing it was a bad idea you agreed, at least he would be touching you. Nothing turns you on more than playing with fire.

That's how you found yourself in this situation. Dean has you pinned by your throat against the gym wall. Both of you breathing heavy and staring at one another. His leg is between your thighs while he's hard body is pinning yours.

In your spandex work out shorts you have the perfect feeling against your clit hood piercing. He's rubbing in all the right ways without knowing it.

Your mind is a fog of desire as you drown in the sound of his husky voice. All of a sudden a moan slips from your lips,silencing Dean.

Embarrassed and even more frustrated than before you try to wiggle out of his grasp. That make fires and your eyes roll when you hit your piercing again.

God that feels amazing.

You feel his thigh move slightly drawing another breathy moan from you. "Well shit." Then he does it again.

Move. Moan. Move. Moan. Pretty soon your riding his thigh. Dean brings his lips to yours, taking them in a deep passionate kiss. You bite down on his lower lip causing his hips to jerk into your body. His hard and big.

Soon it's not enough. You need him to touch you. "Dean, please."

"I got you sweetheart." You feel his large hand descend down your body and beneath your waist band. You have done laundry yet, and just prefer to be commando.

"Youre going to kill me y/n." His calloused fingers spread your lower lips wide as he finds your clit. Just when you thought he was going to put you out of your misery, he stills.

Looking at his shocked face you begin to think he's regretting this, "what's wrong?"

"Fuck that's hot." He flicks your piercing, watching pleasure wash over your features. "Never gotten to play with one of these before." He flicks it again, this time smiling as he watches you. "Oh baby, I'm going to have fun with you."

Before you can respond He is knuckle deep with two thick fingers in your dripping core, thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit, purposely hitting the jeweled ring every time.

Moaning in your ear he asks, "you're dripping sweetheart , all this from my hands on your body?"

"Yes Dean."

He quickly works you over. Has you clamping down around his fingers as he works you through it. Pulling his fingers from your shorts he puts them in your mouth and you suck the taste of yourself from them, making him groan.

"Next time baby. Right now I need to be in you."

Releasing his fingers with a 'pop', "god... yes"

He holds you against the wall still, wrapping your legs around his waist before pull his sweats just far enough down to release his huge cock. Looking down you see his perfect cock glistening with pre cum and angry.

Dean captures your lips with his again as he thrusts himself to the hilt in your velvety walls. You cry out with the stretch he causes as your body struggles to take him.

"Son of a bitch y/n, you feel amazing." Then he begins to slowly thrust inside of you.

After a couple minutes you need more, "Dean... more please. I need more."

Dean doesn't have to be asked twice. Smiling before taking your nipple through your sports bra and snapping his hips fast and rough into your tight core.

"God damn even your nipples are pierced." He bites down on one, sending you into the strongest orgasm you've ever experienced. "Going to have to play with these later."

You feel his rhythm faulter as he's release grows closer. Three more hard thrusts and his fingers rubbing your clit into another small orgasm, thanks to his new toy, you feel find splatter your inner walls in warmth as rope after rope of cum fills you.

His cum begins to leak past his cock as he slowly thrusts into your soaked pussy to completely empty himself. Groans and whimpers fill the otherwise silent room.

He's head on your chest you both try to catch your breath for a moment. His now softening cock slips from you, your combined juices begin to leak from your opening.

You feel a low growl vibrates your chest, "fuck, look at you leaking my cum and making a mess." His fingers begin to play with the mess between your legs, "shit that's fucking sexy as sin."

You feel him grow against you leg. Round two it is.

#dean girl #dean winchester #jensen ackles #supernatural #spn fanfic #dean x you #deanwinchtser #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x ofc #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x original female character #dean winchester x reader

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girls-alias · 1 year ago

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Dean's Dream P8

Title: Dean's Dream Part 8 Words: 3,688 [Didn't realise how long this chapter was but I hope you enjoy 😁💟] Relations: Dean Winchester X reader. TW: Strong language

Part 7

Y/N's POV:

None of my memory before my coma came back, I learnt to accept that Dean was only a figment of my imagination. Years ago when I had gone looking for Dean I returned home, spoke with my therapist and worked hard to heal. My therapist seemed relieved that I now shared his belief that Dean wasn't real but seemed sad as he recognised that all I had been fighting for was gone. I had a rocky recovery, often mourning the anniversary as it passed me by.

It's been 4 years now. I still think of him, I still think I see him in crowds but it isn't as frequent as it used to be. I isolated myself from the world, even a short walk to the shop was upsetting to me as seeing happy couples or thinking I see Dean shakes me to my core. I haven't had the strength to say his name out loud since I came back from Salt Lake City and doubt I ever will. My soul is empty and no matter how hard I fight, I know there is no one cheering me on or smiling that I'm still here. I'm a shell of a person and doubt I will ever truly be happy because my happiness wasn't real.

I sat in my apartment crying for the billionth time, hugging my pillow tight to my chest. Closing my eyes as I picture Dean hugging and comforting me like I always did. Knowing he'd never truly be here.

Dean's POV:

Life feels like a blur. Once Sam and I left Salt Lake City, I isolated myself a little, finding comfort in being alone and imagining she was real. I would often find myself talking in an empty room, imagining she was with me but as soon as I was distracted, she was gone. The breakdowns it caused only hurt more because like in the dream she felt real.

Even after 4 years, Sam is still worried about me. We barely talked about her and it took me a while to get back to my normal life. I was never fully healed as every time I went back and was alone it reminded me that the perfect woman wasn't waiting for me. She wasn't real and I need to learn to accept it. There was a time, on a hunt, when we saved a girl from a burning building and she said Y/N was still inside. I rushed in, looked everywhere and it messed me up. I was burnt, I inhaled smoke and found that she wasn't my Y/N. It ruined me as it reminded me that my Y/N isn't mine and she isn't real. I'll never find her and she'll never be in my arms.

She made me a better man, I never kissed anyone after her, never even thought anything sexual for anyone but her. Sam thinks it's not good to still miss her but has used it to our advantage at times. His most painful one was when we got caught by a group of demons, we had fought as best as we could but were defeated. I gave up so deeply that I didn't even make sarcastic comments or insults. They had beaten us until we were barely conscious, blood and bruises covering us as we sat tied to the chairs.

"Dean, they threatening her," Sam tried.

"What?" I asked confused thinking it was some code I couldn't decipher. The group of demons looked at Sam confused.

"If they kill you, Y/N dies too. They're going to kill her," I filled with rage. I know he's just trying to get my fight back but he doesn't have to hurt me in the process.

"Y/N, huh?" A demon asked approaching me with a smirk. "Oh, Dean's in love. Don't worry, Sam right. I'm going to find her, I am going to pull her nails, her teeth, her hair out. She'll scream for your help but you'll already be dead." The demon smirked. I clenched my jaw and fists. I blacked out from the rage poisoning my veins.

The darkness cleared as I stood, beneath me were all the demon's bodies. I must have gone crazy with my anger as Sam looked terrified. I didn't know I had the strength to even stand never mind fight the group of them and win. I'd untied Sam, punching him in the stomach for manipulating my emotions.

Y/N's POV:

I sighed putting my headphones on, it was time to leave again and I was taking the necessary steps to allow me the strength to leave the house. I walked to therapy, head low, hood up as I made my way there, I ignored the world around me. Once in his office, he smiled reassuringly.

"How've you been this week?" Noah asked, opening his file to start taking notes. I sighed as I slumped back in my seat.

"Same as always," My tone flat, like usual. Noah nodded as he wrote in the file.

"So, no memories." He spoke to himself as he wrote. We'd given up hope that the memories would come back but always asked on the off chance. "How many times have you thought you'd seen Dean this week?" He asked looking at me deeply. I sighed, my eyes closing from the pain squeezing my heart and throat making it hard to speak.

"4," I admitted, he nodded, watching me. Waiting for me to explain.

We were just wrapping up our 2-hour session when Noah walked me to the door. "Oh, have you decided where you're going on your trip?" He asked nonchalantly. I shrugged. "Do you think Salt Lake City?" He asked, shocking me. We haven't mentioned Salt Lake since I got back. Why bring it up now?

"I hadn't thought of it, why?" I asked but he shrugged.

"Just thought you might have fun. I'll see you in two weeks," He added. I walked out confused. I started walking home wondering why on Earth he had thought that. I put my headphones on as I walked, my eyes staying low.

Dean's POV:

I pulled up to the diner Sam and I were going for lunch as a break from the case. I was in a world of my own as Sam talked about the case. My mind only went to Y/N as I wondered about going back to Salt Lake City. I don't know why but I felt a strong urge to go back and check if she was there on the off chance.

"Are you even listening?" Sam asked grabbing my attention. I looked up at him as he stared expectantly. I rolled my eyes at him but froze. Y/N! Looking out the diner window, and over Sam's shoulder I saw her walking past. I had seen her hundreds of times but this felt different, the sun was reflecting on her face, her hair softly blowing in the wind.

"Do you see her?" I asked Sam quickly, not taking my eyes off her in case she disappeared. Sam turned around and shrugged. She's fake. Just my imagination hurting me again. Sam turned back looking a little confused only confirming that she wasn't real.

"The hot girl?" He asked, I quickly looked at him, eyes wide before rushing up from my seat. "Dean?" Sam called after me as I hurried through the diner, dodging people as I rushed to the door. I swung it open, running after her. She's real. She has to be real.

"Y/N," I shouted, probably louder than I should have but she didn't react. I stopped in my tracks, it mustn't be her. I sighed as I watched the back of her hair, tears filling my eyes as I was once again reminded she wasn't real. She stopped at the edge of the path. She looked to the left, checking there were no cars. I saw she had headphones on and still looked like her. I gasped, resuming to run after her. What do I even say to her? What if she has no idea who I am? I just have to introduce myself, if she doesn't know me that's fine. If she's single I'll just flirt and she might fall in love with me.

Y/N's POV:

I checked the road, I know I don't have anything to live for but jumping in front of a car seems excessive. I waited as cars passed, rolling my eyes as I just wanted to be home. Crying into my pillow and thinking of Dean. I jumped slightly when I felt a hand on my shoulder, I took an earphone out as I turned around. Something must have fallen out of my pocket or something. I turned to see a very hopeful-looking Dean. The air in my lungs left. I was frozen in place.

He smiled, admiring me. Is it Dean or does he just look like him? I was in a coma, there's no way he was in the dream with me.

"Hi," He finally said. From his starstruck expression, It seemed like he knew me. I smiled softly, admiring the green eyes I had forgotten the details of over time. God, they're even better than I remember. I bit my lip as I watched him. Maybe I should say something. What do I say?!

Third-person POV:

Dean admired her, seeing her in front of him was surreal to him. He had imagined, he had dreamed and hallucinated she was real but here she was and he couldn't believe it. Neither could she.

"I don't want to sound crazy so, hi, I'm -"

"Dean?" She questioned, although she hadn't said his name in 3 years it still slipped from her tongue like silk. Her eyes filled as she recognised saying his name healed her heart a little. It was all the confirmation he needed to know she was real, she was in the dream and she loved him. He smiled a wide grin as he looked at her. She smiled brightly, recognising it was really his name and he was there.

He wasn't sure what to do now, he had dreamed of meeting her but now he felt nervous knowing she might be different from her dream. 4 years have passed, maybe she moved on. He wanted to do something, offer to spend time with her but he doesn't know what to do.

"Are you single?" She asked, he looked at her a little confused.

"Yeah," He responded a little confusion showing in his tone.

"Good," She smiled. Her hands moved to him, quickly. Her hands are on the back of his neck as she pulls him in. Their lips connect in a passionate kiss. Dean's hands found her waist, pulling her deeper into him, deepening the kiss. She smiled against his lips, Dean soon doing the same. Finally, in each other's arms, hearts healed. The kiss felt the same as all those years ago, the love still there, the way they kissed the same way but this time was different because they had waited so long and both believed it would never happen again. Dean's hand moved to her cheek, holding her as if she might disappear again. They continued the kiss even as Sam approached them, confusion riddling with his expression.

From Sam's perspective it looked as though Dean had simply wanted the hot girl as she passed the diner, now that he's followed him he expected to see him flirting, trying to get her number. And yet, Dean is making out with a seemingly stranger. He wondered if losing Y/N had finally made him go mad.

"Hello?" Sam exclaimed, unsure of what to say. Dean knew instantly it was Sam and he should probably pull away from the kiss to introduce them but he's waited 4 years for this and didn't want it to ever end. Not after his heart was so broken before. She pulled away, much to Dean's dismay. She smiled at him before turning to Sam. Her mouth dropped open as she rushed to hug him.

"Sammy!" She exclaimed excitedly. Her best friend is finally here. She missed having him to talk to, he always listened without judgment and was great at giving advice. Sam looked at Dean confused as she hugged him, he hugged back to be polite once he noticed Dean's eyes admiring her as he smiled brighter than he'd ever seen him smile before. The wheels in his head turned slowly but once he realised he pulled away to look at her. He cupped her face in his hands, looking her over. His mind was swamped with how she could be real or if she was a deceitful monster. She smiled brightly, chuckling slightly.

"Wow, don't kiss my girlfriend," Dean commented, getting closer to move Sam's hands from her face. Dean and she shared a telling smile at his words. Dean wrapped his arms over her shoulder, keeping her close to him as he kissed the top of her head.

"Hi, I'm Y/N. I assume you don't know me but we were best friends," She introduced holding her hand out to him. Sam smiled, shaking her hand.

"We didn't think you were real, I saved Dean but you weren't there," He explained, confusing her slightly. Her eyebrows furrowed softly as she looked at him. "The Djinn, that's how you were in the dream, how did you get out?" He asked, now convinced she wasn't real just some kind of shapeshifter or demon. She has to be.

"I was in a coma for 3 months, that's how I was dreaming of Dean. What do you mean Gin?" She asked, Dean glared at Sam as he had made the encounter awkward and probably confusing to her.

"Go back to the diner, we'll be there soon," Dean instructed to Sam as if warning him that if he stayed he would hurt him. Sam hesitated. When he didn't move Dean rolled his eyes. "Just get her the same as me, we'll be there soon," Sam thought it was a bad idea. It's probably a monster or demon messing with Dean's emotions.

"We need to do the tests," Sam said quietly to Dean as if she couldn't hear him but she did and was confused. Tests? She thought. Dean groaned, tipping his head back, done with Sam.

"We'll do them in the diner, walk away," Dean instructed warningly. Sam hesitated but made his way back to the diner.

Y/N looked at Dean confused but he smiled and she couldn't stop herself from smiling back. He guided her to a bench where they sat close to each other. Dean faced her as he held her hand in his lap. She waited patiently for him to explain.

"You're understanding and I shouldn't doubt you wouldn't believe me but you just have to let me explain okay?" He asked, she worried slightly but nodded knowing he was the same Dean she would have trusted with her life. He smiled at her movement, squeezing her hand slightly to calm his nerves. Knowing she was real was enough to give him the strength to explain. "Sam and I, in this world. We hunt monsters," He hesitated as she looked at him confused. Waiting patiently for him to explain, he smiled knowing she was willing to listen. "Monsters, demons, angels, they're all real and Sammy and I save people from them. The Djinn, Sam mentioned. They abducted me and they have the power to put you in your dream life, my life with you, but Sam saved me and I woke up. I searched for you but I couldn't find you and I even tried to get abducted again to see you but I couldn't," He explained, holding her hands close as he feared she would pull them away and leave again.

He watched as her eyes wandered around, thinking. She was clearly confused and startled by the information and Dean grew anxious as he waited for her response. She nodded softly, processing it.

"So you were put in your dream life by a monster?" She asked slowly, Dean gulped, eyes filling as he feared she would call him crazy. His breath quickened as he nodded, not able to say a word. His heart preparing to break. "Okay," She added, nodding and smiling softly. He was confused, startled almost at her response. His eyebrows furrowed as he admired her. She chuckled softly. She moved her right hand from his, his disappointment written across his face but her hand moved to his cheek, filling him with hope and love. "Dean, I was in a coma and dreamed of our lives together, I spent 3 years thinking I made you up and thinking I was insane. Knowing you're real and you were in the dream too is also crazy so it only makes sense that crazy things caused it." She explained, rubbing her thumb on his cheek slightly as he instantly felt eased. He sighed, smiling brightly. Leaning in to kiss her. She smiled into the kiss, her hand moving from his cheek to the back of his neck as his hands moved to her hips.

He lifted her from her seat, sitting her on his lap so she was straddling him. She giggled against his lips. "We're in public," She explained leaning back to smile at him but his bright smile never wavered.

"I don't care. I finally found you, they can look all they want," He explained before his hand moved to her cheek, pulling her in and back on his lips. She smiled as she kissed him. They sat making out for a while before Dean pulled away. She looked at him confused but he chuckled, tucking some hair behind her ear as he admired her. "I'm getting too excited," He explained making her giggle as she realised his meaning. She nodded, moving to get off of his lap but his hands anchored her back down. She giggled as she looked at him confused. "Give it a minute," He commented making her laugh as she blushed. He smiled, taking the time to admire her. "Why didn't you believe I was real for only 3 years and not 4?" He asked curiously. She smiled just from hearing his voice.

"I woke up after we kissed and believed you were real. Even when everyone was telling me it was a dream. 1 year after I woke up I went to Salt Lake City to look for you. I waited outside the house we had, Sam's wasn't there anymore and went to a cafe and finally believed you weren't real," She explained sadly. Dean perked up at her words chuckling softly.

"May 3rd?" He asked making her chuckle.

"Yeah, you woke up at the same time?" She asked but he smiled.

"I woke up after the kiss as well. I did the same thing. We must have missed each other," He explained not realising how close they had been to meeting all those years ago. They smiled, sharing another kiss before they stood. They walked hand in hand back to the diner.

"I love you," Dean confessed as he stopped at the door. She smiled brightly.

"I love you too," She admitted with a soft chuckle. He kissed her again feeling like he needed to kiss her enough to make up so much lost time. She smiled against his lips finally feeling that she had her reason to live again.

They walked into the diner, returning to Sam as his spine straightened at their presence. She smiled warmly as she slid into the booth, Dean soon following her and holding a hand on her thigh needing physical contact at all times. He held the top of his hand as she smiled at Sam. Sam looked at them slightly confused.

"We can do the tests if you want?" She questioned, he smiled softly before going into his bag.

"You tell her?" Sam asked, Dean smirked as he looked at her admiringly.

"Yep, just as understanding as before," He commented making her smile as she blushed. He kissed her sweetly but she pulled away quicker than he wanted.

"You won't remember but we had rules about PDA in front of Sam," She commented but Dean groaned, his head tipping back but smile never fading.

"You don't mind do you, Sammy?" He asked, prompting Sam to agree but Sam's face didn't confirm it. She chuckled as she shook her head.

"You've waited 4 years, you can wait till we're alone," She commented but Dean smirked.

"Oh, you want to be alone with me," Dean teased making her laugh. She playfully rolled her eyes as Dean smirked.

Sam did the tests finding she was clean and real. He instantly calmed, wanting to know everything she remembered about the dream as they ate once their food arrived. He admired how Dean watched her, how they seemed to quickly fall into a routine and comfort. He slid his drink to her, and she picked out the lime and placed the pickles from her burger on his plate, both acting as though this was normal even though in reality they had just met. Sam's smile never faded as he watched the scene.

Once they had finished eating Dean draped his arm over her shoulder, holding her close as he admired her telling the story of Sam's birthday, Dean giving input on his perspective as he was present at the time. She smiled brightly as he spoke, admiring him, memorising all she had forgotten.

Neither knew love would be this simple or happy. Both realising the wait was worth it and souls returned as their closeness brought the joy in and sorrow out. Sam couldn't have imagined how Dean would be around her, never seeing his brother in love before made it seem even more surreal to him. Dean often stole short but sweet kisses, his smile never leaving his lips. She held her hand on his thigh as he drew patterns on her shoulder. She rested close to him, happy for the first time since she woke up.

Masterlist

#fanfiction #fanfic #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x reader #dean winchester fic #dean #dean winchester x reader

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whorefordean · 1 year ago

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to soothe your pain || d.w

wc: 1.1k

tw: use of petname (sweetheart), like the tiniest amount of angst but only if you squint

a/n: this got so far away from where it was originally supposed to go but i don't mind tbh. i wrote this bc i am indeed a headache girlie and i know dean would fix it so this is completely self indulgent not sorry

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

you sigh in discomfort as the pounding in your head intensifies. the dim lights in the bunker are somehow still making your headache worse.

dean notices the pout on your face as soon as you enter the library, and he frowns. his eyebrows furrow as he watches you slowly trudge into the room.

dean chuckles softly when you pull your hood over your head. the material covers most of your face, easing the pain only slightly. you slump towards dean before slowly climbing into his lap. he chuckles to himself as he spreads his arms wider for you to get comfortable.

immediately dean’s arms wrap around your body. he kisses your shoulder softly as he rubs your back warmly.

“what’s wrong, sweetheart?” dean whispers into your ear.

“my head hurts, dean,” you whine into the crook of his neck. you adjust slightly, resting your head on his shoulder now. you can’t seem to completely block out the lights even as you push your face further into dean.

“can i try something?” dean asks, already moving before you even answer. you’re desperate for any sort of relief, so you lift your head to nod. dean raises his hands to pull your hood down and threads his fingers into your hair. he’s pulling your strands slightly before applying pressure. dean’s palms are now flat against your scalp, barely squeezing as to not hurt you.

the relief is near immediate. dean watches as you relax into him. you pull your hands up to his forearms to hold him in place.

“oh my god, dean, i love you,” you sigh causing dean to laugh out loud. he releases the pressure and alternates between rubbing your scalp and squeezing.

“well, considering you married me, i kinda assumed you already did, but thanks for the reassurance,” dean jokes playfully.

“yeah, but now i love you even more,” you reply with your eyes closed. after a few minutes, dean completely pulls his hands back, stopping all the pressure he had been applying but not moving his hands from your hair. you open your eyes to look at him with a small pout..

“i don’t wanna hurt you, sweetheart. i can’t sit here squeezing that pretty little head of yours all night. it’ll make it worse if i do,” dean answers as he twirls your hair through his fingers.

“but it feels good now,” you whine as you plop your head onto his shoulder. dean feels bad, really. it sucks seeing you in pain like this when he knows there’s nothing he can do to stop it. the pain reliever you took earlier barely helped at all, so you didn’t even bother with another dosage.

“come on,” dean says though he gives you no time to question him before he’s standing up. he picks you up from his lap and carries you to your shared bedroom in the bunker. the sudden movement causes you to yelp in surprise. dean is quick to pull your hood back over your head, blocking out the brighter lights of the hallway, as you cling onto his broad shoulders.

you let out a few soft giggles as his grip falls to your ass, giving it a slight squeeze before finally just resting there.

“watch those hands, dean,” you mutter playfully into his shoulder. dean’s chest rumbles with laughter.

“i know exactly where my hands are at, sweetheart,” dean teases back, and even though you can’t see his face, you’re positive he’s smirking right now. a sigh escapes your lips as you relax further into dean as he continues the trek down the long hallways. his warmth envelopes you, and you only realize now just how truly lucky you are to have him.

dean has, quite literally, saved your life more times than you can count. he’s stuck by your side through every single hardship and peril. he’s been to hell and back, no pun intended, just to keep you safe. you squeeze your arms around him just a little bit tighter, trying to keep him as close as possible to you. if dean notices, he doesn’t mention it. instead, his hand travels up your back under your hoodie, tapping you a few times softly before he rubs soothing circles into your skin.

“you doing okay, sweetheart?” his voice is softer than before as he notices the way your demeanor changes. he opens the door to your bedroom, using his foot to close it behind him.

dean pulls the covers back and gently places you down. he didn’t bother turning the lights on when he brought you in here, not wanting to worsen your headache, so he lays down beside you. immediately, dean’s arms move to wrap around your waist, pulling you into him. you tuck yourself further into him, pushing your face into his chest. with one arm wrapped around you, dean lets his other hand rest against your head. the slight pressure helps to relieve the ache that has long since settled behind your eyes.

dean relaxes when you do, content with the fact that you seek him out for comfort. he finds pride knowing that he’s your source of comfort. dean lays with you silently in the dark, a recurring situation almost always caused by your current circumstances.

“thank you, dean,” you mumble quietly in the dark. dean furrows his brows at your sudden expression of gratitude.

“don’t thank me for this, sweetheart. this is the bare minimum of what you deserve. in sickness and in health, remember?” dean answers firmly. he’s almost shocked that you feel the need to thank him for… comforting you?

“i know that, but you should still be told that you’re appreciated, dean. and i do appreciate you so much,” you tell him. you hope that dean can not only hear, but feel, the love seeping off every syllable you utter. you scooch impossibly closer to your husband, draping your leg over him. you lean in close to his ear.

“thank you for every single thing you do, dean winchester,” you place a small kiss to his cheek before leaning back down and resting your head against his chest.

“i thought i was the one easing your pain,” the teasing lilt is evident in dean’s voice, but underneath, you can hear the gratitude in his tone.

“god forbid, i comfort my husband,” you sigh dramatically causing dean to laugh.

“i’m so sorry, sweetheart. please continue,” dean jokes. the two of you laugh together before finally settling down. dean plays with your hair as you trace shapes against his biceps. the two of you lay in silence, embracing each other, praying that the other knows how loved they are.

#dean winchester hurt comfort #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester #spn #supernatural fic #supernatural #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fanfic

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shallowseeker · 4 months ago

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why do you think it’s such a popular idea in fic for post-empty rescue cas to be mad at dean for letting jack become god?

like not that this trope even necessarily bothers me, i’ve read many fics that include it that i’ve absolutely loved!! it’s just a really interesting fandom trend to me cause (i think) the thing that made jack and cas’s relationship complex was that cas wanted jack to make the world better peace on earth style and all that, and like. being god would let him do that right? idk i just think it’s super interesting that this is so popular even amongst writers who like truly do love dean, if that makes sense, and i’m trying to understand why. thanks in advance!

I actually haven't read any like that, so I may not be able to answer this very well, except for the context you've given me.

In short, my TLDR; is that fandom can emphasize anything, and if they want to emphasize Cas's good qualities, I love that! I feel a little uncomfortable talking about fics, per se, because I do feel like fics have every right to live outside of meta and canon, or to take the best parts of it and run with it!

BUT. That said. I'm going to pull out the line I think you're asking about, which is, "Would Cas be okay with Jack wielding Godly power?"

///

My answer is, "it's complicated." In my world, this challenging aspect of Jack, "His Destiny" is such an overt, deeply embedded Cas arc... and I view it as affecting Cas more heavily than other members of TFW.

CAS x FREE WILL

Despite being an overarching champion of free will, the ugly truth is that Cas struggles with free will, all the way up until the end of the series.

Cas repeatedly struggles with the idea that "other angels aren't like me" and, in my opinion, he tends to reach for authoritarian "kingly" power to solve problems, like how he behaves throwing his weight around with the guard-angel and Dumah in s14 Jack in the Box. Cas is absolutely at the end of his rope, but also, he clearly expects to march in and see Naomi right away; he is acting, still, as Heaven's commander.

(Contrast this to angels like Hannah, who were messily trying to have a "court," where the "angels governed themselves.")

Jack himself is, in my opinion, treated in some ways like "a royal heir."

I like to think of Jack as the embodiment of "the good King fallacy." It's this tempting idea that power isn't the problem (even though it is); it's just going to take the "Right, Good King" to wield that power.

CAS x DUTY

And Cas loves Jack, of course he does!

But it takes Cas a very long time to come to terms with the fact that he's allowed to love Jack irrespective of a mission or duty (s15 Gimme Shelter, Despair).

Cas has always been tied up with duty, and he almost tends to... convert what he cares about into missions.

(Aside// Tragically, even when Cas says "I love you" in s15 Despair, it's wielded like military strategy, with so so much pragmatism, it hurts.)

I think, on the whole, Cas flounders whenever his sense of mission stalls, or especially when he feels too weak to complete the "mission."

(SEE: Cas failing to protect his cherished human family in s12, Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets, Stuck in the Middle with You.)

And I personally think that's why the "mission" of raising Jack was so attractive to him in the first place. It was something otherworldly to "honorably" tie Cas to earth. Jack was something good and strong that would restore Cas's own sense of power/accomplishment, that would make Dean feel "relieved," and would make Sam feel "free.")

Cas eventually learns that Jack doesn't have to be cosmically important in order to be important to Cas.

///

JACK x BEING UNBURDENED & "NOT SPECIAL"

But anyway! Back to your point. Jack opens up about the need to be not special to... Dean, actually. (s14, Unhuman Nature)

This might get swept under the rug too easily. Even Cas knows that Jack opens up to Dean about the things that truly bother him; it's why we see them "switch kids" in Peace of Mind. In some ways, Sam is more like Cas; Jack is more like Dean.

But it's complicated.

Dean ends the show on his lowest note ever, and there's little grace to be found for his plight.

CAS x DESTINY; DEAN x REVENGE

On the back-end of s15, things have imploded.

Dean and Cas are having their respective existential crises re: revenge and destiny, and Dean's crisis is much, much harsher and uglier than we're used to seeing from him.

But that doesn't change that Dean has a long, rich history of resisting destiny. He has arguably been THE most wary member of Team Free Will when it comes to power. But in s15, Dean is having a crisis, and he gives into fatalism... for a time. (This speaks volumes about how losing Mary and losing Jack were twin wounds that damaged him more than ever before.)

It's Cas who resists Chuck the most in s15, at the beginning.

BUT, IMHO, Cas's character is overall shown to be "most okay" with Jack's intense power imbalance. (Perhaps because Cas himself is... overbalanced with respect to the human family.) Tragically, we see that continued in s15, when Cas encourages Jack to "strengthen his vessel" by eating angel hearts.

Dean balks at that, but he trusts Cas. Like Cas, Dean doesn't want to push back because he doesn't want to lose their tenuously restored family.

Effectively, when Dean and Cas discuss Jack's "destiny" in s15 Destiny's Child/Galaxy Brain, they say the SAME thing but with different motivations. Cas wants Jack to take power, and Dean wants Jack to dole out some punishment.

Their motivations are different, but the end result for Jack is the same. Cas's is draped in euphemism; Dean's is brutally honest.

And we have sympathy for that! Jack died! If he's strong, then maybe Chuck can't kill him, and they'll be spared that pain forever.

But in terminal s15, Dean goes down the same path that John, Godstiel, and NBK!Mary go... he winds up losing sight of the things he wanted to protect in the first place.

///

TFW x JACK'S POWER

But here's the rub: they all show signs of liking Jack's dominance. Not just Cas.

Sam veers into this immediately, that so long as Jack's power is "molded the right way," as he tells Donatello in s13 Rising Son, that his power can be a good thing.

We see AU Bobby do an about-face about Jack after Jack wallops the angels in War of the Worlds. He's, to quote the script, looking at Jack with starry-eyed hero worship.

And even Dean begins to chomp at the bit at the idea that Jack will be able to "end all the evil in the world." He returns to the trap of the black-and-white mentality, that things can finally be solved, invoking a Purgatory-style manner of looking at the world: "it's like shooting freaks in a barrel." (In s13 Let the Good Times Roll. Dean was looking forward to passing the torch to Jack... and to his own retirement!)

I think that TFW were all "okay" with Jack's power at different turns, and this desperation is often at odds with their idealized core values. This... tragic faith in Jack is at its heart because they love and trust him.

(A la how Chuck trusted Lucifer...)

And with respect to Jack fighting Chuck and being "allowed" to take in that power, their backs are against the wall. They feel Jack is the only option.

To quote Rowena speaking of her past as a poverty-ridden peasant, "What do you do when all the choices suck?"

///

A few last things...

CAS x TOYS

It's been pointed out by clever folks that Cas is lovingly associated with childish toys! Charitably, I think you can take these associations for Cas as stand-ins that he longs for Jack to be "normal/unburdened" too.

(I'm thinking of when Cas plays Connect Four with Jack or how we assume Cas was involved in buying Marvelous Marvin the Talking Teddy for Jack in parallel to how he bought Grumpy Cat for Claire.)

I've seen a few essays sensibly point out Cas is the one who lets them be children because he buys them toys, not weapons. This is in contrast to how Dean gives Claire a gun, and how Sam teaches her fraud.

So, with respect to your question, I think it's lovely when writers take this and highlight it for Cas, giving it wonderful implications for Cas "letting kids be kids."

On the other hand, despite giving his loved ones silly tokens of affection, what is the first way Cas spends time with Jack? Teaching him battle and military skills (s14, The Scar). A hunting trip.

So clearly, childish tokens aren't the full story.

///

CAS x MUNDANITY

There is also Cas's line in 15x18 Despair:

"We don't care about you because you're useful or because you fit into some grand design. We care about you because you're you."

This line may be charitably carried to a healing place: that Cas has made peace with throwing off the chains of destiny.

It's only natural to want this. Maybe the fandom is like Dean in some ways. We want to rely on Cas and believe in him the way that Dean does. That's Cas'll do the right thing and say the right thing... at the right time.

Cas is shown to be very impatient, and he's not what I'd call an expert communicator. It's because of this, I think, that he's prone to making sweeping gestures and grand testaments, especially when the shit has hit the fan... when it's already clutch time.

But I suspect that... in the day-to-day, Cas might struggle.

But it is nice to me as well if people want to take his good qualities and carry them further, to give him peace. :-)

#that was a very hard ask #i hope it's ok for you #asks #cas stuff #cas the military man #i know it's lovely to think cas invented free will #but successfully acting on free will is a GROUP effort in my book #cas and jack #jack stuff #i'm not sure i answered your question #but #i don't think he'd be mad at dean unless he was deep in his hypocrisy or something #which occasionally *can* happen to him #the whole thing with cas in s15 is that he gives dean grace because cas himself has had his own soldierly existential crises #cas has killed ppl he loved etc etc

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g0blintears · 8 months ago

Text

Dark Devotion [Yandere! Dead By Daylight x Reader]

Summary: You are a mystery to both the survivors and killers within the fog. A servant of darkness, a creature created by the entity itself, you are the shadow behind the scenes that provides the survivors with the necessities they need to survive, while also assisting killers with the weapons they need to sacrifice. You are a servant void of humanity, but not one that seeks out despair. An empty slate that perhaps just needs to be taught a little bit of hope and empathy to help the survivors escape once and for all.

Five. Vigil

NOTE: Spoilers for A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010)

TW: gore, MC is invasive but they’re learning boundaries

Laying in the cold paper thin bedsheets of his mattress, Quentin tossed and turned with his eyes screwed shut and his heart hammering against his chest. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, causing his shaggy brown hair to cling to his skin. The male clenched his teeth. He was trying desperately to sleep, but he couldn't stop the memories that flashed in his mind.

Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Just go to sleep.

He chanted in his head, but no matter how many times he tried to convince himself to sleep, he couldn't stop his past from haunting him.

Dean. Kriss. Jesse. He can still see them hanging on the walls of the boiler room. Dean's cold lifeless eyes would bore into him. The slit across his throat would have Quentin subconsciously gripping his own neck as though he himself had the same wound. Kriss would be right next to Dean. She would be hanging in her nightgown, bloodied and torn to shreds with her body ripped open and her inner intestines pooling out onto the cement floor. Jesse would be on the other side of Kriss. His jaw slacked open into a scream with a giant hole punctured into his chest.

They were dead. All of his friends were dead. Nothing more than hung up hollow corpses that were void of any soul, and yet, as he stared up at their swaying bodies, Quentin could practically hear their blood-curdling screams that shrieked with every steam that blew around him. Freddy was toying with him. He had become delirious; ridden with fear as he searched around the flame covered basement. The steam in the boiler room hissed and cried, echoing all around like terrified shrieks of the damned. He was scared, but Quentin persisted in his search of Nancy. He remembered looking everywhere for her. His heart pounding in his chest and his eyes wavering all around to find the brunette only for more flames to engulf his vision.

Quentin curled up into a fetal position. His hands clamped onto his head as he shook in his bed. A pathetic attempt to bring himself comfort only for more memories to resurface.

"Wake up, Nancy! Wake up!"

Tears would form in his eyes upon seeing her motionless body, unaware that she was crying out in fear as Freddy trailed his claws over her chest while she was stuck with him in the dream state.

Nancy lying in bed, her body limp as she was trapped in the nightmare. Quentin hovered over her, his fingers clenched around her shoulders as he gave her a rough shake.

"Nancy, please don't do this! Please! Nancy, come back! Please, wake up! You promised!"

He remembered reaching over for the adrenaline shot. With blood stained fingers, he lifted the syringe over his head and plunged it into her chest. At the time he was relieved when she woke up with a start. However, his relief would be short-lived once Freddy entered the real world.

Both him and Nancy would fight Freddy to the death. While he was on the floor watching as Freddy stared at his decapitated hand in shock, Nancy would use that opportunity to take a sharp metal rod and end Freddy's life in a single swipe. With his throat slit opened, black ooze gushing out of his neck, the dream demon would collapse, lying in a pool of his own blood.

It would end there. It was supposed to end there. Him and Nancy being taken away in an ambulance, holding each other for comfort from the horrors they had to face.

Except it didn't end.

After Nancy's mom disappeared, he knew the fight wasn't over. Sure, it may have ended for Nancy. But for him? Quentin wasn't done. He wanted to make sure Freddy died and got dragged back into hell before he could even think to lay another finger on Nancy. He wanted that dream demon to pay for everything he's done. Not just to him and his friends when they were children, but for the lives he took and ruined along the way. He wanted to make sure that Freddy Krueger died, burning in a fiery inferno where he belonged.

Quentin grit his teeth.

He could still see it. That place where it all began. Badham's Preschool. Quentin had run through the empty hallways, the fluorescent lights flickered over his head. His sneakers squeaked with every step, but he didn't stop running. Zigzagging through the different rooms, he remembered running into a can of paint thinner, immediately a plan formed in his head.

He taunted Freddy. Shouting swears until he successfully lured the killer into his trap. A smile had formed on his face, enjoying the scene of Freddy's shocked face when he looked around at the flames that engulfed him. Fire reigned upon the preschool. While Freddy succumbed to the heated flames, Quentin took that chance to run.

He ran and ran until he found himself back to the basement, and in Freddy's secret room. He had been cornered with Freddy trailing behind him with a wicked grin. The killer had thought he had won, but Quentin refused to go down. Not until he saw Freddy's corpse six feet under. He wanted him dead. If Quentin had any sort of murderous bone in his body, it was reserved just for Freddy. He wanted him dead, and he was going to do whatever he could to make sure that happened.

He let those dark thoughts consume him. It was the dream realm afterall. Everything he learned he brought up to the table, unaware of the growing fog and tendrils that rose from the ground.

With his body covered in a black mist, the brunet would find himself alone. He looked around in the empty void, lost and confused. Did he do it? He walked around a bit. This place felt like a dream, but not one that was familiar to him. He wandered around into the space of nothingness until his eyes caught sight of a figure in the distance. The mystery person wore a red and green striped sweater and a familiar looking fedora that made Quentin's hands clenched into fists.

The figure would look over his shoulder. He would rub his claws together, the sickening sound of metal scraping against each other filled in the deafening silence between them. The Nightmare would let out a sinister laugh, a wicked grin forming on his burnt lips.

One, two, Freddy's coming for you

Three, four, better lock your door

Five, six, grab your crucifix

Seven, eight, better stay up late

Nine, ten, Freddy's back again

"Hey, Quentin. Did ya miss me?"

Quentin shot up in a cold sweat.

His body ached and his fingers dug into the flimsy bed sheets as though it were his only lifeline. The male looked around the room, his eyes scanned the quiet cabin for any signs of the dream demon. The only thing he could see were dark wooden floorboards and a single light bulb hanging in the middle of the ceiling.

Brushing his hair out of his vision, Quentin rubbed his face in exhaustion. His eyes stung from the many sleepless nights where he would try to fall asleep only for his mind to haunt him with flashes of his past.

He thought it was over. He thought once Freddy was gone from the dream state then the nightmares would finally end.

It didn't.

Once he entered the fog, Quentin found himself in a never ending battle for survival. Serial killers, monsters, new demons he couldn't fathom even existing, all of them in this realm for him to face. And worst of all? Freddy was still alive. He was in this damned place too. All of his efforts, those countless sleepless nights of drinking redbull and gulping down modafinil tablets while huddled in a corner of the library, studying books, articles, and papers on lucid dreaming, all of that to make sure Freddy died and stayed in the darkest pits of the underworld- it was all for nothing.

The fog, it was a special kind of eternal damnation. No matter if Quentin stays awake or lets himself succumb to death, he would always find himself right back where he started.

In a sick twisted turn of events, Quentin sometimes often thought to himself that maybe he did get his wish. Freddy Krueger could no longer harm Nancy. The dream demon was trapped in the entity's grasp, forever serving as nothing more than a pawn.

And all it took was for Quentin to go to Hell and drag Freddy there with him.

The door knob to his cabin door twisted, catching his attention. The fearful man clenched his bedsheets in anticipation, adrenaline still running through his veins as he watched with wide brown eyes as the door slowly creaked open.

From the shadows of the night, in stepped your familiar silhouette, causing the male to release a heavy sigh. It was just you.

You walked into the cabin. Gently closing the door behind you, you turned your attention over to the restless survivor on the bed.

"You are still awake." You state with your cold [eye color] eyes observing the male, "You should be resting for your next trial."

Quentin screwed his eyes shut once more. He knew that already. He knew he should be asleep. He knew that he should be resting so he didn't hinder his teammates in the trials, but he couldn't. He just couldn't. How ironic. Back on Elm Street he was fighting the urge to sleep, but now? He needed it more than ever if he wanted to survive.

"Yeah I know, I'm just not tired," he lamely explained, but that answer didn't seem to satisfy you.

"You need to rest for your next trial." You repeated, much to Quentin's annoyance.

"Yeah, I know. But I already told you, I'm not tired." He snapped back. Weaving his fingers through his tangled hair, Quentin moved his eyes to you once more, and glared. "So I would appreciate it if you would just leave it at that and just piss off." The aggression in his voice was practically dripping with warning as he turned away with his hands clenched and his body teetering back and forth. Quentin could already feel himself on the edge of a breakdown, and having you around wasn't helping him calm down. So he had hoped you would take the hint and leave, but in spite of his irritable behavior, your demeanor never once wavered.

"In your last trial you had blown up a generator over ten times. You had caused The Nurse to change targets and you had gotten your teammate killed in the process."

Quentin's once tired eyes hardened. Why did you bring that up? Hadn't he already beaten himself up for that already? When he first entered the fog, he would always be there to lend a helping hand. He was the one the survivors went to when an injured person needed a medic. He was there to help with quick thought out plans and a fighting spirit.

But over time, that started to die out. He was getting sloppy. With each escape, he felt his will to survive slowly unravel, revealing a tired worn out young man that just wanted to rest. He tried desperately to keep up with the others, but he was drained. Nightmare after nightmare, Quentin became paranoid. He couldn't sleep. He would often faint from the lack of sleep, and when he awoke, all of his teammates would be dead and the hatch locked. Leaving him in the dying state as he embraced the entity's tendrils that would pierce his body until he awoke once more at the campfire.

He knew he had become a problem. The survivors would often give him a side-eyed glance when he walked by, but he couldn't help it. He tried. And tried. And tried. But he was tired of trying. He was done.

A sneer made its way to his lips. He snapped.

"I'm tired, okay!” He heaved, “I’m so fucking tired but I can't sleep! Every time I close my eyes, I see that bastard's face! You think I can sleep after everything he's done to me and my friends?! Who the fuck can sleep after seeing their close friends fucking corpses?! I sure as fuck can't! No matter how tired I am, I can't let myself go to sleep!" He shouted. By now he was standing to his feet, hovering a few meters before you with his chest puffing up and down as he took heavy breaths. Quentin stared at you. If his eyes weren't so dry, he might've actually cried.

"Do you know how frustrating it is to want something so bad, but you can't go for it because of your own mind? Constantly sabotaging myself and others— FUCK. I'm such a fuck up! I want to go to sleep again! I want to be useful to my team again— an-and, I even want to dream again. Good dreams, not the same bullshit nightmare I see every time I close my fucking eyes." With his body trembling, Quentin's gaze bored into yours, his blood shot eyes pleading as he held your stare.

"Why am I even suffering like this?" He asked, his voice raspy with his throat cut and dry. Shaking his head, Quentin let out a humorless laugh, "You know what? It's fine...I'm fine with suffering like this," His breathing was shallow and his entire body was hot with a hurricane of emotions. Despair. Fear. And worst of it all, rage.

"I'd be fine being here if only— if only I knew that he was fucking dead. But why? Why isn't he fucking dead?!" He screamed, "What the fuck am I still doing here?! What is this all for anyways?! It's just nightmare after nightmare, isn't it?! It's shit! It's fucking shit! This place is bullshit!"

Quentin shouted. His eyes finally caved in to his raw emotions with warm tears that streamed down his cheeks. Quentin cried, his face burning red and his body shaking, but he didn't falter his eyes away from you. He stared you down, pleading for an answer. He wished you would tell him. Tell him that Freddy Kruger can die for good. Tell him that Quentin's wish can come true. 'You want him dead? Be my guest,' and let Quentin end The Nightmare once and for all.

But no. As Quentin trembled before you with glossy eyes and an inch of hope, you met his stare with a shroud of mist.

Fuck, what was he even doing?

His hands moved straight to his face. Quickly wiping at his face to dry off his blurry vision, Quentin let out a groan. Letting his body fall limp, he sat back on his mattress and rubbed his hands over his closed eyes.

"I'm tired."

The air fell silent.

It felt like an eternity passed before Quentin felt his rage subdue and be replaced with nothing but pure exhaustion. When was the last time he vented out all of his anger? It had been a while. Now that he finally let his thoughts loose, he felt nothing. He was just done.

His eyes finally went back to you. You were still standing by the door, having not moved an inch during his entire mental breakdown.

He released a sigh. Rubbing his eyes, he spoke. "What're you doing in my room, anyways?" He asked, eyeing you down with a frown. "You always just barge in without announcement. Ever heard of knocking?"

And finally, for once the entire time since you've been in his cabin, you replied.

"No."

Quentin scoffed. "Of course not, what should I expect from you." He grumbled. Ruffling his wavy brown locks, Quentin sighed once more before turning his attention back to you. "Well knocking is what polite people do to inform someone that they're coming in." He explained in a snarky tone. Making a fist, he used the back of his hand to knock on wooden bed frame. "Like that."

"I see."

Still standing by the door, you used the back of your gloved knuckles to give his door a gentle knock. You then turned to him with a poker face.

"There. From now on I will knock on the door-"

Quentin nodded, a yawn leaving his lips. "Good."

"-after I've entered the room."

He looked at you in disbelief, "What?"

You stood up straighter. "I said I'll knock after I've entered the room, thus announcing my arrival." You responded, almost factual as if you were the one teaching him about knocking.

Quentin could only look at you with a pointed stare. He was too tired to laugh.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, you do it before entering. That way you don't just scare someone or embarrass them. You let them know before so they could either tell you to wait or come in."

You stared at him without saying anything. The male didn't have to see it to know you were confused.

"You know what? Nevermind."

You gave a curt nod before walking further into the room.

"To answer your first question, I have come to give you clean bed sheets." You said, stepping into his line of sight. It was then that Quentin noticed the bundle of white held in your arms.

"Oh."

You gently set the fresh blankets onto the empty wooden desk besides his bed.

Quentin could only stare at the bedsheets, his mind going blank. "Thanks." He mumbled.

Feeling a wave of exhaustion, Quentin threw his head back. Closing his eyes, he ignored your presence as to let his restless mind wander.

While he laid back on the mattress, you turned to face him. You watched as he fought down another yawn. He was a peculiar one. He claims to be so tired, but he won't allow himself to rest. The human psyche worked in mysterious ways. Ways you couldn't understand, but you found intriguing. This particular survivor was a stubborn one, full of hatred and determination. He hated being in the realm, he hated that the dream demon was still alive. However, he still had a drive to see the killer suffer. Unknown to the brunet male, it was his restless obsession to end the dream demon that drew the entity to him. It was that same drive that kept him here and not thrown into the void.

Tired? It was a mere bump in the road, one easily conquered if he were to just allow himself to replenish his energy. How bad has his condition gotten since you've last seen him?

Walking over to his bedside, Quentin felt your shadow loom over him, causing him to open his eyes and slowly sit up.

"What do you want-?"

Before he could finish that sentence, you had leaned down to his eye level. Both of your hands cupped his cheeks, and tilted his head up to meet your ice cold gaze.

Quentin felt his face heat up. He could feel your cold touch hit his pale skin. You were so close, so much so that he could smell the strong scent of burning wood and fresh pine linger off of you. With your face moving closer to his, he could see those pools of [eye color] brighten in hue as you stared at him with your pupils dilating smaller and smaller. It was fascinating, if not scary, seeing the colors in your eyes swirl with life. [Eye color] tones mixed with gold swirls, he has seen your eyes ever glow like this when the two of you would meet up for check-ups, and every time he saw your eyes, he was in awe.

But not this time. Caught off guard, his heart thumped against his chest in fear as you stared at him, expressionless.

"Wh- hey! What're you doing?!" He sputtered, trying to pull himself away. If he weren't so exhausted, he could've probably escaped your grip, but his body failed him, making him sit still as you brushed your fingers across his cheeks.

"I'm scanning your health." You explained, bringing your hand to his temples. "You've been through this process before. I'd assume you would know that by now."

"Well- yeah, but I'd be aware of it first!" Quentin hissed, his body finally moving on his command as he brought his hand up and gripped one of your wrists. It was then that you looked at him, head tilted a bit and the swirl of colors fading in your eyes.

"Is there a problem?"

"Yes." He responded, his eyes not once faltering from your gaze, "Remember the knocking thing?"

"Yes."

"Well, this applies with the same rules. It's only polite to let me know you're going to scan my health before you go on touching me whenever you want. Even then I don't appreciate that."

"Why is that?"

"Because it’s just not okay with me.” As Quentin stared at you, he could see the information sinking in. The touch on his temple was being ever so slightly lifted away, causing him to loosen his own grip.

"I see." You mumbled, brows furrowed for a brief moment before you went back to your stoic expression. "I apologize if what I did is considered impolite.”

Quentin let out a long sigh. He couldn’t quite blame you for not understanding. It wasn’t as if you were intentionally trying to be invasive anyways. You were just another weird species in the realm that had the inability to understand boundaries. So while he still didn’t appreciate you always shadowing over him and the others, he knew that you never really had any ill intent.

“It’s fine.” He groaned into his hands, rubbing at his restless face, “At the very least, you know now."

“Thank you. I will to be sure to learn from this experience and remember to always inform you when I will be performing a wellness check." You commented, eyes stern as you stared down at him. “However, I do need to continue to scan your vitals. So I will inform you right now that I will be checking on your health. It is my duty to ensure all survivors are—.”

“—adequate enough to perform in trials. yeah, yeah. I know the drill.” Quentin rolled his eyes. Of course you wouldn’t completely follow his words. Why would you? It wasn’t as if you were in an allegiance with him. He was just another prisoner in the realm— one of many victims to the entity. He was just lucky you even took his words into consideration when you had no obligation to.

So, with his head rolling back to face the ceiling, Quentin mumbled a string of swears under his breath before meting your eyes once more.

“Fine. Just make it quick." He grumbled, watching you nod and gently rest your fingers back onto his temple. While you hovered over him, Quentin could feel his face warm up once more with every passing second he took looking at you. He could see every detail of your face. The shape of your eyes and the swirl of colors in your irises, his eyes moved across your face where he noted the peach fuzz on your cheeks and followed along the curves of your lips.

Your body was almost flushed against his. Your legs stood against the side of the bed, but your body leaned in close as your hands moved across his forehead. If anyone saw him now, they would think the two of you were being intimate with the way you brushed his hair off his skin and gently caressed the space under his eyes.

Although you were way too close for comfort, he had to admit that the way you were holding his face with delicate care was really soothing. He could feel his heart returning to an even pace and his body relax under your touch. He knew he shouldn't be letting his guard down, especially around someone who works under the creature that brought him here, but the way your hands cupped his face made him feel safe again. He let his eyes close, this time without Freddy popping into his vision.

"You're sleep deprived. Your insomnia has caused you to have high blood pressure and become easily irritable."

You released his face, making him stumble forward and blink himself awake.

You straightened up, your eyes gazed down at him almost as if you were scolding him.

"I've already informed you, but The Nightmare has no access to getting to the survivors' side of the map. And even if it were plausible, all killings outside the map are strictly forbidden and are punishable."

Quentin turned his face away, his once relaxed posture straightening up as he sat back against the bed frame. His embarrassment long forgotten upon hearing his diagnosis.

"I already know all that. I keep telling you, no matter how many times you tell me these things, I can't go to sleep."

"Well, you haven't been visiting the medical cabin as much. I merely assumed you go when I'm not around. Have you stopped taking your pills?"

Quentin sighed, "They stopped working."

You were confused.

"If that was the case then why haven't you come to see me? I could always prepare you with other medication."

Quentin let out a sarcastic laugh. "So the others can keep questioning me? I already get a bad rep by falling asleep in trials, I don't want the others asking anymore questions. It'll just cause more problems."

You didn't understand why it was such a big deal, but if the brunet survivor was going to be stubborn then you would have to find other means for him to rest. Getting off the bed, you straightened yourself out before looking back over to him.

"If that's the case, then do you have any other methods of being able to fall asleep?"

Other methods?

Quentin scratched the back of his head. "Ugh, not that I know of."

The male racked in his brain for any memories. Warm milk did nothing. He's already tried exercising. And sleeping pills...he's taken so many that he's pretty sure that if he survived every one of his trials then he'd die of bad intestines. He's done pretty much everything.

A sudden flash of Nancy came to mind, causing Quentin to halt. Nancy.

He remembered those nights with Nancy after they both thought they had killed Freddy. He remembered how he would hold Nancy to sleep, lulling her with sweet words followed by small kisses. He remembered holding her as the visions would come flooding in, but once he tightened his hold on her, feeling her body against his as he cuddled her like a safety blanket, the visions would go away. It was all Nancy. Nancy was his reason to keep going. She made him strong. She was what kept him sane and the nightmares away. She was his everything.

A ghost of a smile moved on his lips.

"Did you think of something?" You asked, having witnessed his change of demeanor.

Quentin snapped out of his daze. Meeting your observing eyes, Quentin coughed into his hand, hiding his blushing face. "Yeah, but it's dumb."

"Please share." You urged, "it is vital you get your sleep to be proficient in trials."

Quentin felt his finger clam up. He hadn't really spoken about Nancy before to anyone in the fog, and quite frankly, he really didn't want to. But knowing you, if he didn't share what he had been thinking about, then you would never go away.

"When Freddy was constantly harassing me and my friends, there was this girl." He started, his mind wandering into a haze of broken memories. "She was warm, funny, a fighter- the coolest person you would ever meet. Her presence made me forget Freddy was even around." He chuckled, remembering the small moments between him and Nancy.

"Back home when we thought Freddy had died, we became a thing. Ever since those nights on Elm Street, we would always sleepover at each other's houses. We were paranoid, but being around each other brought us both comfort. Well, for me at least. I was always the one that was supposed to keep her safe, but she always made me feel safe."

Quentin smiled, "She was amazing."

The male let his mind wander, reminiscing about his time with Nancy. How long had it been since he last saw her? How was she doing? Although Quentin hated being in this realm, he was happy it was him and not Nancy.

"Unfortunately I can't bring that person here to this realm." You replied, causing Quentin to look up at you, alarmed.

"No, that's not what I want! Even if you could bring her here- that's the last thing I would want to happen!" He exclaimed, his heart aching at the thought. "Anything but that."

Burying himself in his arms, he mumbled. "I just miss not being alone."

So that's what it was.

"Well, would you perhaps want me to stay? Another presence in the room might make you feel safe from the Nightmare. You already know he can not leave the killer's side of the realm, but if it brings you peace to have someone watch over you, I can stay until you rest."

Quentin really, really wanted to decline. Although he's known you for quite some time, he didn't really know you, know you. It would be like a stranger watching over him as he slept. But, you were his only option. He didn't want to bother anyone anymore with his restless condition, and if having you in the room as he slept would keep him from bothering the other survivors, then so be it.

Quentin met your eyes and gave a hesitant nod.

"Then, please." You motioned towards the bed, "Get some rest."

Quentin reluctantly laid back in his bed. Settling under the sheets, the brunet motioned over to the desk and chair next to his bed. "You can sit there if you want."

You looked back over at the desk, and nodded. As you pulled the chair from the table and sat back, Quentin took his time setting himself back into a more comfortable position in the sheets. Although he wasn't the most comfortable in his jeans and jacket, he refused to be any more vulnerable in front of you than he already has been.

Closing his eyes, the tired male tried to relax.

Key word: tried.

While he laid in silence, he could feel your eyes bore into him, studying his movements like an animal in a zoo.

He furrowed his brows, "It's hard to sleep when you're staring at me."

"I apologize."

Another moment of silence, but this time, he could actually feel himself relax. Your strong scent of fresh pine still lingered in the air, making him forget about any thoughts of the dream demon. The only thing he could think about was your scent and the ghostly touch of fingers on his face. Before drifting off to sleep, Quentin looked over at you.

You stared out at the window, the darkness of the wilderness reflecting in your eyes.

He wanted to thank you for staying with him. But he couldn't.

So as he fluttered his eyes closed, the last thing Quentin saw was your silhouette. And for once, he allowed himself to finally relax for the first time in a long time.

Walking down the pebbled path, Feng Min wandered around aimlessly as her mind went back to the previous discussions with the others. She couldn't stop thinking about it ever since Yun-Jin brought it up.

Was it really possible to change you?

She didn't know, but she wanted to give it a try. All the facts point to you being nonhuman, obviously, but a nonhuman that didn't pick either the survivors or killers. You were a loophole, the perfect bug in the game, and she hadn't realized it until now.

Being a competitive gamer, Min wasn't one to give up on a challenge so easily. She strived to strategize, to succeed, and prove others wrong. So what if some of the others didn't believe in their plan? She was determined to change you and escape. Even if she had to do it alone, so be it. She was ready to leave.

Walking by the rows of cabins, Min caught sight of familiar [hair color] hair, causing her to halt. Speak of the devil.

You were carrying around bundles of sheets, walking into each cabin for a few minutes and shortly leaving afterwards. This was one of your routines, she noted, watching as you left Felix's cabin and walked into Quentin's.

For being a creature created by pure evil, you were surprisingly clean and maintained a perfect posture. Always doing tasks scarily quick and often appearing out of thin air. You were the perfect being, and Min often wondered if you were created that way or if that was something you learned. Did you even want to learn? Or were you just created perfect? Did you ever have any stray thoughts?

Maybe she should ask? No, she should wait for the others. They have yet to decide how to go about talking to you. They wanted to first recruit others, see how you interacted with all of the survivors, before setting up a plan.

Still, she was curious to know more about you.

Suddenly, Min heard shouting. Her eyes gazed upon Quentin's cabin with a raised brow. From the sounds of it, Quentin had been yelling at you. She couldn't really hear what about, but as soon as the shouting came, it went. Leaving nothing but silence to fill the air. She didn't really care what happened in there. If anything, you would just go back to what you were doing like how you usually do when dealing with either Meg's temper tantrums or Nea's bullying.

The black haired woman crossed her arms over her chest, and she waited.

Soon you would leave that cabin, moving on to the next, and continue your routine.

Or at least that's what she thought. But as time passed, you never left Quentin's cabin, leaving Min standing there confused and surprised.

Scratch out what she just thought. She did care. What happened in there? Why didn't you leave Quentin's cabin? What're you two doing in there? And how were the two of you associated?

Thinking about it now, Min realized that sometimes when she lingered around the campfire, she would often see Quentin go to the medical cabin, uninjured. Was he going there to see you? If so, then why? She knew Dwight would often see you because he had a crush on you, it was obvious. Well, it was obvious to her at least. But you and Quentin? Who else were you associated with?

Survivors in the realm often worked together, all of them were fighting the same fight, so there was no reason to keep secrets, right? Well, she thought that. But as she stood in the middle of the path, thinking over all the other survivors in the realm, she realized most of them were strangers. She truly didn't know some of them outside the trials.

Min hummed to herself. She didn't know Quentin all that well, but if you and him had some kind of association, maybe mentioning him to the others wouldn't be so bad.

Noting that for later, Min didn't care to stay any longer and continued on her path.

#quentin smith #Quentin smith x reader #yandere dbd x reader #yandere dbd #yandere dead by daylight x reader #dbd x reader #dead by daylight x reader

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