#dean winchester x female hunter

[loverslantern]

The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: To obtain a mystic gun capable of destroying the demon that killed their mother, the group must team up with John and face off against vampires.

Warnings: cannon violence and gore, John Winchester, arguing, girl kissing (not really a warning but), slightly jealous Dean??, reader being a nerd

Word Count: 8.5k

Dead Man's Blood

(Masterlist, Previous Chapter, Outfit Board)

 The cafe is quiet except for the distant chatter of conversations that melt together, the clinks of glasses and dishes, the clacking of a keyboard, and the shuffling of paper. So, maybe quiet isn’t the right word. Nevertheless, the steady background noise is peaceful. It brings me back to the days when I’d linger in cafes to study for an upcoming exam in both high school and college. Though, I suppose, looking through various obituaries and news articles to find our next hunt isn’t that different. “Well, man,” Dean starts, folding his newspaper. “Not a decent lead in all of Nebraska. What’ve you got?”

  I lean back in my seat, pushing away from the screen I’ve been looking out for God knows how long. “Nothing of note in Iowa, Kansas, or Missouri,” I announce, noting some of the states surrounding Nebraska. The various tabs open for each state are a little concerning. “Unless you count a woman in Iowa who managed to fall 10,000 feet from an airplane and survive.”

  “Sounds more like ‘That’s Incredible’ than, uh, ‘Twilight Zone,’” Dean remarks.

  “Yeah definitely weird but not that concerning,” I nod. It surely reeked of the supernatural because there was no human way to do that, but it also wasn’t a top-of-the-list concern when no one got hurt and it seemed like an isolated event.

  “Hey, Sam, you know we could keep heading East. New York. Upstate. We could drop by and see Sarah again. Huh?” Dean suggests, smirking as he leans his elbows on the table. “Cool chick man, smokin’” he whistles. I shake my head, mentally grimacing. Yeah, she was attractive but to say it aloud and whistle about some girl your brother was clearly into? A little weird. “You two seemed pretty friendly. What do you say?”

  “Yeah, I dunno, maybe someday,” he answers vaguely. “But in the meantime, we got a lot of work to do Dean, and you know that.”

  “Yeah, alright,” Dean gives in.

  “You get anything in the states you checked?” I ask Sam, knowing he had looked at Wyoming, Colorado, and South Dakota. More states that surround the state we currently reside in. “Yeah,” he exhales. “Uh, a man in Colorado. A local man named Daniel Elkins was found mauled in his home.”

  “That’s certainly one way to go,” I mumble.

  “Elkins?” Dean echos. “I know that name.”

  “You do?” I ask.

  “Doesn’t ring a bell,” Sam shakes his head.”Sounds like the police don’t know what to think,” he continues as his brother mumbles Elkins under his breath and pulls out their Dad’s journal. “At first they said it was some sort of bear attack and now, they’ve found some signs of robbery.”

  “You know, sometimes it amazes me how the police solve anything,” I remark. Sure, if it’s supernatural related then they don’t have the upper hand of knowledge but seriously a bear attack and a robbery are two completely different things.

  Dean hums absentmindedly in acknowledgment, flicking through the journal. “There, check it out,” he announces, flipping the book around for us to see. A phone number resides on the page right next to the name. “You think it’s the same Elkins?” Sam asks.

  “It’s a Colorado area code,” Dean points out. 

****

  Sam kneels on the wooden porch, the flashlight illuminating his work with the lockpick. It’s not too long before the lock clicks, and the door creeps open with a turn and push.

  “Looks like the maid didn’t come today,” Dean comments, looking over a table cluttered with books and papers. Otherwise, this room was pretty clean at least in terms of the crime. “Hey, there’s salt over here. Right beside the door,” Sam announces, lingering by the front door. 

  “You mean protection against demon salt or, ‘oops I spilled the popcorn’ salt?” Dean asks, his interest tuned into a journal he discovered on the desk.

  My flashlight guides my eyes across the room. It didn’t happen in this room, it doesn’t seem like the perpetrator(s) came from the front door into the entryway. “It’s clearly a ring,” Sam clarifies. “You think this guy Elkins was a player?”

  “Definitely,” he answers. I wander a little further into the house, the real mess lying in the next room over, the door knocked off its hinges. “That looks a hell of a lot like Dad’s,” Sam says. I look over my shoulder, and both boys are checking out the journal. “Yep, except this dates back to the 60s,” Dean responds.

  I step into what looks to be an office, or what’s left of it. It’s pure destruction. If you told me a tornado came through this room I’d believe you. Broken and overturned furniture litter the floor, books and papers scattered about. I can barely see the floor, it's all covered. “Whoever this guy was, he put up a hell of a fight,” I comment as I carefully step further into the room, glass crunching beneath my shoe. Glass but no broken windows. “Whatever attacked him, it looks like there was more than one,” Sam adds, looking up at the ceiling. I follow his gaze to the broken sunroof, the source of the glass.

  Where did the police get a bear attack from even if he did have scratch marks on him? Did they think it fell into the sunroof? I could understand the robbery considering the mess, but a bear? Seriously? I shake my head at the thought, walking over to the cleared-off desk. Whatever was atop it was on the floor now. “Do you think whoever or whatever did this was looking for something?” I ask, taking in the mess again. Some of it was from fighting, but the desk's open draws, which were barely hanging on, suggests it may be more. It could be an added motive. “Maybe,” Sam answers before his attention turns over to his brother who is crouched down and examining the floor. “You got something?” Sam asks.

 “I dunno,” he answers. “Some scratches on the floor.”

  “Death throes maybe?” Sam suggests, referring to the last moments before the end. 

  “Yeah, maybe,” Dean says, grabbing a nearby notebook. He opens a page, placing it over the scratches before using a pencil to scratch over it revealing the marks better. “Or maybe a message.” He peels up the paper, some blood soaked into the back, but the markings are clear. “Look familiar?” He asks, holding it up.

  “Three letters, six digits,” Sam answers. “The location and combination of a post office box. It’s a mail drop.” The message was an incredible feat to manage before death took him under. To be able to scatch it out…it must be more than important.

  “Just the way Dad does it,” Dean adds. 

****

 A simple letter rests in Sam’s hand. The letter was found in the post office box. “‘J.W.’” Sam reads off the envelope, “You think that's John Winchester?”

  “I mean your Dad clearly knew the guy,” I offer, his number is inside the journal. “Maybe he even learned this way of communicating from him.” 

“Should we open it?” Dean asks, something uncertain yet insistent in his voice. But, no one gets to answer the question on each of our minds when, instead, there is a knock on the driver-side window. Dean gasps and flinches, his arm raised in defense. “Dad?” he breathes, his fist lowering. The door beside me opens then, hazel eyes looking at me expectantly. I raise my eyebrows with a tight-lipped smile as I scooch over. He takes my seat, closing the door behind him. “Dad, what are you doing here?” Sam asks. “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” he answers simply. He looks the same as the last time we saw him, with messy dark hair similar to Sam’s cut and a ragged beard. “I read the news about Daniel, I got here as fast as I could. I saw you three at his place.”

  “Why didn’t you come in Dad?” Sam questions, his voice soft as if he knows the answer.

  “You know why. Because I had to make sure you weren’t followed…by anyone or anything,” John responds. He sounds more paranoid than anything. It sounds like a sad excuse to avoid speaking and seeing his kids again, but I keep those thoughts to myself. “Nice job of covering your tracks by the way,” he compliments. And it’s like being buttered up before the roast— before you’re put right back on the fire that eats at you until you forget your self-worth. 

  “Yeah, well, we learned from the best,” Dean answers with a proud smile on his face as his chest puffs out a little bit.

  “Wait, you came all the way out here for this Elkins guy?” Sam points out.

  “Yeah. He was... he was a good man. He taught me a hell of a lot about hunting,” he reveals. I guess I was somewhat right on my assumption. “Well, you never mentioned him to us,” Sam shrugs.

  “We had a... we had kind of a falling out. I hadn't seen him in years,” he explains, gesturing towards the envelope. “I should look at that.” Sam hands it over easily, and his father wastes no time in opening it. “'If you're reading this, I'm already dead',” he reads, trailing off. “That son of a bitch.”

  “What is it?” Dean asks.

  “He had it the whole time,” he answers vaguely as if we know what he's talking about. “Has what?” I ask.   “When you searched the place, did you, did you see a gun? An antique, a Colt revolver, did you see it?” He asks each question one right after the other almost frantically.   “Uh, there was, there was an old case but it was empty,” Dean answers.

  “They have it,” John announces.

  “‘You mean whatever killed Elkins?” Dean asks. John opens the door, shifting to get out. “We gotta pick up the trail.” But before he can make it out of the vehicle Sam stops him, “Wait. ‘You want us to come with you?”

  “If Elkins was telling the truth, we gotta find this gun,” he explains, doing that thing where he’s insanely unhelpful.

  “The gun–why?” Sam pushes.   “Because it's important, that's why,” he replies. I roll my eyes, for a guy who wasn’t very present he managed to be incredibly irritating. “Dad, we don't even know what these things are yet,” Sam reasons. 

  “They were what Daniel Elkins killed best: Vampires,” he reveals, finally being helpful.   “Vampires? I thought there was no such thing,” Dean answers.

  “You didn’t?” I ask, surprised.

  “You did?” He throws right back with a just as surprised tone as mine.

  “Yeah,” I say like it's obvious. “I took down a nest back in college.” It was the first and only time I had encountered a vampire let alone a vampiric hunt. Students started to go missing, seemingly picked off one by one, and like any school word had spread quickly. It was weird, yes, but with no bodies and only having gossip I had nothing to work with. No one saw anything, the picks were clean and concise. Well, that was until certain bodies did show up. Four out of nine bodies were found, two were located near or around campus grounds, and the others were left in the town that was a short drive from the school. I managed to pull some strings and cash in ‘I owe you’ to see the bodies firsthand. My initial thought was vampires but the thought was more of a joke than anything, I thought I was watching too much Buffy. But then some research made a joke no longer a joke. It was vampires and I had to kill them.

  I can remember it still, the way the heads went flying and how blood caked my clothes. Buffy makes it look cleaner than what it is. 

  “You did?” John asks, his voice dripping in disbelief and sass. “Don’t sound so surprised,” I mumble, my distaste for him almost painfully clear in the curl of my lip. He has been here for less than five minutes and I’m already a little irritated. I’d like to think that I’m not a hateful person, that I don’t hold grudges or malice but when it comes to John Winchester suddenly I’m the biggest hater you’ve ever seen. “Well, I thought they were extinct. I thought Elkins and—“ he throws a glare at me. “And others had wiped them out. I was wrong.”   “You were,” I agree, smiling a little at the slow turn of his head as he stares at me with daggers. 

  “Most vampire lore is crap,” he starts, his voice gruff, looking back at his boys. “A cross won't repel them, sunlight won't kill them, and neither will a stake to the heart. But the bloodlust, that part's true. They need fresh human blood to survive. They were once people, so you won't know it's a vampire until it's too late.”

  “The way to kill them is decapitation,” I add. “Interestingly enough the story to get it right is a work of fiction, though, of course, you could argue that it was only presented that way and the author knew more than any normal person would. The final blow in Carmilla, written by some Irish guy, is her head being struck off. Before that was a stake through the heart but, it’s interesting that he would add the decapitation aspect especially when it’s the first ever Vampire novel so it’s not like he changed things to be different.”

  “Are you done?” John remarks, unamused.

  “Yeah, now I am,” I respond, equally unamused with him.

  “Wake up! Come on,” a voice demands. I grumble something incoherent, my fingers softly curling into the warmth beneath my hand. The something beneath my hand rumbles with the “Mm-hmm,” that follows from its lips. 

  My eyes squint open, my hand resting on Dean's chest, fingers clutching his shirt, his arm resting around my waist. We didn’t fall asleep like this when John hated the very idea of us sharing a bed even though we’d done it before. I know John doesn’t trust me, even though I haven’t done anything to warrant such feelings. It’s more like he doesn’t trust who I am and he makes it known with every look and side comment. Yet, as much as he hated it, he didn’t want me in a separate room because it would “waste time and money.” So, we had slept back to back which felt so horribly unnatural.

  I do not make a move to separate from him. He rubs his eyes and I want to bury my face into the pillow in a desperate attempt to grasp onto the remains of sleep but the sight of his messy short hair going every which way, and his eyes barely being held open from the sleep that clings to them keeps my attention. Even on interrupted sleep, he looks so good. “I picked up a police call,” John announces, the faint noise of radio static proving his statement. 

  “What happened?” Sam asks, his voice laced with sleep. Dean’s hand drops from his eyes going, instead, to my hand on his chest. He gives it a little squeeze and it would be so easy to just fall back into a sweet sleep with the butterflies that dance in my stomach. But, the harsh reality of, well, reality comes crashing back when John answers, “A couple called 911, ‘found a body in the street. Cops got there. Blood was missing. It's the vampires.”

  “How do you know?” Sam asks logically. But, John is already halfway out the door forgoing explanations as he typically does. “Just follow me, okay?” he responds, shutting the door behind him. 

“Huh, vampires,” Dean muses, his eyes still half open. “Gets funnier every time I hear it.”

****

 The spin of red and blue lights shatters the atmosphere, a long cloth placed over a body in the middle of the road, yellow tape sanctioning off the area as cops work the scene, and a certain irritating Winchester talking to a cop as we are forced to wait by the Impala like kids waiting while their parent talks to an old friend and you just know you’re going to be waiting forever. “I don’t see why we couldn’t have gone over with him,” Sam complains, sulking slightly. 

  “Should’ve let us sleep,” I agree, mumbling. I don’t see the point in dragging us from bed just to put us on the back burner, but I guess that’s John for you. 

  “Oh, don’t tell me it’s already starting,” Dean responds.   “What's starting?” he asks. But he doesn’t get his answer as their father approaches, Dean putting his focus there. “What have you got?” he asks his Dad. 

  “It was them alright,” John confirms. “Looks like they’re heading west. We’ll have to double back to get around that detour.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Sam asks, arms crossed. 

  “Sam…” Dean warns.

  “I just wanna know we're going in the right direction,” he snaps at his brother.

  “We are,” John answers vaguely.

  “How do you know?” 

  John hands something small to Dean, answering with “I found this.” 

  Dean cups the long and sharp tooth in the palm of his hand. “It’s a…” he tries to find the words, “a vampire fang.”

  “It’s not necessarily a fang,” I correct. “An entire set of teeth that look just like that descends when they attack, covering the normal set of teeth.” 

  “Any more questions?” John asks, looking at Sam expectantly, a certain bite to his words. Sam remains quiet, his eyes flicking away—the kind of answer his father wants. No, an answer he expects. “Alright, let’s get out of here, we’re losing daylight,” John orders. He walks to his truck, a vehicle I suddenly love because he doesn’t have to be in the same car as us. “Hey, Dean why don’t you touch up your car before you get rust?” he throws back the comment, “I wouldn’t have given you the damn thing if I thought you were going to ruin it.” 

  I look at Dean with widened eyes. His face drops. Drops. My heart might as well drop with it. I dig my nails into my palms in an attempt to control my mouth, my teeth clenched painfully to hold in my own comment. I should make him apologize. I should do more than that but I know it will only make it worse for them and that is the last thing I want. Yet, saying nothing feels worse so the word slips out before I can reel it back in. “Asshole,” I grumble beneath my breath, opening the back door to the Impala.

  “What’d you say?” John asks, seemingly having super hearing, pausing short of his truck. The stiffness in his shoulder is familiar, or similar. So, I duck into the car with an, “I didn’t say anything.” I expect him to say something or for him to make some sort of move. I see the unamused look on his face even as I close the door behind me, creating a barrier between us. I half expect him to drag me from the car and make me answer him. Dad said I never knew how to hold my tongue or when to stop. And maybe he was right.

*****

  The Impala rolls down the road, following John’s truck. “Vampires nest in groups of eight to ten,” Dean reads from the passenger seat. “Smaller packs are sent to hunt for food. Victims are taken to the nest where the pack keeps them alive, bleeding them for days or weeks. I wonder if that’s what happened to that 911 couple.”

  “I didn’t see the corpses well enough but it’s likely,” I answer, though I don’t know why John didn’t let us see the body or do any work.

  “It’s probably what Dad's thinking. ‘Course it would be nice if he just told us what he thinks,” Sam grumbles, a certain furrow to his brow.   “So it is starting,” Dean remarks.

  “What?”

  Well, this is my queue to keep my comments to myself and let them talk this out. 

  “Sam, we've been looking for Dad all year,” he explains. “Now we're not with him for more than a couple of hours and there's static already?” 

  “Hm. No. Look, I'm happy he's ok, alright?” he responds. “And I'm happy that we're all working together again.” “Well good.”

  “It’s just the way he treats us like we’re children,” Sam adds, seemingly unable to help himself. But I’m here for the John bashing. 

  “Oh God,” Dean mumbles. 

  “He barks orders at us Dean, he expects us to follow 'em without question. He keeps us on some crap need-to-know deal.”

  Sam’s not wrong. His vagueness is one of his worst traits which is saying something because he has a long list of horrible traits. He’s really the King of being as vague and unhelpful as possible for a reason I simply can’t discern. Maybe it makes him feel like he has some power or the upper hand.

  “He does what he does for a reason,” Dean reasons.   “What reason?” Sam pushes.

  “Our job!” Dean snaps. “There's no time to argue, there's no margin for error, alright? That's just the way the old man runs things.”   “I’d argue that leaving you guys in the dark can lead to more error,” I comment, accidentally saying my inside thoughts out loud. Luckily, I’m pretty much annoyed as Sam challenges his brother. “Yeah well maybe that worked when we were kids but not anymore, alright. Not after everything you and I have been through, Dean. I mean, are you telling me you're cool with just falling into line, and letting him run the whole show?” 

  A heavy silence fills the car as Dean stares at his brother like he’s trying to muster the right words. “If that’s what it takes.”

****

 We drive for what feels like an eternity, though it must only have been a couple of hours, the sky falling to darkness. Dean is on the phone with his father, keeping in touch with him even as we follow after his car. “Yeah, Dad. Alright, got it,” he answers before hanging up. “Pull off at the next exit.”

  “Why?” Sam asks with a certain edge or bite to his voice.

  “Cause Dad thinks we’ve got the vampire’s trail,” Dean responds.

  “How?” 

  “I don’t know; he didn’t say.”

  Suddenly I’m pushed back into my seat as the Impala goes faster, fast enough to overtake Johns truck. The car swerves in front of it, my body jerking sideways and forward as the vehicle swerves again and slams to a stop. My heart stammers in my chest as I look out the window, John's truck nearly missing the side of the Impala. “What the frick, S–” I yell, my cursing cut off as Sam gets out of the car. “Oh crap here we go,” Dean mumbles, following him out of the vehicle. I sigh, rolling my eyes, as much as I expected an argument to break out this is a very dramatic and dangerous way to start it. Even so, I follow them out of the Impala as Dean calls out for his brother.

  “What the hell was that?” John yells, stomping over to his son.

  “We need to talk.”

  John steps closer, getting face to face with him and I half expect him to grab Sam by the collar and shake some “sense” into him. “About what?”

  “About everything. Where are we going, Dad? What's the big deal about this gun?”

  “Sammy, come on, we can Q and A after we kill all the vampires,” Dean says.

  “You’re brothers right, we don’t have time for this,” John adds.   “Last time we saw you, you said it was too dangerous for us to be together. Now out of the blue, you need our help,” Sam yells. “Now obviously something big is going down, and we wanna know what!”   “Get back in the car.”   “No.”   “I said get back in the damn car.”   “Yeah. And I said no.”

  “Okay, you made your point tough guy,” Dean tries again, hovering between his father and his brother. But, of course, his words are directed at his brother. “Look we're all tired, we can talk about this later. Sammy, I mean it, come on.” Dean grabs him, pushing him back toward the car. He gives in, allowing his brother to move him along even as he glares at his father, mumbling, “This is why I left in the first place.”  “What’d you say?”

  Sam steps forward, snapping back, “You heard me.”

  “Yeah. You left. Your brother and me, we needed you. You walked away, Sam.”

  “Sam…” Dean warns.

  “You walked away!” John yells in his face.

  “Come on, stop,” I urge, trying to push John back as Dean had tried with his brother. But he just shoves me off, forcing me back a couple of steps.   “You're the one who said don't come back Dad, you closed that door, not me. You were just pissed off that you couldn't control me anymore!”

  Dean jumps in the middle, forcing them apart. “Listen, stop it, stop it. Stop it!! That's enough!!”   They don’t say another word; they just glare at each other over Dean’s head. “That means you too,” Dean adds, looking at his father. Despite the harsh words that linger in the air and the unspoken jabs that are begging to be said, they back off. Each step back into their vehicles. Dean sighs, the tension clear in his shoulders until he turns to me, brows furrowed as he half yells, “Are you okay?” The question is genuine despite how harsh they sound escaping his lips. There's a silence that falls between us; I don’t know why he asks me; it’s not like I was the one arguing. Perhaps it was because I stumbled back as his father shoved me or because he knows I do not like arguments. Either way, I nod silently, and he gives a single nod back, the stress soon returning to his face.

  With the sun on our back and the tree line at our front, blocking us, I watch a beat-up Camaro pull up the old barn. A man in a t-shirt walks up to the car, shielding his eyes as he escorts the person inside and making a very good guess it’s likely they’re both vampires. “Son of a bitch,” Dean curses. “So they’re really not afraid of the sun?”

  “Direct sunlight hurts like a nasty sunburn. The only way to kill ‘em is by beheading,” John answers and I roll my eyes at the repetition especially when half the information is something I already said. “And yeah, they sleep during the day—doesn’t mean they won’t wake up.”

  “So I guess walking right in’s not our best option,” Dean remarks.

  “Actually, that’s the plan,” John answers, immediately creeping from the treeline back to where the Impala and his truck are parked. 

  Weapons are handed out like candy on Halloween night, the machete's blade seeming to gleam as the sun hits it just right. Grasping the hilt reminds me of that day long ago, how my hand shook as I killed the first vampire. They look human, and the blood that falls is so human that it’s like killing one instead of a vampire. I had to remind myself they weren’t human and that they killed so many. Then, it was almost too easy.

  “So, you really wanna know about this Colt?” John suddenly asks.   “Yes sir,” Sam answers.

  It's just “a story, a legend really. Well, I thought it was. Never really believed it until I read Daniel's letter,” he starts. “Back in 1835, when Halley's comet was overhead, the same night those men died at the Alamo. They say Samuel Colt made a gun. A special gun. He made it for a hunter, a man like us only on horseback. ‘Story goes he made thirteen bullets, and this hunter used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him. And somehow Daniel got his hands on it. They say... they say this gun can kill anything.”

  Something unsettling settles in my gut, something I don’t want to discern. We aren’t in the nest, and yet it’s like the fight-or-flight instinct has kicked in. “Kill anything like supernatural anything?” Dean asks. The same thought eats at my mind but where concern hits me surprise hits him.

  “Like the demon,” Sam connects, and I feel foolish. Maybe it’s a survival instinct, or maybe it’s selfishness that makes me worry more about a weapon that can kill me rather than a gun that can kill the yellow-eyed demon. I don’t think I’ve ever been afraid of dying, at least not totally, especially when what I am makes it incredibly difficult to kill me, to begin with. But now I’m aware of something that can. It won’t be like a bullet wound you can maybe heal from; there won’t be hope—just death. Gone in the blink of an eye with no goodbye or warning.

  “Yeah, the demon. Ever since I picked up its trail I've been looking for a way to destroy that thing. Find the gun -- we may have it,” John answers.

  I want to be happy for them. I’m trying to be happy. I’m trying to push the fear away because isn’t it an irrational one? But I am scared. What if I don’t get a goodbye? What if it winds up in the wrong hands and I’m at the other end of it? Technically, right now it is in the wrong hands if the vampires do have it. “No offense, I'm glad this is an opportunity to get the damn thing,” I start, my fear turning into anger. “But did you, oh, I don't know, plan on informing us about this before we go into the place that has this gun, or was it Sam that convinced you?” I’m not an idiot; I am aware of the possibility that this could’ve been left out for God knows how long. “I mean, this could literally kill me, like end-end me, and you were just gonna, what, not mention it? ‘Cause it would’ve been a great warning.”

  He doesn’t answer, and I’m not sure if he’s going to acknowledge me, which is answer enough. I move to try to get in his way. “You know, somehow I find a new reason to dislike you, which is kind of impressive.” I know I’m being mean as if a jab could heal the panic in my veins.

  “You should be grateful I haven’t sent your ass back home,” he bites.

  “Yeah well, this ass saved your life back with the Daeva’s.”

  “Y/N,” Dean says, carefully touching my arm. But I step out of his hold, my shoulders going up as if trying to un-feel the touch, which is weird because I never do that with him. “No, Dean, this is serious,” I reason, my voice higher in an attempt to be louder, though it never nears a yell. I don’t dare look at him, weary of the hurt that might pass over his face.

  “Were you going to say something if Sam hadn’t called you out?” I ask him again. But, I’m sure I know the answer. He pauses for a beat too long, and I feel foolish again. I’m arguing with a guy who couldn’t care less about what happens to me. The anger simmers in my gut, bubbling down until it’s replaced by shame. “You know what? Never mind,” I give up. “Let’s just go kill the vampires.” I shake my head, walking away from the group towards the run-down barn. 

  I creep between the trees, careful of where I step so that I don’t make a sound, even though I’m outside the barn. I take a couple of deep breaths as I walk; I need to have a clear head. This isn’t the kind of hunt you can be careless on; one wrong move and it all goes up in flames. I clear my head of any leftover anger or negative emotions; I need to lead with focus, not emotions. 

  I move closer to the barn, finding a window that looks easy to get into without making so much noise. That is key. I lift myself onto the thin windowsill, cautious as to not let my legs or any body part slam into the wall. And with the knowledge that the boys are close behind, I move into the barn. I move silently, first observing the layout and the countless hammocks filled with vampires as well as the occasional vamp that rests on the floor. 

  Ever so slowly, I move forward, careful to step over the beer bottles as I move as quietly as a mouse. Inch by inch, I lurk towards a random vampire in a hammock. A lone vampire, or at least one that’s farthest away from the others, even if far isn’t far at all.

  I stand over his sleeping figure like a predator ready to pounce on its unsuspecting prey. Ever so carefully, I lift my blade, hovering it above its neck. With one quick motion, I know I am a hypocrite. Blood drips down its neck in waves like a relentless ocean; its eyes shoot open as the blade is plunged deeper. Its mouth parts in an attempt at a screech it can’t possibly make as its head is severed from its body. It did not get to warn the others. It did not get to say goodbye.

  I pull my blade from the mess; blood seeps into the fabric of the hammock and drips to the floor. I sense the Winchesters enter the barn as I pick my next target. The goal is to get as many asleep so that should they wake, it’d be a slightly easier fight. Again, I take my stance over a vampire when I hear the faint clink of a glass bottle knocking over. I hold incredibly still, so still, I feel like the narrator in “Tell-Tale Heart.”

  By luck alone, the vampire beneath my gaze does not stir, nor do any others. I turn my head slowly to where the noise originated, seeing Dean and Sam at the other end of the barn near each other. I swallow roughly, focusing in on the task at hand. Again, I drive my blade into the pale neck of the resting creature, blood spraying onto my cheek. I move to the next, stalking forth with my raised blade when an unearthly roar breaks the silence. The vampire beneath my gaze shoots up, clutching my wrist before I can lay the blade onto it. The machete vanishes from my hand, appearing in my other. I swing the blade; the cut is uncoordinated and messy in my non-dominant hand, slashing off its hand. My wrist is free as the limb goes flying, a horrible screech coming from the vampire as it clutches its wrist, blood spurting from where the hand used to be, bone exposed to the air. Glass shatters somewhere overhead, and I switch the weapon back to my dominant hand, unable to get another swing in when I dodge the lunging vampire.

  “Run!” John yells from the same direction as the broken glass. I sidestep just in time, narrowly avoiding a swing from a vampire lunging at me. More of them surge toward me, their snarls filling the air. Reluctantly, I turn and run. My heart pounds in my chest, the sound almost drowning out the thudding of their footsteps behind me. I race toward the back of the barn, but there’s no clear exit—just solid walls and shadows. I sprint toward one of the walls. My legs push forward harder, willing myself to pass through before I crash into it. 

  The world blurs for a heartbeat, and then I stumble forward, my feet skidding on the dirt outside. I glance back, breathless, at the wall I just passed through. A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips, I’m getting really good at the whole teleporting thing. But enough celebrating, I quickly round the outskirts of the barn and make my way up the hill to where the distinct figures of the Winchesters wait. A look of relief passes over Sam and Deans face at the sight of me but I can’t say the same for John. I know he doesn’t care if I get injured or die. 

  “They won't follow. They'll wait till tonight. Once a vampire has your scent, it's for life,” John informs, slightly out of breath.   “Well, what the hell do we do now?” Dean asks.

  I wipe the blood from my cheek with the back of my sleeve, glad that I decided to wear dark clothes today. “I’ll go back in there and finish it,” I answer.

  “No, you’re not,” Dean declares, taking a single step toward me.

  “Why not?” I ask. “I already killed two and—”

  “You did?” John cuts me off, reflecting the same surprise he did before.

  “No, my machete is just normally covered in blood.” 

  “You’re not goin’ back in,” Dean says firmly.

  “Dean—”

  “Not on my watch.”   “Oh, come on. This is quicker than waiting until night and you can have your special gun sooner,” I reason, following him as he walks away. 

  “Not happening.”

  “Don’t you want that gun?”

  He stops short of the Impala's trunk, his expression firm as he faces me. “Not at the expense of your life.” His eyes are set on mine, a challenge burning behind his irises.

  “I’m very capable of doing it myself,” I argue, my chin raised to meet his gaze head-on.

  “I know you are,” he replies, his voice low and sure. “‘Doesn’t mean I’m lettin’ you go.”

  “I don’t have to listen to you, you know,” I point out, the words sounding childish on my tongue.   His brow arches, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing his face. He wets his lips, voice dropping lower, “I don’t see you goin’.”

  The words hang heavy between us. He’s got me, and he knows it. I swallow hard, my pulse thrumming in my throat. His eyes drop briefly, flicking to the small space between us like he’s daring me to move. He tilts his head slightly, waiting, his confidence annoyingly attractive. His fingers brush my wrist, featherlight, trailing down the inside. It tickles my skin, my breath hitching slightly, loosening my hold on the machete. He doesn’t rush—his hand glides lower, steady, until he slides the weapon from my grasp as if he already knew my answer before I had the chance to utter it.

 “We’ll need dead man’s blood,” I manage, my voice quieter than I intended. His eyes flick back to mine, dark and unreadable, the weapon now clasped firmly in his hand alongside his own. He nods, his lips parted slightly.

****

  After splitting up from John and Sam—and some lying and distracting on our part— Dean and I managed to grab the dead man's blood from the local funeral home. Afterward, it took some extensive convincing, including arguing that it would be safer for me to act as bait instead of Dean to be where I am now.

  Now, I lean over the car’s popped hood, peering at the engine while the Winchesters watch from somewhere in the trees. “Car trouble?” a woman's voice asks. I turn around to see a dark-haired woman with thin eyebrows and striking blue eyes standing with another girl lingering behind. It didn’t take them long to show up. “Let me give you a lift. I’ll take you back to my place,” she purrs.

  I lean against the front of the Impala, tilting my head slightly as I eye her. “I’m sure you’d like that,” I respond, biting my bottom lip, purposefully teasing. She steps closer as expected, so close I can smell the lingering metallic scent of blood on her mouth as well as her strong perfume. She grabs my jaw roughly, her fingertips digging in as she holds my face firmly, forcing my head back an inch so that she can use our small height difference to her advantage. I let her do what she wants, I’m not afraid of her or the other vampire. I’m just here to get her close enough for a good shot. “Would you like that?” she asks, spinning my question.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not Buffy and you’re not Spike,” I smile teasingly. 

  Her smile deepens, turning a little wicked. “You know, I should kill you for what you did to them.” 

  And I know she’s talking about the two I killed and the third I hurt. “Will you?” I challenge. I’m sure she won’t, at least not now. They like to play with their food. So, just as expected her eyes trace down my face, the collum of my neck, and dip beneath my shirt. “We could have some fun first,” she answers, eyes tracing back up.

  Her head tilts down, her hold on my face tightening as her lips brush mine. Her hand slips to the back of my head, grabbing a handful of hair and tugging. My lips part in a groan, my head harshly bent back, giving her the chance to crash her lips to mine. She kisses me roughly and fast, all teeth and tongue before pulling away and licking her lips as if savoring the taste. “Heard you had a boyfriend,” I remark. “You think he’d mind you–” She cuts me off with her lips, teeth clashing with mine. My hands grasp the Impala behind me, the cold metal digging into my palms contrasting with the heat of her mouth. 

  She gasps, an almost choking noise as she pulls away and I know the shot has been taken. My eyes fall to her chest, the arrowhead sticking out. “Dammit,” she curses. The Winchesters emerge from the trees, crossbows in hand and unreadable expressions on their faces. Her hands fall from my face as she steps back, my chest heaving a little as I try to catch my breath. “It barely even stings,” she claims.

  “Give it time, sweetheart,” John answers. “That arrow’s soaked in dead man’s blood. It’s like poison to you, isn’t it?”

  Real surprise passes over her features, a hand coming up to cradle where she’s been hit as she staggers backward, wavering before she collapses to the asphalt. “Load her up,” John directs, moving to the other vampire who’s also on the floor with an arrow through her. “I’ll take care of this one.”

  I turn around, shutting the hood of the car just as I hear the familiar squelch of blood.

****

  The campfire burns bright in the middle of the small clearing of woods. She's still unconscious, secured with a rope around her that she could tear easily the moment she awakens. “Toss this on the fire. Saffron, skunk's cabbage, and trillium. It'll block our scent and hers until we're ready,” John orders as he walks back into the clearing with his eldest son in tow.

  Dean sniffs the bag contents and coughs, “Stuff stinks!”

  “That’s the point. It has to be strong enough to cover your scent,” I smile while simultaneously feeling bad for finding his reaction to the ingredients funny. “You can dust your clothes with the ashes and they, hopefully, won't be able to detect you.” I move to him, willing to take the bag from his grimacing face. 

  “‘You sure they’ll come after ‘er?” Sam asks as I carefully separate and dump the ingredients into the fire.

  “Yeah,” John answers. “Vampires mate for life—”

  “Didn’t seem she cared about that with Y/N” Dean remarks, cutting off his father. I give him a pointed look. And he just responds with, “What? She was the one who looked real into you.” There's a certain edge to his voice that I can’t quite discern, something almost snarky.

  “Well, one thing interpretations got right about vampires is how inherently sexual they are,” I explain. “I’m not sure why but I guess it makes sense considering how they take the blood is intimate.” Still, Dean doesn’t seem particularly satisfied with that answer.

  “She means more to the leader than the gun,” John continues. “But the blood sickness is going to wear off soon, so you don't have a lot of time.”   “A half-hour oughta do it,” Sam answers.   “And then I want you out of the area as fast as you can,” John orders.

  “But…”

  “Well, Dad you can’t take care of them all yourself,” Dean cuts his brother off.

  “I'll have her and the Colt,” John reasons.

  “That’s hardly a lot of protection,” I point out.

  “And if I remember you wanted to go in with less,” he bites back.

  “I also have abilities that you don’t. I can stay with you, ‘make sure you get it safely.”

  “‘Don’t need your protection,” he answers. I figure ego has some part of his decision so I drop it, if he doesn’t want backup then he doesn’t want it.

  “But after. We're gonna meet up, right?” Sam asks. “Use the gun together. Right?” There's a long pause, the question hanging in the air for one too many seconds. “You're leaving again, aren't you? You still wanna go after the demon alone. You know, I don't get you. You can't treat us like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like children,” Sam answers firmly.   “You are my children. I'm trying to keep you safe,” he reasons. I bite back my comment about how ironic that is coming from him as I walk a couple of steps away.   “Dad, all due respect but, uh, that's a bunch of crap,” Dean says, all heads snapping to him.   “Excuse me?”

  I half expect him to back off, instead, he doubles down. “You know what Sammy and I have been hunting. Hell you sent us on a few hunting trips yourself. You can't be that worried about keeping us safe.”   “It's not the same thing, Dean.”   “Then what is it? Why do you want us out of the big fight?”   “This demon? It's a bad son of a bitch. I can't make the same moves if I'm worried about keeping you alive.”   “You mean you can't be as reckless.”

  “Look... I don't expect to make it out of this fight in one piece.” The atmosphere seems to change, becoming a little heavier in the wake of his words. “Your mother's death ... it almost killed me. I can't watch my children die too. I won't.”

  I’m sure there is some truth to his words but at the same time, he's been a horrible father to them, leaving them alone as mere kids to fend for themselves, forcing them into the hunting world at a young age, and even bringing them on hunts when they should’ve been worrying about school not their lives.   “What happens if you die?” Dean points out. “Dad, what happens if you die, and we coulda done something about it? You know I’ve been thinking. I ...think maybe Sammy's right about this one. We should do this together.”

  Sam nods.

  “We're stronger as a family, Dad. We just are. You know it,” Dean argues. It may sound cheesy but it holds merit.  “We're running out of time. You do your job and you get out of the area. That's an order.” His answer is unsurprising and yet the way Dean looks down and the way Sam clenches his jaw makes me want to deck John Winchester until he agrees.

****

  We quickly follow after John, having already killed the vampires in the barn and freed the container of people they had. Of course, it’s against what we were directed to do but we aren’t exactly known for following rules, so there's that. We ditched the Impala some ways back, sticking to the trees with our crossbows as we approached John's truck and the group of vampires.

  We arrive in time to see John get knocked to the ground, his plan going south immediately. He’s backhanded into the door of his truck just as one of many arrows flies through the air, hitting the other vampires that crowd around. We emerge from the trees and I switch my crossbow to my off-hand to unseathe my machete. I easily walk up to one and in one clean motion send their head flying, the body buckling to the floor.

  Quickly I turn, my crossbow raised to shoot a vampire that was creeping up on Dean. “Don't!” someone yells. I pause, eyes landing on a vampire who looks like a rock band reject with his arm around Sam’s neck while Dean tries to lurk forward with a machete. “I'll break his neck. Put the blade down,” the man orders. Everything stands still for a moment as I drop both my weapons. Dean, however, pauses until the man tightens his hold on Sam’s neck and then the machete is dropped to the ground with a clink.

  Suddenly, the man’s arm is forced from Sam’s neck. It shakes as it's pulled away by an invisible force, his face contorting with confusion as he loses the ability to control his limbs. My head tilts slightly as I control him, forcing his other arm to remain at its side so that Sam is free to stumble away, his brother immediately dragging him behind him. The knees of the man buckle, forcing him to kneel on the asphalt. “You people. Why can't you leave us alone? We have as much right to live as you do,” the man cries and I falter. 

I falter. The one thing you’re never supposed to do in a fight. But, it doesn’t matter because his head is cleaned off his body before he can get up. John standing behind him, blood dripping from his machete. “Lutherrrr!!!!” the girl from before screams a horrible guttural scream that seems to reverberate in my ears. She’s dragged away by another vampire, fighting against their hold as she stares down John and her lover's body.

  I stand over the little table in the motel room making sure I didn’t leave anything when John enters—the first we’ve seen him since last night. “So boys,” he starts immediately, the door closing behind him feeling like a death sentence.

  “Yes sir,” Sam answers, both boys straightening out like soldiers.

  “You ignored a direct order back there,” he starts.

  “Yes sir,” Sam answers.   “Yeah, but we saved your ass,” Dean intervenes, nervous looks thrown his way from Sam and I.

  “You're right,” John, surprisingly, nods.   “I am?”

  “It scares the hell out of me. You two are all I've got. But I guess we are stronger as a family. So...we go after this damn thing. Together.”   “Yes sir,” they say in unison.

  “And I guess you can be there too,” he adds, looking over at me.

(Next Chapter)

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[apocalypseornaw]

Chapter One

When you make it to Lebanon you didn't expect to have neighbors, let alone for your neighbor to be the most gorgeous man you've ever laid your eyes on.

(Also before anyone worries Ben and Hayley = Charlie and Dean)

The silence that had fallen in the car would've been near deafening had it not been for the radio keeping you company. Miles flew by and despite knowing you should probably stop you also knew you only had a few more miles and you could make it to Lebanon, where Simon had already rented you a place. You could have a secure roof over the kids head and a form a plan for your next step.

You chanced a glance in the rear view mirror and nearly jumped out of your skin when Hayley met your gaze in the mirror. She grinned in the darkness of the backseat "The sun's coming up mom. You haven't gotten any sleep. Do you want me to drive a bit?" She hadn't long gotten her license and while she'd proven so far to be a safe driver given the circumstances you didn't want to chance it. 

"I'll be ok. Once we hit Kansas we can grab some food. Simon said the house is already all set up so you can amuse Amelia and James while I catch a cat nap then we can explore Lebanon a bit and get a feel for what will be our home for the next year or so" she nodded and glanced from her left where James was fast asleep in his car seat to her right where Amelia was sleeping as well. 

There was times you'd wake up and find her just sitting between the two of them as if she was keeping guard, even though you two slept with their beds between yours. It was like she was wanting to be the first line between her little siblings and danger. On one hand you were proud of her for helping with her like she did but on the other hand she was still just a teenager herself and christ everything she'd had dumped on her. The shit she'd seen and the secrets she carried, secrets to protect you. 

"You can drive while we check out Lebanon and maybe we can even pick up some baking supplies for you" she brightened a bit at the prospect of baking and you felt your chest loosen just a bit. You hated this, you hated never staying in one place too long, never being able to trust anyone besides Simon and his wife Kiya. You hated your kids never knowing security. You hated that your sixteen year old knew what she knew and that your four year olds thought moving every few months was normal.

You let out a breath that was louder than you meant for it to be and felt Hayley bump your shoulder "Don't do that. You keep us moving to keep us safe. I get that. When they get old enough they'll get that too" you glanced in the mirror and gave her a greatful albeit tearful smile "You're a pretty decent kid, you know that?" She scrunched up her nose when she grinned before saying "Well lady you're the one who raised me" 

You double checked the paperwork Simon had sent you yet again. "Hayley this is the right address isn't it?" You passed it over to her since she'd joined you in the front seat after the twins had woke up, all of you had stopped for breakfast then gotten back on the road. She looked down at the stack of papers then back up at the house that you were currently parked in the driveway of. "Yes ma'am but dang this is out our normal pay grade isn't it?" 

You nodded slowly. The house wasn't anything extraordinary but it was nice, a one story Victorian and in a decent neighborhood.  You shrugged "Lets check it out. Maybe they worked their magic and got it cheaper" she laughed "They're better than the Prue and Piper at this point" 

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

You turned the engine of the car off then climbed out. Hayley grabbed James out of his car seat and had him on her hip so you grabbed Amelia and motioned for her to follow you. 

You followed the walkway up to the door while digging the key out of your pocket. Amelia pulled at your necklace, fiddling with the pendant and looking around at the squirrels chasing each other around the yard. Part of you expected the key to not work but when you slid it into the door it turned with no issue. You raised an eyebrow at Hayley then pushed the door in.

"Dad!" Ben's voice echoed through the house and Dean stifled a groan as he walked down the stairs "If you're telling me you finished the coffee again kid I swear.." 

Ben was standing at the kitchen window with a coffee cup in hand "No sir. There's plenty left but someone moved in next door"  

That was news to Dean. That was one of Bobby's places and normally he'd run it by Dean before renting it just to make sure the tenants would be a nuisance or anything. "I wonder why your grandpa didn't tell anybody. Think he's getting forgetful in his old age?" Dean asked Ben with a smirk as he went about making his coffee to his own taste before joining his son at the window. 

"We're looking like a few nosy old hags you know that right?" He scoffed and Ben shrugged then pointed "Someone's coming out" Dean watched as a woman walked out the house. She was wearing jeans, a old Scooby-Doo tshirt and had a flannel tied around her waist like she'd been wearing it then gotten hot as she'd started moving around, a haphazard looking braid kept her hair out of her face but even exhausted looking he had to admit she was beautiful. 

Ben cut his eyes up at Dean "She's hot right?" "Benjamin" Dean warned and got a laugh as an answer "I don't mean for my age! I mean for your age dad! Shes hot for you right?" "Don't you have graduation practice in a couple hours?" Dean asked and Ben nodded, still watching the window as the woman balanced an armload of dufflebags to carry into the house "We should introduce ourselves to the neighbors. Grandpa Bobby would smack us for being rude"

"You need to get ready and so do I. If she's outside we'll introduce ourselves but she's visibly busy, so we're not intruding, understood?" "Yes sir" Ben answered with a smirk that was a mirror of Dean's own expression.

You always joked you owed Simon and Kiya everything and it seemed as if they kept adding onto the list. Not only had they found you a nice place in a nice neighborhood at an extremely low price but it was furnished! 

There was two twin beds, a queen bed and couch so everyone was covered. The working plan was to move the twin beds into the room with the queen beds and you could make a pallet on the floor so you could be in the room with the kids. 

There was even a breakfast Nook with a small table and plates and cups that you had a feeling had come from Kiya. If you ever got out from under all this you owed them something huge. 

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

You'd gotten all your clothing squared away and decided to go grocery shopping. You had Amelia on your hip and Hayley grabbed James. You'd just locked the door and was about to turn around when you heard Hayley say "Mom, um we got neighbors"

You turned around, one hand on your purse when you spotted two people walking towards you. One was a teenager, he was probably eighteen at best. Dark hair, barely there stubble and a bright smile. 

The man that was close to your age was obviously his dad from looks alone and was unfairly good looking if you were being honest. Light brown hair and a thick stubble covering a sculpted jaw line that looked like the Greek gods themselves would be jealous over. He was a bit over six foot and when he got closer you realized he had green eyes that were a shade of damn near emerald. 

You shifted Amelia a bit and spotted Hayley do the same to James out the corner of your eye. The man spoke first, clearing his throat "I don't want to intrude or anything ma'am but my son and I want to introduce ourselves since it seems we'll be neighbors" he offered his hand so you shook it with a small smile as he said "I'm Dean..Winchester and this is my son Ben" "Winchester, like the rifle?" You asked and he laughed "Yes ma'am. Like the rifle" 

You cut your eyes at Hayley before saying "My names Y/N...Iverson" that was the last name Simon told you to use this time. "And this is my oldest Hayley and my twins James and Amelia" Dean smiled at each kid in turn "Nice to meet you all. Is it just you and the kids?" You nodded "Afraid so" 

He smiled softly "Well it's just me and Ben so I understand, though three?" He let out a sharp whistle "You're stronger than me" he grinned then said "Well if you need anything we're right next door" you nodded "Nice meeting you" 

He nodded to Hayley and Ben told you all it was nice meeting you before following his dad. Once they were out of ear shot Hayley cut her eyes at you and you shook your head "Do not" she cackled like a mad woman. She'd clocked you checking out Dean and while there was not a chance in hell you letting yourself even consider a man after the hell you'd been through it was nice to hear her laugh. 

You shook your head "Lets go get food child" she grinned "Oh let's. Better get some water too" "Why water?" Amelia asked and you glared at Hayley playfully "So I can pour it over your sister's head. James laughed "I'll help" 

[lovelywritinglady]

Secrets Suck, Man

Sam Winchester x fem!reader

With Dean being heavily against the idea of dating while on the job, Sam and you figure out secret ways to be together without Dean knowing. Except, here’s the thing, he already knows.

Angst, fluff, cute stuff with Sam. Takes place during Season 12.

Third Person Pov

"Sam, how many times do I need to tell ya that it's a bad idea. Hunters don't get a normal life and if they did, they ain't hunters no more." Dean lectured Sam who sat in the passenger seat of their 1967 Chevrolet Impala.

"Dean, all I'm saying is maybe it's not a bad idea to be with a hunter. At least you both understand the life and the risks." Sam pleated with Dean trying to get him to see his point of view on the situation.

"Dude, you really want to watch the person you love die because you were busy saving someone else?" Dean asks seriously.

"No, I wouldn't want that even if I wasn't a hunter, Dean. But at some point, I think it's okay as long as both parties understand the risk." Sam spoke with coming off harsher than before.

"Drop it, you know my thoughts on it Sam. It's not a good idea." Dean jabbed back as he turned up the radio to some 80's rock song.

"Fine." Sam sighed in defeat knowing that his plan to try to tell Dean that he already had a girlfriend and that person happened to be you.

Two hours later...

Sam and Dean made their way into the bunker where you were. Sam saw you and gave you a quick, but loving smile. While you waited on them to return, you read the same lore books hoping to find something new in them only to be disappointed again. You smiled back at him making sure that Dean didn't notice you looking at Sam. Speaking of Dean he said a quick hello and sat down on the chair in front of you kicking his muddy boots up on the table.

"Hey, I'm glad your back and everything Dean, but take your shoes off the table please." You asked him rolling your eyes.

"Whatever, did you find anything in the lore about Nephilim" He questioned doing what you asked.

"Same as before, I still only know what I've read for the millionth time and Cass's knowledge." you sighed rubbing your hand around your sore neck. This caught Sam's attention and he made a mental note to himself to help you out later.

"Don't worry we'll figure it out, we've just got to keep looking." Sam reassured putting his hand on your shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Yeah, don't worry about it Y/n, we've dealt with worse and won." Dean butted in.

"Yeah, I think the apocalypse and the darkness are a lot worse than this by far. I'd still rather deal with a nest of vamps than this though." You half joked.

"You and me both." Dean sighed getting up out of his seat and walking towards the hallway. "I'm gonna take a much-needed shower see you guys at dinner." Dean spoke walking away to the showers.

As soon as he was gone you rushed towards Sam and gave him a hug. Breathing him in and feeling his body against yours invited instant comfort and happiness to your stressed-out body and mind. And to Sam, he found the same comfort as his arms immediately wrapped around you as he placed his left check on the top of your head. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes allowing himself to be in the moment with you and forget all of the shit that is piled on them once again. He loved you and even having a little time alone was worth the world to him. After some time of just being there with him, your curiosity became too much and the elephant in the room needed to be addressed.

"Baby, what did Dean say?" You asked him raising your head while still holding Sam in your arms. He looked at you with a sad but loving gaze as you waited on his response.

"Same thing as before, he's against it." Sam sighed sadly. "But I don't care he can just deal with it. Secrets suck and I'm tired of keeping our feelings for one another away from Dean. I mean even Cass knows." Sam spoke trying to convince you.

"Yeah, I get that, I just really don't want an angry Dean top of the shit pile that we already have. I really want to tell him, don't get me wrong, I'm just scared to see how he'll react. Hell, I'd rather face Amara again than tell Dean, but I think it's important that we do." You pleaded with him trying to get him to see your point of view.

"Baby, if Dean gets mad that's on him. We are both adults and I think it'll be okay. I know your nervous, but trust me Dean at his core is a really big softie." He reassured rubbing your arms up and down.

"I still feel weird about it, but I think I'm just scared of his reaction, mostly." You whispered putting your forehead on the center of his chest.

"We don't need to tell him right now, we can wait as long as you need." Sam

“Thank you Sammy, that means a lot.” You say smiling at his sweetness.

Just as you two were about to break your hugs out comes Dean wearing his grey robe with an annoyed expression on his face. You were nervous and could tell that had whenever was wrong was serious.

“Dammit, If you two are gonna be together be fucking careful because this life ain’t pretty for us. I’ll support it if you guys do that. I guess some of us should have something good in this shit show.” Dean quickly said before a leaking away. As he did he did a double take. “And you two need to get better at whispering because I could hear everything.” He said annoyed as he walked away.

You both stood there dumbfounded at what just happened. You looked at each other and laughed at the situation. Sam then leaned down and captured your lips into a soft and sweet kiss. He broke the kiss giving you another big smile as he chuckled.

“Well I guess the secrets out.” Sam joked

“Yeah, and by what he said I guess he’s known for awhile now.” You say letting out a deep breath hugging Sam closer relieved that you don’t need to hide out of fear.

“Yeah, I’m just glad that with all of the shit that’s been happening that I still have you by my side. And no matter what I’ll be there for you.” He reassured

“Aww Sammy me too, I love you. And Dean’s right we should be careful about all of this.” You told Sammy nearly sounding like Dean.

“You’re right about that. And Deans right about another thing too. That it’s good that we’ve found happiness in this shit show.” Sam smiled.

“Yeah, we really did. I love you Sammy Winchester.” You proclaimed

“I love you too Y/n L/n.” Sam responded hugging you tighter.

Thank you so much for reading ����

Please feel free to comment, request, and reblog

Click here to see what I’ll write for and HERE for my master list.

•I do NOT own any characters except y/n•

-L.W.L

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

“Don’t Provoke Dean”

Chapter 2

She had no idea where she was going, but her Omega told her to run hard from the pack leader. She knew she was faster than him, which meant he had to be smart or wait for her to get tired. She huffed, losing her jacket, she scented the air, searching for water. She moved around trees, avoiding bushes to prevent leaving her scent. Her human mind, still somewhat alert, began to question if she wanted to be caught.

She knew how she felt about him but was uncertain of his current intention. She was scared she pushed him too far and broke their friendship. Her Omega said differently believing this to be a mating run. She disbelieved the hopeful side of her. No one had ever punished her since she was packless. Being packless protected her from a lot of harm, but it also meant if an Alpha tried or did anything, there was no one to protect her or demand recompense on her behalf.

Every time she thought of Dean Winchester, her Omega would whine and whimper, saddened to be away from him. She had never understood the pull toward him, which had always been there. Since he seemed to not show any sign of it, she always assumed it was one-sided and just a biological instinct she ignored.

The run was making her realize just how tired she was of fighting whatever this was between them. She had never been afraid of Dean Winchester since they met. Right now, however, she was afraid of herself, of her Omega, because she wanted to be caught and had no idea what would happen when he did.

Dean, ever the hunter, knew after the first hunt with Y/N, they were scent-bonded. He never told Sam but wouldn’t be surprised if he knew. Sam was psychic and seemed to read people well. He caught her scent again and followed it. Her arousal became stronger, the vanilla becoming more buttery. The Alpha knew their situation was ideal: no wind and weather mild but for the humidity. He knew he could wait her out, but that meant she would stop simply due to her tiredness, he wanted her to want this just as much as him. His Alpha was a simpering mess every time she was near and he was done. Dean was going to mate her, and then neither of them would have this stupid argument ever again. She would be his Omega and he would get to keep her, forever.

Having hunted with her enough, he knew how she thought. He ran along the river, knowing she’d probably try to hide her scent. Oddly, once he was at the river, her scent didn’t lessen, it seemed stronger. He continued to follow it and after a few hundred yards noticed it weakened. He paused, scenting and tasting the air. He backtracked, thinking she must have done so as well. He was very wrong.

Once he was back at the river, where the scent guided him, he was knocked down to the ground. Instantly recognizing his Omega, he rolled to outmaneuver her but failed. She had him trapped in a headlock. He was getting too old to wrestle like a horny teenager. He was horny and knew his eyes were red. He was holding his Alpha from truly surfacing, worried he would scare her. He was a special Alpha who partially changed when completely in sync with his wolf. He was able to get out of her headlock and saw her.

Y/N was like him.

Her gold irises, beautiful in the moonlight that was making her freckles, somehow, glow. Her fangs had dropped as she encircled him. She had short, black claws in place of her fingernails and multiple tuffs of thin fur matching her Y/C hair on both hands, up her upper arms, and he bet it was along her back some too. Her scent wrapped around him: the woodiness of the sandalwood, the light, floral earthiness of strawberry, and the deep butteriness of the vanilla. The image of a sweet, floral strawberry rose pie on a window sill came to mind. It reminded him of the one Missouri made once, he secretly loved it but denied it when he was a kid. He inhaled his mate’s scent deeply.

Y/N growled at the Alpha. She was not some weak Omega waiting to be caught. No, she decided to trick him and get the jump on him before he did on her. Her plan worked perfectly until he got away. Despite her height advantage over him (being nearly a foot shorter than him), he was very good at wrestling and it was something they tended to do when bored at the bunker. She swiped at him, Alpha’s being quick to heal, his chest was already free of the mark by the time she’d knocked him off his feet and began working to pin him to the ground. He easily flipped them with his Alpha strength as his Alpha surfaced and he shifted as well.

Just like Y/N, Dean’s hands were covered in fur matching his dirty blonde hair that went up the back of his arms and down the back of his neck onto his whole back and down. His fangs dropped and he growled, dominantly, demanding her submission. She repositioned her feet and turned within his grasp onto her front but he kept her wrists in his hands. A wrong move for her as it allowed Dean to bite, without breaking skin, the back of her, pinning her Omega in place. Y/N’s Omega had no choice but to obey, and went pliant in his grip. She closed her eyes and waited. Her breathing came out in heavy pants. He carefully released his bite and leaned down next to her ear, licking the tender spot below and back of her ear causing a shiver to run down her body. Dean growled approvingly.

He nosed along her, placing sloppy kisses along her neck and inhaling at her mating gland. He licked and nipped her mating gland, increasing the scent of her Omega arousal. He softened his grip on her wrists as he continued to tease her mating gland. She whined as he continued.

“You have me,” Y/N’s voice broke with the admission. “Please,” she begged and huffed as she pushed her jean-cladded ass and thighs against his abdomen and pelvis.

He smiled, unseen, and kissed the back of her neck. Shivers ran down her spine each time he did. “Good girl.” She whimpered in response.

“Alpha,” she moaned, squeezing her thighs together.

“Impatient,” he stated, thrusting his leg between her legs. He leaned down next to her ear, breathing heavily. “You are mine, Y/N. I know you’ve felt it.”

She could feel tears flooding her eyes. He did. He did, and her mind celebrated.

He placed several kisses on the back of her back and quickly moved to limit his weight on her. “I’m sorry it took me so long to see, Omega,” he half growled and half whined.

She reached back, grabbed his neck, and turned her head into his face, attempting to nuzzle and comfort him. “I’m sorry…I…gave up,” she whispered, nasally from the tears she wouldn’t let fall.

He sat back, allowing her to roll back over. Her shirt and jeans were covered in dirt and grass stains. Dean figured he was the same but ignored it. It doesn’t matter. Red eyes met gold, silence encompassed them for several long moments as Dean looked over her face. Whatever Dean seemed to be searching for in Y/N’s face, he must have found it because the next thing she knew, he surged forward, kissing her. His arms wrapped around her, his leg returned between her thighs, and she reciprocated—one hand in his hair and the other holding the shirt on his back.

Dean pulled back, panting, gasping for breath. “You’re…you’re mine, Y/N.”

“I am,” she agreed, breathlessly. She whined. “Mate me, Alpha. Please,” she panted. “Please, Dean.” Her eyes searched his face.

“You’ll be mine?”

Tears began to fall down her cheeks. “I’ve always been yours, Dean. I—I—I love you.”

Dean passionately kissed her, mostly a gnashing of teeth and tongues. He slipped one hand between them, unsnapping his jeans and then hers, and pulled hers down. She wiggled to help, lips always touching, as he haphazardly pulled her underwear down in the process to where she had one leg out of her underwear and jeans. Dean smiled at this. She let go of his shirt and worked to help him with her jeans, and then when he leaned back, she followed him to help him with his. She reached in and grabbed his thick Alpha cock. He hissed at her touch and moaned as she pulled him out.

Moaning at the sight of Dean’s gorgeous erection, she laid down, grabbed his shirt with both hands and pulled him on her, wrapping her legs around him. “Fuck me, Alpha,” she demanded growling.

His eyebrows rose in surprise at her assertiveness as he went with her, one hand behind her head, leaning on his elbow as he took himself in hand positioning himself at her entrance. He looked down as he slowly pushed into her slick shiny pussy. Y/N groaned, reveling in the stretch. He touched everywhere inside her channel, and she practically purred at the feel.

Dean grinned, surprised by her sounds, and enjoyed them. “Like that, sweetheart?” His voice was deeper, guttural, and dancing goosebumps along her skin.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Full, so full, oh.”

Dean stilled but Y/N gritted her teeth. “Don’t you stop.”

“Yes ma’am.” He pulled back and thrust hard into her, both moaning in unison. He repeated the motion again and again as he built up a rhythm, both of them groaning in pleasure. Dean watched her writhe on his cock and felt her walls flutter around him. Y/N’s eyes were closed, mouth open panting as she held onto Dean’s biceps, meeting him thrust-for-thrust, over and over and over. Soon, she could feel his enlarging knot teasing her entrance. She tried grinding against him each time he bottomed out, pulling a growl from her when she succeeded

“Knot me,” she begged.

“Hold on, Darlin’,” Dean panted against her open mouth. He thrust harder, forcing his increasing knot in and out of her. Shudder after shudder with each jab of his knot’s partial entering, until his knot reached full size. A handful of thrusts later, he pushed it within her and the pressure against her sweet spot pulled her over the edge. Her walls squeezed around Dean’s knot and he bit into her swollen mating gland, coppery liquid rushing onto his tongue. He growled, feeling spend after spend coat Y/N’s inner walls as she gushed, coating his pelvis and her thighs in her juices, screaming through her orgasm as everything seemed to go dark.

To be continued…Part 3

Part 1

Tag @harmonity-vibes

[pinkiebieberpie]

Hello! I would like to request Dean hearing his gf screaming from the bathroom and him running up there guns a blazeing when it was just a spider 😭 basically how he would react in this situation

this is so funny, i can imagine this 😭😭

when he heard a scream he thought that something horrible happened, like you broke a leg for example,

"what, what is wrong?!" you screamed like you just saw a ghost so he was worried,

"there is a giant spider in here!! dean, i mean like huuge!!"

and he is now just looking at you and blinking,

"babe, we are fighting monsters and you are scared of a spider?"

"yeah, they are small and... hairy... fuckin disgusting!"

he just shook his head and without saying anything else he just killed the spider,

"i will use this information against you one day, baby, you know that?" dean chuckles because this is just so funny to him,

but he is not trying to be mean, in fact he thinks this is kinda cute.

supernatural masterlist

[writing-with-moss]

Kinktober 8- Car sex

Authors note: me when I do all of my Kinktober prompts in one day bc I wasn’t able to write anything else 😏

Dean Winchester x f!hunter!reader

TW/CW: car sex duh, Dean is a gentle lover 😋, mentions of death and fear, Sam is sitting at the motel waiting confused why it’s taking so long 😔

SMUT UNDER THE CUT!!

You sat quietly in the passenger side of baby, looking out of the window in silence.

it was a bad hunt. And you Dean was still reeling from it.

His eyes settle on you, sighing as you slowly turns back to the road. The street lights dancing on his rugged features, bruises and blood still lingering.

"...are you okay Dean?" You softly ask. A little scared to prompt, not knowing if he'd yell or not.

His hand falls onto yours, closing around it as he warmly squeezed. Sighing softly and turning down the road. "Yeah. I'm alright babe." He pauses for a moment, before speaking again. "Just thought I lost you."

God he sounded...heartbroken. You bring his hand up, brushing your fingers against his knuckles, they shift out of your grasp, dragging gently across your cheek. "I'm still here." You whisper, warm breath dancing across his wrist.

He nods, parking the car on the side of the road. You perk up, confused. "Dean, what's wrong? Why did we stop?"

He turns his head, pushing his lips against yours, gripping your thighs. "Need to know you're still here baby. Need to still know I got my sweet girl right here in front of me."

Your heart flutters, melting into his kiss with a soft moan. Hands rubbing up his firm chest before settling against his neck. Feeling the pulse under your fingertips, smiling sorrowfully against his lips. "Still here. I swear."

He closes his eyes, resting his forehead against yours as his warm rough hands rub across your biceps. "Backseat. Gotta remind myself. Gotta feel ya around me...please."

You nod, but couldn't deny the heat that settled in your gut. You knew what this meant for you. For you both. You've made love to Dean before, and God it was like heaven itself.

You shift sliding into the back seat with a thump, his body maneuvering over to get to the backseat with you. His knee goes between your legs as he braces himself on the headrests. Softly puffing as he cradles you against his body.

“There we go…there we go.” His hands run across your sides, pressing his lips against yours. Trailing them across your chin and jaw. His hands stuff themselves under your shirt, holding the ribs underneath your bra. "Can I take this off?"

You weakly nod, groping him through his jeans. "mmhmm-"

Your bra unclasps, nipples perking up and pebbling. A shudder leaves your lips as warm rough hands roll over the fat.

Your fingers unbutton his jeans, tracing over his bulge as he huffs. But then freezes as the ring of his phone fills the car. He perks up, glancing at the front seat.

"Fuck." He whispers under his breath, getting up and grabbing his phone. "It's Sammy." He hangs up the phone, and tosses it aside. "I'll call him later."

You stare up at him as he pushes his jeans off. "Need to focus on my sweet girl first."

His lips are back on your skin, warm and moist, shivers running up your spine. "Ya like that huh?" He whispers against your earlobe. "When I touch you? Prioritize you? Love you?"

You nod, lifting your hips so he can toss your pants and underwear aside. The cool air of the car meeting your soaked cunt, fluttering around nothing.

"God look at 'er...fuckin' beautiful." He whispers, tossing his boxers aside as he settles between your legs. Thighs clenching around his sides as he sinks in. Your groans synchronizing.

His thrusts were languid and loving, huffing in your ear as praises and pet names fell from his lips, his heavy hand cradling the back of your head. Moans tumbled from your throat, grinding up to meet his hips, desperate for more.

You were around him. He felt you. Clenching and moaning, hands rubbing and scratching down your back. You were here. You were alive.

And that mattered more than anything else in the world.

Both of your orgasms rolled down your body, a settle of warmth and contentment as he stayed, soft inside, still twitching. His head tucked into the crook of your neck.

"Fuck...yer so good f'me baby..." He mumbles, as you shudder.

"y- yeah?" You mumble. And he nods.

"Dont leave me."

[billybabyy]

dean winchester x fem!hunter!reader

“my past has tasted bitter for years now, so i wield an iron fist, grace is just weakness or so i've been told, i’ve been cold, i've been merciless, but the blood on my hands scares me to death.”

[jollyhunter]

Please guys gimmi some ideas and inspiration for today’s kinky advent calendar writing challenge I’m begging you 😭

I’m drawing a blank. All my painkiller-induced brain can think of right now is ‘witch’. BUT-

[weasleywinchester]

Save Yourself - Chapter 18

So We Won't Have To Keep Them All Inside

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Helllloooo! I am so sorry for the super long hiatus. I hadn't planned that, but life got very bleh and uninspiring and stressful. Despite the next few chapters being the main part of the story I've been wanting to write I had a bit of self doubt in my ability to keep going. But it's here and hopefully on a slightly more consistent bases. If you haven't read this series then I will simply say I'm writing such a big fic because it's very much my Dean Winchester story. It's the one that has lived in my head so long, that has been thought about and rethought about so much that it makes the whole thing daunting. But my brain is back on this fic train and I'm hoping to finish it off by the end of the year. As always shout out to my tag list, you've been so patient and I hope you're as excited to read the next chapters as I am to write them. Much love 💙💙💙

Series Summary: “I promise.” Those two words would trap you in a life you never wanted. You are an artist, a hunter, a Winchester. And yet the pain in Dean’s eyes as demanded you live the life he wants you live, you couldn’t say no. You met the Winchesters by chance, found out they were real people. And you figured it was a once in a life time thing, but then Dean called you, and so did a new job. Both leading to the life you wanted, a family that didn’t begin or end in blood and a once in a life time love. And he said leave it and him behind, forget. But you can’t. Chapter Summary: The family trip to Dodge city was meant to be fun for the whole family… And it was, until it wasn’t. With Dean finally coming around on the idea of Jack not being outright evil, a bystander getting killed threw a monkey wrench into everything. And then there’s Claire; determined to be a hunter, to do it all alone until she realizes that having someone by her side is helpful. Warnings: Cannon typical violence, some fluff, some sad feels

A few days later

You all had managed to make it home in one piece. Jack was distraught and none of you knew how to help him. Death was an unfortunate part of living, and an unavoidable part of hunting. And how could you even begin to explain that to someone who’s been alive for a matter of weeks?

“I understand why you like the kid.” Dean says softly, “but I think we need to cool it with the training for a minute.” He gently slides his hand into yours, giving it a small squeeze.

“I just want him to see the world we fight for. To see what you and Sammy do is important.” You give him a meek smile.

“I know, sweetheart.” He kisses your temple, pulling you into his arms. “And you will. You make Sam and I believe in the Family Business all the time.” He chuckles.

You watch as the sleepy little town of Lebanon, Kansas rolls by; the sun is shining, crows flying through the air and baby roaring down the road. It’s amazing how the world rambles on, no matter the tragedy or joy that’s happening… Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you quickly fish it out to see a string of texts from Sammy.

“Jack isn’t taking it well.” You sigh, rubbing your eyes. Dean glances at you everyone once in a while, watching as you pull your lip in between your teeth and biting at the skin.

That’s not good. Dean thinks to himself.

“We’ll work through it.” He reassures you as he pulls up to the bunker. He swiftly glides the Impala into the garage, parking her right next to your little blue Subaru. He turns to open the door when he feels your hand on his thigh.

“You mean that?” You ask. He fully turns to you, eyes searching yours as much as yours are searching his.

“Ya.” He nods, taking a deep breath. “This case,” His gaze moves past you, eyes looking at something you can’t see. “It’s dug up a lot of memories of people I couldn’t save.”

“Dean-”

 “Not— not in a bad way sweetheart, just a reminder.” He gently cups one of your cheeks, thankful you are not one of those people. Not yet. He shakes the intrusive thought from his mind, bringing his other hand up to your cheek. “And we’ll help Jack get past this.” He brings his lips to yours, pouring every ounce of love he can into the kiss. The heat of your lips warms his body head to toe, a little bit of hope seeping back into his bones. Hope that this small bump in the road is all it is.

“And as fun as Dodge City was, I think you and I need some time alone.” Dean hums in your ear, placing a gentle kiss on your neck.

“Okay Romeo.” You giggle, playfully swatting at him. Your phone rings out and you gently pull away, earning a pitiful whine from your husband. “It’s Claire.” You sigh.

“Fine.” He playfully rolls his eyes as he slides back to his side of the car.

“Hey what’s up?”

“I need you to come help me with this case.” She blurts.

“I’m doing fine. Little stressed, how are you?” You roll your eyes. Dean flashes a smile as he gets out of the car, grabbing the bag of groceries and walking inside.

“Hi (Y/N). How are you? You wanna come on a hunt with me?” She pointedly repeats. “I could use the girl power, and a Winchester. Which you happen to be both…” A sudden wave of voices drowns out her words.

“Where are you?” You frown.

“Bar, about an hour away from Omaha.”

“Nebraska?” You scrunch your nose, sliding out of the car. “We’re kinda dealing with that baby situation still, and Dean’s finally….” As you put your hand on the door the lights in the garage flicker.

“(Y/N)?” Claire asks.

“Let me call you back.” The words slowly tumble out as you hang up, feet moving faster than your brain as you appear in the doorway to the war room. “What in sam hill happened?” You ask, running over to Dean.

“Jack’s gone.” Dean grunts as he stands, turning to help Cas.

“What?” You frown.

“Jack thinks he’s a monster.” Cas sighs as he plants himself in the nearest chair.

“What did Claire need?” Dean asks, leaning against the war table.

“Wanted help on a case.” You check him over as you direct your question to Sammy. “How are we going to find him? He can’t be out there alone.” Your mind starts to race with all the possible ways he could get hurt, or how he could accidentally hurt someone.

“Baby.” Dean pulls you back to face him.

“There’s so much that could happen.” You whisper, the terror rising in your voice. 

“Sweetheart.” He says firmly, squeezing your hands to get you to take a breath. “Go to Claire.” You open your mouth to protest but he shoots you a look, happy when your mouth snaps shut. “You help Claire, I’ll find Jack.”

“Call me -”

“When I find anything.” He nods, pulling you into his chest. “Gotta keep the kids alive.” He whispers in your ear.

“And you thought we didn’t have any kids.” You laugh.

“Should have known you’d get your way.” Dean chuckles, placing a kiss in your hair. “Be careful.” He whispers.

“I’m not the one who gets visits from Death on the norm.” You slap his back. “I will though… as long as you are too.”

“Promise.”

_______

The diner bell dings as you enter; It’s a little busy, but not much more than any of the ones back home. You wave to the waitress and pick up a couple of menus, sliding into the booth where Claire is sat. The waitress brings two mugs and a fresh pot of coffee, pouring each of you a cup before attending to the other patrons.

“We’re dealing with a nest of Vamps.” She begins.

“Why yes, the drive was good. Not much traffic, lot of semi trucks though.” You cock an eyebrow at her. She gives you a nod, letting a small sigh escape.

“Good. How’s the old man?” she asks, managing to keep the eye roll small. “ And Sam?”

“They’re good. Trying to track down that baby… who’s not actually a baby like we thought.” You frown, pouring a couple of creamers into your coffee.

“You guys always have the weirdest cases.” She shakes her head, taking a large gulp of her black coffee.

“Last name is Winchester. Pretty much a magnet for weird.” You pick the menu up, trying to read the specials but your eyes can’t seem to read any of the words. You check your cell. Nothing.

“Your volume is on-.” Claire grits her teeth as a notification dings. “If they found anything you would know.”

“Ya, well, if you ever disappear like this I would worry just the same.” You sigh. “Why did you need me on this hunt anyways?” You ask, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Can’t believe you drink it like that…” Claire looks at your mostly cream coffee in utter disgust.

“If I wanted criticism on how I take my coffee I would go find Lucifer.” You mutter.

“Like I said, I need a Winchester.” Claire reiterates. “Being a young female hunter has it's disadvantages.” Her eyes move to the door. “And Dean always tells the two of us to travel in pairs…”

You turn to see a pair of men walk in; they look like brothers, maybe a few years apart, dressed in standard issue hunter FBI suits. Ah, that’s why she didn’t want Dean.

“Brought a friend.” The older one smirks, sliding in next to you.

“(Y/N), Jason and Nick Clayton.” Claire gestures to the two. "We ran into each other while tracking one of the vamps."

“Pleasure.” You stick your hand out to Nick, the older one. “(Y/N) Winchester.” Before your name has even fully left your mouth both their jaws hit the floor. You glance at Claire, who simply shrugs.

“(Y/N) Winchester... like the one who killed Rasputin?” Jason asks.

“Killed– Dude she’s the one who took on the Devil AND GOD.” Nick exclaims.

“And freed so many trapped spirits in that haunted college–”

“And had an angel wipe her memory only for it not to work!”

You and Claire look at each other, the same look of bewilderment on your faces.

“Ok, cut the crap. It’s not like she’s famous.” Claire rolls her eyes.

“Not famous?” Nick scoffs. Claire looks over at you, her jaw clenching so hard that she’s about to break all her teeth.

“It’s because I’m Dean’s wife.” You shrug.

“What?” The brothers say in unison.

“No way. You’re not his wife. He’s your husband.” Jason clarifies.

“Lucky bastard.” Nick winks. You scoff at the absurd notion that you are more famous than Dean.

“Wow… Let’s move on from the fangirling ok?” Claire scrunches her nose in irritation.

"Now I know how Dean felt when we first met." whisper to her. "But yes, let's get this show on the road." You gesture for her to take the floor, letting her explain the current vampire problem in the area.

_______

“(Y/N)!” Claire yells as a vamp pins her to the floor. She squirms underneath him, her vision blurring as his hands close tighter around her throat. In the blink of an eye his head is gone, blood splattering her in the face.

“Thought you said you could take him?” You grin, offering your hand to her.

“Shut up.” She slaps your hand away, jumping to her feet.

“You ladies move fast!” Nick shouts as he takes out another vamp.

“Looks like it’s a party now.” You announce as the rest of the nest files inside.

“Let’s do this.” Jason grins. One vamp rushes Claire and in one clean swing his head is on the floor. Another rushes you, taking a swing of your pipe to the stomach before getting their head chopped off. 

“Pipe!” Claire yells, holding her hand out. You slap it into her palm, unsheathing your machete for another vamp as she takes the head off another. The four of you stand back to back, waiting for another wave or for someone to move.

“You know, this thing is really handy.” She breaks the silence, spinning the pipe in her hand before handing it back to you.

“Winchester original?” Nick asks.

“Saw it in a video game, thought I would give it a try.” You laugh, wiping some of the vamp guts off the knives taped to the top of it.

“We’re fucking awesome.” Claire scoffs as she slowly turns in a circle to look at all the dead vamps..

“Hell ya.” You hold your fist up and she bumps it.

“Where to next?” Jason asks.

“How about food? And sleep?” You grab Claire by the neck and lead everyone out of the barn. “And a shower. The vamps seemed extra bloody today.” You attempt to shake off some of it, but to no avail.

The two boys get in their car and you and Claire climb into hers.

"You ok?" You ask.

"Are you Kidding? We just had the coolest fight." She snorts, leaning against the steering wheel with a grin on her face.

"I meant about the fan club." You correct. "This was meant to be your hunt, not a Winchester spectacle." Not that I ever expected to be a spectacle...

"Kinda why I wanted you here." She mumbles, glancing at your sky high eyebrows. "It proved that I know what I'm doing... and that I have back up." You nod, watching as the trees whip past.

"Prove to who?" You ask, looking down at the dry vamp blood on your thighs. You see her body go rigid, hands firmly gripping the wheel.

"Me..." She answers after a moment. "... Jody."

"We all know you're a great hunter." You say softly. "It's just... not really the life that anyone wants their loved ones to have." You look over at her; she's got a bloody lip and a small scratch across her cheek but she still looks too young to be wanting this life. "But we all understand the choice." You smile at her. She smiles at you, relaxing into her seat as she speeds back to the motel.

_______

“Ya… thanks man.” Jason hangs up the phone, turning to the group. “Looks like we got the main nest. Hunters in the next county found a few stragglers but nothing else.”

Claire and Nick nod, talking about where else they could look. Their voices fade into the background, you mind racing with possible answers as to why-

“(Y/N?).” Claire whispers, gently touching your arm.

“Ya?”

“You ok?” Jason asks, sharing a look with his brother.

“I haven’t heard from Dean–”

“They’re fine.” Claire reassures, standing up from the table.

“It’s been three days… something’s wrong.” You sigh, looking out the window.

“This is why you shouldn’t fall in love. All you end up doing is worrying.” Claire glares.

“Little worry is good.” Jason smiles.

“You don’t worry about anyone?” Nick prods, earning an icy glare.

“I haven’t heard from Cas or Sam either.” Your frown deepens. 

“Wait, what?” Claire frowns. Dean tends to be hyper focused on hunting, but all three of them not keeping in touch? Definitely weird. She watches as you stare out the window, your expression flipping between worried and reprimanding yourself. “Maybe they don’t have cell service. Or they jumped in a lake with their phones again.” She shrugs. 

“I’m sure they’re fine.” Jason pats your shoulder. “Unfortunately we have to head out.”

“Family calls.” Nick agrees. You quickly exchange info, telling both of them if they need anything to call. You walk them to the door, watching as they drive off in Nick's 1967 Mustang.

“They seemed nice enough.” You shrug, taking a seat next to her on the bed.

“They were.” Claire nods. You wait for her to elaborate, watching as she studies her fingernails.

“So why call for backup?” Claire sighs, slamming her laptop closed and looking at you.

“Jody and Alex bond over helping people in normal ways.” She takes a deep breath in. “And I haven’t had that with anyone except you and Dean.”

“Sounds like you wanted some family-”

“I don’t need a family.” She states, the walls behind her eyes slowly building.

“Maybe not, but you have one.” You point out. “I don’t know what it’s like to be you Claire. But I do know you can’t keep everything inside.” You gently take her hand. “If Sam and Dean show you anything, it's that family can put you through hell, but they can also pull you out.”

Her phone buzzes loudly, you can’t see who’s calling but by the eye roll you have a good guess.

“Jody?”

“Ya. Although she already called in her weekly attempt to make me come back…” She mutters, moving her hand over the ignore button.

“Answer it.” You shout.

“Why? I already know what she-“

“Please.” You whisper. Her big doe eyes study you for a moment, and she answers.

“We’re on our way.” She tells Jody, grabbing her backpack and dragging you with her.

_______

24 hours later

“You ate a lizard?” You scrunch your nose in disgust.

“Not much else over there.” Dean chuckles against your neck.

“Claire should have stayed out here, your PDA would make her sick and she’d be back to herself in no time.” Alex playfully jabs as she grabs all her work stuff.

“Haha.” You give her a small wave as she leaves. When the door clicks shut Dean moves you into his lap, hands caressing your legs.

“Dean…” You half heartedly push his hands away. His finger ghosts over the big bandage on the side of your leg. You helped the girls save him and Sam, managing to limp away with only a gash in your leg. 

“Missed you sweetheart.” He mumbles, bringing his lips to yours.

“Missed you too.” You mumble back. He breaks the kiss, keeping his forehead against yours.

“Too close for both of us.” He states.

“Still thinking about you eating lizards.” you poke back.

“I mean it.” He takes a deep breath in, slowly letting his heart beat slow down. “To think about what could have happened.” He wraps his arms tightly around you, burying his face into your hair.

“I would rather not think about it.” You gently rub his back. “Spend too many hours doing that already.” You look out the screen door, watching as Donna, Sam and Jody laugh about something.

“Ugh, Alex was right. You two are gross.” Claire groans from the hall.

“Glad to see it puts your usual attitude back in place.” You chuckle, unraveling from Dean to look at her. She shrugs, plopping into the recliner. “You heading out?” you tentatively ask. Her eyes are puffy, hair scraped back into a ponytail.

“Think I might hang around here for a while… for Jody. And Alex.” She flashes a small smile.

“Good.” Dean nods.

“Embrace your people while they’re here.” You smile at her. 

“No good to keep everything inside.” She nods, picking at her nails. The screen door screeches as Sam walks in, taking a seat next to you and Dean.

”Well on a completely unrelated note, I am apparently more famous than you among hunters.” you poke Dean in the chest.

Dean whips his head back so fast he hits the wall behind the couch.

“Nice.” Sam chuckles.

“How?” Dean frowns. You just laugh, shaking your head and giving him a kiss.

“I mean… you are the prettiest Winchester.” Dean chuckles.

“Dean! You can’t say that when Sam is here!” You laugh.

“Ok, you guys are the worst.” Sam shakes his head and walks back outside.

Last Chapter Next Chapter

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[dimplecki]

Tides are turning - Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!hunter, Sam winchester X Fem!hunter 

Rating: R (violence, death, language, light smut)

Summary: When Sam died the first time, Dean brought him back to life. He didn't tell me about the deal he made with that demon until Sam forced him to tell me. We all knew that Dean only had one year left to live, and we all tried to prevent that from happening. The second time Sam was attacked by a demon close to Lilith and fought against it. he lost.

One year after Sam’s mysterious death weird things start happening and I realize things are not as they seem.

Authors Note: this story takes place post season 3(with the exceptional flashbacks to the past), Sam died midway through s3 and Dean never went to hell. we experience the story through the eyes a female hunter who went to Stanford with Sam and joined Sam and Dean in their revenge quest after jess’s death.  she is Deans girlfriend but there are things happening with Sam as well.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

[loverslantern]

The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: A dangerous spirit is bound to an old family portrait that brings misfortune and death to anyone who buys it.

Warnings: Cannon violence and gore. flirting if you can call it that

Word Count: 10,688

Provenance

(Master list, Previous Chapter, Outfit Board)

Music thrums through the dimly lit bar, mingling with the hum of conversation and clinking glasses, drawing a crowd that fills nearly every corner.

I managed to escape from Sam and his research onto the safety of the dance floor two songs ago. And while I wasn’t always privy to dancing, it’s hard to ignore a live band.

So, I let the bassline sink into my bones, guiding my steps as I start to move. My hips sway in time with the sultry beat, each sway slow and deliberate. My arms lift, hands tracing soft arcs above me as I lose myself in the music. Then, fingertips brush my waist, and if they didn’t feel so familiar, I’d pull away. But, I know these hands, I know each callous as I feel them through my dress. “‘You come to dance?” I ask, turning in his hold to face him. He wears that charming smile, eyes dropped to my hips that still move with the music. “No, uh…” his eyes move back to my face. A smile stretches itself onto my lips as I tilt my head to indicate I’m listening even if I’m dancing. “Uh,” he turns his head away, “Sam was tryin’ to wave us down, but you were, um….” his eyes meet mine, “distracted.”

“Little disappointed that wasn’t a ‘yes,’” I tease, although I know he isn’t the type to dance. I slide my hand over his where it rests on my waist, gently pulling it away and taking it in mine. “Too bad Sam needs us, huh?” I say, starting to walk backward and leading him with me. “Yeah,” he sighs, “Too bad.” Something mellows in his eyes then, something I can’t quite grasp before I turn around and guide him back to our table. 

The moment we reach Sam I collapse onto the little stool with a bright smile and a satisfied huff, taking my abandoned half-drunken soda into my hands. “Alright, I think we got something,” Sam announces, looking between us.

“Hit it!” I point at him.

“Oh yeah, me too,” Dean answers, glancing back at the bar to a girl I forgot he was talking to.

“Or not…” I mumble as he continues. “I think we need to take a little shore leave, just a little bit. What do you think, huh?” he asks, looking back at us, “I’m so in the door with this one.”

“So, what are we today, Dean?” Sam mocks. “I mean, are we rock stars, are we army rangers?”

I avert my eyes to the newspapers strewn about the table, pretending like I do not hear their conversation. “Reality TV scouts, looking for people with special skills,” Dean answers, and I can hear the grin on his face, “I mean, hey, it’s not that far off right?”

“You are being particularly icky with this one,” I comment, looking at him now as I bite on the thin black straw in my drink.

“She’s right,” Sam adds. 

“Yeah, well it’s working,” Dean counters, “By the way, she’s got a friend over there. Possibly hook you up. What do you think?”

“Dean, no thanks, I can get my own dates,” Sam answers.

“Yeah, you can but you don’t,” he argues. I hit his arm, throwing him a look. He shouldn’t be pushing his brother like this. He can’t possibly expect Sam to be ready to move on when his girlfriend died only a couple of months ago, let alone not feel guilty for moving on. “What is that supposed to mean?” Sam bites back. But, I give Dean a ‘don’t’ look, they don’t need another thing to fight over. “Nothing,” he answers, taking my warning, “What you got?”

“Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago. Throats were slit. There were no prints, no murder weapons, all…” Sam trails off, his findings coming to an abrupt end. “Dean!” he yells, gaining back the attention of his brother, “….No prints, no murder weapons, all doors and windows locked from the inside.”

“Could just be a garden variety murder you know, not our department,” Dean rationalizes, taking a sip of his beer.

“Says the guy who wasn’t paying attention,” I mumble.

“Hey!” he grumbles.

“What? It’s true!”

“Anyway,” Sam interjects, “Dad says differently.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, suddenly more interested. 

“Dad noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one here in 1912, second one right here in 1945, and the third in 1970, the same M.O. as the Telescas. Their throats were slit, doors were locked from the inside. Now so much time had passed between murders that nobody checked the pattern, except Dad. He kept his eyes peeled for another one.”

I have to give John credit, he seemed to have a hunch for these sorts of things and was persistent enough to keep up on it. It’s admirable at the very least. “Alright, I’m with ya,” Dean replies, “It’s worth checking out. We can’t pick this up til first thing though, right?”

I roll my eyes, though, of course, I'm not surprised. Not only does he not trust the legitimacy of a case until it has the John Winchester seal of approval rather than just trusting his brother, but of course, he’s immediately trying to go back to his potential hook-up. “Yeah,” Sam sighs. 

“Good,” Dean grins, immediately going back to the bar. I don’t know whether to be disgusted or jealous. “Anywho,” I start, “I’m gonna go back to the dance floor, wanna join me?”

“No, you go,” Sam insists.

“Okay, well if you change your mind you know where to find me. Or, if you just need anything,” I offer. 

Sam and I check out the Telesca's house while Dean reaps the consequences of a hangover. Either way, the house was a bust. There’s no sign of anything supernatural, in fact, there’s no sign of anything.

We approach the Impala and in it, a sleeping Dean occupies the passenger seat. He sleeps slouched with sunglasses on, I suppose to combat the sun for when he does decide to wake up and join us. Sam walks around the car sporting a mischievous smile as he leans into the open window and honks the horn. Dean jumps awake, his sunglasses slipping down his face. I scuff, laughing a little as I get into the backseat. To be fair, it is a little funny. And Sam, who finds it infinitely more funny than I do, laughs loudly as he takes the driver's seat. “Man, that is so not cool,” Dean grumbles, adjusting his sunglasses clumsily.

“We swept the Telescas with the EMF. It’s clean,” Sam informs, “And last night, while you were…well…out.”

“Good times,” Dean smirks, a satisfied look on his face. I cringe even though something sharp stabs my heart. 

“I checked the history of the house. Nothing strange about the Telescas,” Sam elaborates. 

“Alright, so if it’s not the people and it’s not the house, then maybe it’s the contents. Cursed object or something,” Dean deduces.

“Yeah, funny story,” I start, “There’s literally nothing in that house. 

“Yeah, you said that,” he counters. 

“No, like literally empty,” I clarify, “Like empty empty, like more than just crime scene cleaners.”

“No furniture, nothing,” Sam explains. 

“Which could mean it’s either in storage somewhere, given to family…” 

“…Or at an auction,” Sam adds, finishing my sentence. 

****

Beautiful classical music plays in the auction house, where nearly every surface is covered in trinkets or furniture. Nicely dressed people flutter around in their expensive suits and dresses, holding champagne flutes as they chat. 

To say we stick out is an understatement. We aren’t dressed nearly as nice as we should be for a place like this. I mean, they have violin players here. I feel incredibly awkward as we walk around, it’s like everyone’s staring…. They might actually be staring. Maybe we should’ve gotten more entail for a place like this before coming in because it is a horrible day to be wearing shorts. 

The class difference feels apparent not only just clothing but in manners. Their prideful eyes flip onto us, seeping in as if they can read us. They can sniff out our class the same way we can see theirs. And it’s no help that Dean keeps stopping for the finger food, shoving it into his mouth without care. “Consignment auctions, estate sales. Looks like a garage sale for Wasps if you ask me,” Dean comments.

“They’re usually nicer than this,” I respond, looking around, “I mean in terms of people and environment ...not that this environment isn’t nice but it’s…”

“Disturbing?” Dean answers, popping another piece of food in his mouth. 

“I was going to say pretentious but that works too,” I nod. Thrift stores and estate sales were usually nice experiences but a place like this is more about boasting through showing your wealth than enjoying your search for items to complete your home or yourself. In other words, it’s a great way to remind you of your class and just how much you don’t fit in. 

“Can I help you?” a voice suddenly asks. An older man with grey hair and blue eyes stares at us. Dean looks him up and down before shoving more food in his mouth, “I’d like some champagne, please,” he says putting on his best posh voice. 

“No, baby, he’s not a waiter,” I cut in, putting a hand on Dean’s upper arm. 

Sam holds out his hand, “I’m Sam Conners,” he greets. But, his introduction is not met with the same friendliness. The man just looks at him, not moving. Sam gives a sharp nod, retracting his hand, “That’s my brother Dean and my sister-in-law Y/N. “We’re art dealers, with Connors Limited.” 

“You are….” the man searches for the word as he looks at us with skepticism. “Art dealers.”

“That’s right,” Sam confirms. 

“I’m Daniel Blake,” he finally introduces himself, “This is my auction house. Now gentlemen and madam this is a private showing, and I don’t remember seeing you on the guest list.”

“We’re there chuckles, you just need to take another look,” Dean answers, unamused, as he grabs a drink off a passing waiter. “Finally,” he mumbles, bringing it up to his lips.

“What I think my husband means to say,” I intervene quickly, the word sounding strange on my tongue. It’s a title seeped in irony—one I long for even though he spent last night with someone else. And yet, here I am, calling him my husband, craving a title that’s only pretend. “Names are such funny things. They just….slip on by. If you should like, I have no problem looking at the guest list with you so we can get this all cleared up.”

He raises his chin high, seeming to consider my offer. “Very well,” he answers, “Come along.” He turns around, stiff in his movements. I move away from Dean, my hand slipping off his arm as I throw back a wide-eyed glance. I follow after the man, moving further and further away from the boys. He goes to a security guy and asks him to go fetch the book because apparently, he can’t do it himself. “I don’t mean to come off as intruding but I didn’t see a ring on your finger,” he says.

He didn’t believe Sam’s lie. He’s testing me to determine our legitimacy. I put on my best smile, “You must have glossed over it,” I reason. I hold up my left hand, displaying a matching wedding band and an engagement ring. Both are aged silver bands, the engagement ring having a simple diamond at its center. It’s all I could come up with on short notice—quite literally in the seconds it took me to answer and raise my hand. “Charming,” he comments, lacking conviction. I put my hand back down, keeping the rings there even as my smile falters.

Finally, the rather thick book reaches the hands of Mr. Blake who simply wastes no time in cracking it open. He flips through the pages until he finds the names under ‘C,’ his finger skimming down the page. His face drops. He clears his throat. “Yes, there you are,” he declares, placing the book in a way I can see. His pointer finger is just below our names, newly placed by yours truly. “I apologize for the disruption,” he says, closing the book with a thump. 

“Oh, that’s okay. With all those names it’s easy to miss,” I reply. I almost feel bad for deceiving him, he must feel crazy. But, we do need to figure out what killed the Telesca's and everyone before them so it is necessary. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go back to my boys,” I say with a nod, wanting nothing more to get away from this man….no offense to him. 

I feel his eyes burning into the back of my skull as I walk back to the Winchesters like he still suspects us and is just waiting for a slip. So, without a second thought, I move closer to Dean, slipping my hand beneath his blue jacket and resting it on his back. He doesn’t question it; his eyes flicker to mine, but he just pulls me closer, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. The warmth of him sends butterflies crashing into my stomach, and my pulse quickens until I can barely focus on anything but the solid warmth of his touch. My heart pounds so wildly that I have to force my gaze forward.

That’s when I notice the dark-haired woman standing in front of them. Her hair is pulled back with two curled strands framing either side of her face, highlighting her sharp, thin eyebrows and kind grey eyes that are fixed intently on Sam. She wears a black dress with a bit of a plunging neckline, accented by a sparkling brooch at its center. “But, Dad’s right about one thing, sensationalism brings out the crowds,” she says, adding to whatever conversation was at hand, “Even the rich ones.” 

“Is it possible to see the provenances?” Sam asks.

“I’m afraid there isn’t any chance of that,” Mr. Blake says, his voice suddenly appearing from behind us. What could he have possibly found? “Why not?” Sam asks.

“I fear we have guests complaining about your….” he looks us up and down. “Appearance. We do have a very strict dress code.” A sigh escapes my lips, no way this constitutes us being kicked out. So much for creating a whole illusion.

“Well, we don’t have to be told twice,” Dean responds putting on his horrible posh voice again. He’s probably done with this scene.

“Apparently you do,” Mr.Blake retorts cooly.

“Okay. It’s alright,” Sam intervenes. “We don’t want any trouble. We’ll go.” 

The day’s light filters in through the entryway as we step out. It’s hard to tell if guests were complaining about us or if he truly just wanted us to go. Either way, he got us to leave. We pause just a few steps away from the doorway, Sam already moving far ahead of us. 

The sun catches Dean’s eyes as he turns to look at me, a smirk playing on his lips, “I guess I’m your husband now,” he says, his voice low. My heart stutters behind my ribcage and it takes all my willpower to keep my eyes on his and not let them dip to his mouth. “That you are,” I answer, an easy smile on my face.

“Maybe I should get you a ring,” he teases.

“Apparently, you have,” I hold up my left hand for him, the rings still there. He reaches for my hand, thumb brushing over the bands, his eyes lingering on the diamond. The gentle pressure sends a rush of warmth through me, and my stomach does about ten flips consecutively. He looks at me through his lashes, that smirk only deepening, “You bad girl.”

I gasp, taking my hand from his to hit his chest. “I didn’t steal them!” I insist, but he just catches my hand again, bringing his thumb back to the rings. 

“Have to admit,” he murmurs, eyes sparkling as he meets mine, “I have good taste. Could’ve added a few more diamonds, though.” He says it so casually, with such cockiness, and it just fuels a quiet, barren dream that I now want more than anything. “Well,” I reply, feigning nonchalance. “You can keep that in mind for the next time we get married.”

I slip from his hold with a teasing smile, and he lets me go. I let the rings disappear from my finger, leaving the same way they came. At least I have control over them leaving. It hurts to give myself hope, and I don’t know why I do it. I fix my faltering smile before I spin around, walking backward as I speak to him. He hasn't moved from where we stood, something written on his face. “I really didn’t steal them. They aren’t real.” 

****

“Were you really flirting with that girl?” I ask Sam, a proud smile on my face. He rolls his eyes, no doubt knowing where I got my information from. “I wasn’t flirting. We were just talking art,” he defends.

I laugh, “I think that might count as flirting. At least in your book.” I don’t mean to tease him too harshly over this, after all, I’m proud of him. Maybe that sounds weird but just like Dean I want him to be happy, and it’s good if he’s trying to move on after Jessica. “Grant Wood, Grandma Moses?” Dean mocks, “Where’d that come from?” he asks as we approach their room, bags in hand. I’ll go to my room later, as for now, it’s easier to stick with them.

“Art history course,” he answers simply, “It’s good for meeting girls.”

I laugh again, nudging his arm with my own, “Look at you go.”

He scuffs despite the smile on his face. Dean puts the key in the lock, turning it as he says, “It’s like I don’t even know you.”

He pushes the door open to reveal a complete disco-themed room. The walk-in is lined with black and white diamond wallpaper, and a metal divider made of circles separates the walk-in from the sitting area. Very ‘70s. Meanwhile, the sitting area has granite-like floors and completely black walls that contrast with the two white seats that face a long dresser-like table where speakers and lamps rest, and right above it an abstract painting sits. More of the same dividers separate the sitting area from the back where the two queen beds reside, the diamond wallpaper makes its reappearance there as well as the red carpet. 

“Huh,” the boys hum at the same time.

“‘Huh’ might be an understatement,” I mumble, following after them into the themed room. I feel like we should be in Vegas with a room like this, that feels more appropriate. But, at least it’s fun…? They move deeper into their room, dumping their bags on their respective beds while I leave mine by the door. “What was…providence?” Dean asks.

“Prov-e-nance,” Sam corrects, “It’s a certificate of origin, like a biography. You know we can use them to check the history of the pieces, see if any of them have a freaky past.”

“See, your art history class isn’t just helpful with getting girls,” I say, taking a seat on one of the white seats. Apparently, they found a painting that belonged to the Telesca's. The painting was a family portrait with two young boys in suits on the left and a young girl in a frilly dress holding a doll with matching clothes on the right. And, at the center a woman, likely the mother, sits wearing a dress with similar frills and ribbons as her daughter, a balding man with a serious face standing behind her.

“Speaking of girls…” Dean snaps his fingers at his brother, smirking.

“Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin,” Sam responds, smirking right back.

“Not me,” Dean laughs.

Sam’s face drops, “No no no, pick-ups are your thing, Dean.”

“It wasn’t my ass she was checking out,” Dean remarks, giving him a look.

“Sam, she couldn’t take her eyes off of you,” I add, “And I wasn’t even there for half the conversation.”

“In other words, you want me to use her to get information,” he responds.

“Sometimes you gotta take one for the team,” Dean reasons. “Call her.”  I’m tempted to correct him and put it in kinder words. But, I stop myself as I realize that if we frame it as a proper date, he might back down. He might not feel ready to move on or feel too guilty about it and, frankly, no one could blame him.

****

A Re-run of Scooby-Doo plays on the large TV in front of us, the take-out we ate a while ago sitting in the trash can now as we lounge on his bed. Our backs lean on the cushioned headboards, the crisp motel blanket covering both of us as we sit side by side, close enough for our thighs to touch. He chuckles at some silly joke Scooby made, the sweet sound warming my heart.

I’m glad we decided to hang around if only to see him this content. I like the familiarity of this—of him. I wish we could have endless moments like this. If only we could live in a gap between time where all is well. I’d like that. I think he’d like that too. Time seems to melt together here where responsibility is put on hold to just…breathe. I hope Sam is having a good time on his date, that’d just make this whole day as perfect as it can get.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts as a plastic spoon comes crashing into my personal space, landing right in my (flavor) ice cream. “Hey!” I exclaim, laughter immediately bubbling from my lips, “You have your own ice cream.” He gathers a big spoonful and I don’t stop him or pull the container away. “So?” he shrugs, putting it into his mouth as he puts his arm around my shoulder, bringing me closer to his side. With a hand on his chest, I pull away enough to look up at him, “You’re ridiculous,” I say though my voice lacks conviction. His eyes meet mine, his head tilted down slightly, “Yeahhh,” he smirks, “But you love me.” He says it confidently as if he knows it's true even though he means it in a teasing way.

Then his eyes dip down and I can’t quite find the right words because the right words are “I do” and I can’t afford the truth. Not now….maybe not ever. This hunting trip has been a blessing and a curse. I get to spend more time with him than we probably ever had, and yet to be this close hurts. It’s as if he’s the sun and to even get in his gravity field would burn me right up. Though, maybe being like Icarus would be worth it. “You’re lucky I do,” I tease.

The click of the door tears my eyes away from him. “Sam!” I say excitedly as he comes into the motel room. “How was your date?” I ask.

“It was…” he searches for the words as he removes his blazer, “Good. I got the provenances.”

“Great!” I leap from the bed, leaving the rest of my ice cream on the nightstand, “I want to hear every single detail,” I take a couple of the manilla folders from him. 

“There’s really not any details to share,” he answers with a tight-lipped smile.

I give him a pointed look, “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“That’s not gonna work on me,” I say, taking a seat on one of the chairs in the living room area. 

“Fine,” he gives in, throwing his blazer over the back of the other chair before taking a seat, “The restaurant was fancy.” I practically hang onto each word, waiting for more to come. “And?” I ask, beaming.

“And the food was good.”

I groan, laying my head against the chair, “Dude, these are hardly details!” I twist in the seat to look back at his brother, “Dean, help me out here.” He looks up from the ice cream container in his hand, “This is all you, sweetheart,” he answers, shoving more ice cream in his mouth. Wait. My ice cream in his mouth. I roll my eyes, turning back around, “You guys are being such guys right now.”

A sheepish smile rests on Sam’s face, his eyes already on an open file. “Fine!” I give up, throwing my hands up, “Keep your date a secret!” I shake my head as I pick up a file of my own. 

I get to reading as the room falls into silence that’s only broken up by the sound of turning pages. “So, she just handed the providences over to you,” Dean starts.

“Provenances,” his brother corrects.

“Provenances,” Dean repeats with a bitter tone. 

“Yes. We went back to her place, I got a copy of the papers…”

“And?” Dean asks, using the very word I had used. I look up from my papers, expecting to hear more information than he was willing to give me. “And nothing. That’s it. I left,” Sam answers.

“You didn’t have to con her or do any…special favors—” 

“Eww,” I laugh, “Why’d you have to say it like that?” 

“Dean, would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?” 

“Hey, her head is in the gutter too,” he says and I can practically feel him pointing at me. I turn in my seat again, “I didn’t say anything!” I defend.

“You sure were thinking it though,” he remarks, a slight smirk threatening the corner of his mouth.

“And you know that how?” I counter giving him a pointed look. But, Sam cuts him off before he can get a word in, “Could you both stop, please?”

“Yeah, sorry,” I mumble, returning to my reading. 

“You know when this whole things done, we could stick around for a little bit,” Dean offers, not exactly backing down like his brother wanted.

“Why?” Sam asks.

“So you could take her out again,” he answers. “It’s obvious you’re into her, even I could see that.” It’s quite a conflicting situation. On the one hand, maybe we shouldn’t push or encourage him to go on dates when he’s clearly still grieving his girlfriend. In truth, it feels wrong and inconsiderate but on the other hand, maybe encouraging him could help with the moving on and accepting process. Or, perhaps this isn’t our place at all and we should shut up. “Hey, Sam, you said the first murder was in 1912, right?” I ask, deciding to move on from the conversation of dating. “Yeah, why?” he responds.

“I have a family portrait here from 1910 with the first sale in 1912 to Peter Simms,” I explain, lifting the paper for him to see. Then, there's a familiar presence behind me, a hand resting on the back of my chair. “Peter Simms murdered in 1912,” Dean reads, holding his Dad's journal in his free hand. 

“There’s another sale in ‘45 and then in ‘70. Does that match?” I ask, looking up at him.

“Yeah,” he nods, confirming this was what we were looking for.

“Then it was stored until it was donated to a charity auction last month. Where the Telescas bought it,” Sam fills in the rest of the information. “So, what do you think, it’s haunted? Or cursed?”

Dean shifts behind me, the journal coming to a soft close, “Either way, it’s toast.”

Pitch darkness cloaks us as we break in, from climbing the ridiculously tall metal gate to the careful way Sam disarms the security alarm before Dean works at the lock with careful, gloved hands. Our flashlights guide our way into the quiet auction house. It’s so different now without all the people, more enjoyable even. 

The painting is located quickly and cut from its frame with a switchblade. And as quickly as we came we left, doing almost everything in reverse. “Four minutes,” I announce, “‘Think that’s a new record.”

****

The cut-out painting lies in the dirt of a random side road. Something that took a lot of work and talent to do left to burn in the middle of nowhere. “Ugly ass thing. If you ask me we’re doing the art world a favor,” Dean remarks, dropping the lit match onto the art piece. 

This had to be some sort of crime.

I swing my legs off the bed, shoving my laptop onto the duvet as I get up to answer the knocking at my door. Before opening it, I tug my shirt to sit properly off my shoulder.

“Hey, we have a—” he stops short, those green eyes dropping to my bare legs. The oversized shirt I’m wearing only reaches mid-thigh. A smirk tugs at his perfect lips, and whatever he is going to say goes out the window. His gaze drags up my frame slowly, my insides going all warm and my stomach flipping in a way I wish it wouldn’t. “What were you up to?” he asks, the smirk still easy and lazy on his face. A huffed laugh escapes me, and I hope he doesn’t notice the blush creeping onto my cheeks. “What happened with ‘we have a…’?” I answer instead.

“What?” His eyes snap back to mine from wherever they were looking.

I laugh again. “Dean,” I say firmly, trying to keep the conversation on track. “What were you going to tell me?”

He shrugs, something he doesn’t do often, his smirk turning into a goofier smile. “I have no idea.”

I give him a pointed look, he’s messing with me now. “Come on, Winchester, focus.” 

His eyes dip down again, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek as his gaze crawls back up. “Oh, I’m plenty focused.”

“You were saying something about ‘we have a…’” I try again, hoping to jog his memory.

“Problem,” he finishes, shuffling a little bit as he adjusts how he’s standing. “Right. A problem.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he just stares at me. “What's the problem?” I ask, leading this conversation.

“‘Can’t find my wallet,” he answers, nodding awkwardly. I try not to let the surprise show on my face. All this because he couldn’t find his wallet? “Do you need help finding it…?” I offer.

“Yeah,” he nods, then pauses. “Wait. No. I think I dropped it at the warehouse.”

“What!?” I exclaim. “Why didn’t you say that sooner!?” Immediately I spin right back into my room. “Let me get dressed real quick,” I add over my shoulder.

He steps into the room, letting the door shut behind him as I rummage through my duffle. “Wait.” I pause, turning to face him. His eyes dart up to meet mine, eyebrows raised as if he got caught doing something he shouldn’t have. I brush his antics off as I ask, “Do you want me to just,” I raise my hands, wiggling my fingers, “magick it here.” 

A small look of surprise hits his face as if he hadn’t thought of it. “Right. So–”

****

“You could have encouraged him instead of fake losing your wallet, you know right?” I ask, looking up at him as his brother and Sarah converse across the room. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” he remarks. 

“I don’t think making us think you could get caught for last night because you dropped your wallet is very fun,” I point out, crossing my arms across my chest. His wallet was in his pocket the whole time, which of course he knew about. What he really wanted was an excuse to get Sam and Sarah together again after their date. I don’t necessarily disagree with what he intended to do but it also isn’t exactly fun to be in the warehouse again. It’s like no matter what we still can't fit in.

But, he doesn’t need to say it. We both know Sam wouldn’t have come here otherwise. 

****

“I don’t understand, we burned the damn thing,” Sam says, frustrated. 

“Yeah, thank you Captain Obvious,” Dean grumbles. 

“And we can for sure rule out it’s not a duplicate….somehow…right?” I ask even though I’m not convinced of what I’m saying either. But a girl can dream. Sam turns in the passenger seat, delivering me the nastiest pointed look to ever be received. “Okay. Okay. I get it,” I say, raising my hands in defense. “I was trying to be…hopeful.” 

Dean nudges his brother's arm, getting him to lay off of me. “Alright, we just need to figure out another way to get rid of it. Any ideas?”

“Okay, alright. We, um, in almost all the lore about haunted paintings it’s always the painting’s subject that haunts ‘em,” Sam informs.

“Yeah. So we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family and that creepy-ass painting,” Dean adds.

“Who do you think would know about them?” I ask.

****

The smell of old books fills my senses as we step into the second-hand bookstore, the little bell above the door chiming softly. It’s quiet and warm in the store with books stacked in piles littering the floor, making walking almost hard. Others are neatly arranged on tightly packed shelves in an attempt to fit more. If we weren’t here on business, I’d spend so much money here. I have to force my eyes away from the alluring spines of the novels, a gentle hand on my lower back encourages me to focus. I don’t need to turn my head to know the hand belongs to Dean.

“You said the Isaiah Merchant family, right?” the old man behind the counter asks.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Sam answers. The man lays out a huge book, dust sprinkling from it as he opens it to reveal the many news clippings inside. He’s well organized, I have to give him that. But, my focus is broken by the flicking of pages beside me. I look at Dean, his free hand holding open some old magazine about guns. Naturally, the guy encouraging me to focus is unfocused himself. But, he looks so happy as he flicks through the pages it’s hard to be upset. “Want me to buy that for you?” I ask softly, the words slipping from my lips before I have time to think. I kind of want to hit myself for that one.

But then he turns that smile on me and suddenly I do not want to hit myself. “I’m a big boy,” he says, his gaze dipping lower. “I can buy my own stuff.” His eyes slowly trail back up to meet mine, but his hand doesn’t stay still. It dips slightly, taking my stomach with it. His middle finger hooks lightly through a belt loop on my jean skirt, the rest of his fingers splayed on my very lower back. “You rarely buy things for yourself,” I point out. He only buys himself the necessities.

“I dug up every scrap of local history I could find,” the owner announces, pulling my attention forward. “So are you crime buffs?”

“Mhm,” I hum. “Yeah.”

“Why do you ask?” Dean asks, and I can feel the heat of his gaze pulling away from me.

“Well…” He holds up a newspaper article. The lead story, taking up most of the front page, is about the Titanic. But, a little further down to where he points is a side article titled: ‘Father Slaughters Family, Kills Himself.’

“Murder-suicide,” I mumble to myself. It’s certainly not the first.

“Yes. Yeah, that sounds about right,” Dean says, stumbling on his words.

“The whole family was killed?” Sam asks.

“It seems this Isaiah, he slits his kids’ throats, then his wife, then himself. Now he was a barber by trade. Used a straight razor,” he explains, his voice gravelly with age.

“Does it say why he might’ve done it?” I ask.

“Let’s look,” he answers, turning the newspaper around so that he can read it. “‘People who knew him describe Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament. Controlled his family with an iron fist.’”

It’s certainly not surprising news considering it was the early 1900’s. “Wife, uh, two sons, adopted daughter…” he continues. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he mumbles as he skims the page. “‘There were whispers that the wife was gonna take the kids and leave.’ Which of course you know in that day and age, um….” he clears his throat. “So, instead, old man Isaiah…well he gave them all a shave.” He draws his hand across his throat, mimicking the motion of slitting one's throat as he laughs. 

“That’s, uh, certainly one way to put it,” I respond, my words harsh. It was hardly a laughing matter. An entire family was killed because some guy let his anger and ego get in the way when all his wife wanted was to get the kids and escape his wrath. His laugh dies down pretty quickly once he realizes no one is joining in. “Does it say what happened to the bodies?” Dean asks.

“Just that they were all cremated,” he answers.

“Anything else?” Sam asks.

“Yeah. Actually, I found a picture of the family.” He shuffles through the papers in the book, “It’s right here….somewhere. Right—here it is.” He holds up the paper for us to see. It’s the family portrait from the painting. 

“Hey, could we get a copy of this please?” Sam asks.

****

“I’m telling you, man, I’m sure of it. In the painting at the auction house, Dad is looking down. Painting here, Dad’s looking out. The painting has changed,” Sam argues for the fifth time since we’ve been sitting at the table.

“Alright,” Dean finally gives in. “So, you think that Daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and is handing out Columbian neckties like he did with his family?”

“Well yeah, it seems like it. But if his bones are already dusted then how are we gonna stop him?”

“Maybe not everything was burned,” I suggest. 

“Kind of hard to miss something when you’re cremated,” Sam counters.

“Well yeah but that doesn’t mean a keepsake doesn’t still exist,” I point out. “Or, not even a keepsake but maybe anything that’s on his person in the painting that’s still around now. If it’s personal enough.”

“Maybe,” Sam nods, seeing my point. “And if we figure out what and burn it then no more killing.”

“Yeah,” I nod with him, “We just have to figure out what…somehow.”

“And where,” he adds. 

“Well, if Isaiah’s position changed then maybe some other things in the painting changed as well,” Dean suggests. “You know it could give us some clues.”

“What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?” Sam asks. 

Dean's face goes blank, “I don’t….know..uh…I’m still waiting for the movie on that one. Anyway, we gotta get back in and see that painting.” He rises from his seat and moves across the room to his bed, he throws himself onto his back and crosses his arms across his chest. I have to stop myself from ogling him with the way the grey shirt looks on him, especially with those forearms on display…

“Which is a good thing cause you get some more time to crush on your girlfriend,” he teases.

“Dude. Enough already,” Sam says firmly.

“What?” He answers in defense.

‘“What? Ever since we got here, you’ve been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, alright?”

“Well, you like her don’t you?” He reasons. Sam groans and rolls his eyes. “Alright, you like her, she likes you, you’re both consulting adults,” Dean adds.

“What’s the point, Dean?” Sam responds, his voice rising as his frustration rises too. “We’ll just leave. We always leave.” It’s quite a reminder. The life of a hunter isn’t a kind one for many reasons, one of them being how lonely it can get. It’s knowing a normal life can’t ever truly exist because once this is embedded into you it stays. And he had tried to get away from the hunting life and it had worked for as long as it did with his girlfriend whom he was happy with until, once more, the hunting life caught up to him and he had to lose it all unfairly. 

“Well, I’m not talking about marriage, Sam,” he defends.

“You know, I don’t get it. What do you care if I hook up?” he asks, getting more agitated. 

“Cause then maybe you wouldn’t be so cranky all the time,” he answers calmly. Sam stares at him, then huffs out a breath and looks away. Dean sits up from the bed as he continues, “You know, seriously Sam, this isn’t about just hooking up, okay? I mean, I–I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you.” But, once more he doesn’t get an answer other than a sigh.

“And…” he continues softly. “I don’t mean any disrespect but I’m sure this is about Jessica, right? Now I don’t know what it’s like to lose somebody like that…but…I would think that she would want you to be happy.”

Tears fill the younger Winchester’s eyes. But, Dean continues anyway. “God forbid have fun once in a while. Wouldn’t she?” “Yeah, I know she would,” he answers softly, a half smile managing on his lips. “Yeah, you’re right. Part of this is about Jessica. But not the main part.”

“What’s it about?” Dean asks. This time Sam doesn’t answer. And, luckily, I don’t have to give Dean a look to tell him not to push it because he lies back down. “Yeah, alright,” he says crossing his arms across his chest. “Well, we still gotta see that painting, which means you still gotta call Sarah so…” 

A little surprisingly Sam picks up his phone, clearing his throat as he does so. “Sarah, hey, it’s Sam,” he says awkwardly. “Hey, hi….Good, Good, yeah, umm. What about you?”

I have to try not to cringe at how awkward this is. It’s uncomfortable.

“Yeah good, good, really good,” he repeats himself.

“Smooth,” Dean mumbles.

“So, uh, so listen. Me and my br—we were, uh, thinking that maybe we’d like to come back in and look at the painting again. I–I think maybe we are interested in buying it.” There's a pause before his eyes widen and he exclaims, “What?!” He stands up and paces, “Who’d you sell it to?”

Oh frick.

“Sarah, I need an address right now.”

****

The Impala roars up the drive, Sam and I not waiting for it to come to a full stop before jumping out. Sarah runs down from the driveway, her eyes wide in panic, “Sam what’s happening?” I hear her ask as I move past them and up the porch.

“I told you, you shouldn’t have come,” Sam says from behind me. I knock as loudly as I can against the door, “Hello?” I call loudly. Dean appears at my side, banging on the door and shouting, “Anyone home?” From what I can see the lights look off.

“You said Evelyn might be in danger, what sort of danger?” Sarah asks. But, unfortunately, she has to be ignored for now as we try and get in. Sam goes to the windows and starts banging on them as best as he can with the metal gates in the way. “I can’t knock this sucker down. I gotta pick it,” Dean announces.

“No time,” I intervene, shaking my head. If Sarah wasn’t there I’d blast it open but she doesn’t deserve to be brought into this life any more than she’s being exposed to it. So, instead, I cover my hand with my sleeve and put it on the doorknob. I apply a little magick, a stream of purple mist going into the locks. I turn the knob and push the door open, revealing the darkness that cloaks the house. “What are you guys, burglars?” Sarah remarks. I don’t wait for their conversation to pan out as I nod towards inside, quietly asking Dean if he’s going to follow. Unsurprisingly, he follows after me as I step into the house before he quickly takes the lead. 

“Evelyn,” I call as we venture in deeper. I can hear the insistent steps that follow behind us, one set familiar the other not. 

A soft glow of light stretches into the hallway just enough to lead our way. We turn into what looks to be a lounge. A blonde lady sits half-turned on the sofa. I take in the room swiftly from the burning candles to the painting that sits above the mantle. The father in the painting isn’t looking straight or down, instead, he looks at the daughter. “Evelyn?” Sarah says softly, appearing beside us. But, based on the lack of reaction or even recognition it’s likely that we’re too late. “It’s Sarah Blake…” She carefully walks into the room and closer to the woman. “Are you alright?” She slowly reaches a hand out to Evelyn’s shoulder.

“Wait! That’s not a—

“Sarah don’t. Sarah!”

Our warnings don't stop her. Evelyn’s head tips back, exposing the long cut on her throat. Sarah screams, the noise seeming to reverberate. Her head is barely attached to her neck, blood spewing from the cut rapidly.  “Oh my God. Oh My God!” 

Sam quickly intervenes, putting an arm around her as he leads her out of the room.

We’re forced to watch Sam pace back and forth even though we’re supposed to be researching. He’s been doing it all morning. He’s very distracting. 

He finally stops with a knock on the door. The person behind it is the reason he was pacing in the first place. He opens the door and in storms Sarah. ”Hey. ‘You alright?” Sam asks.

“No, actually, I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn’s, alone, and found her like that,” she spews.  Her hands are balled in fists at her side, a fire of determination burning in her eyes. And even though she’s angry, Sam’s face relaxes. “Thank you,” he says sincerely.

“Don’t thank me, I’m about to call them right back if you don’t tell me what the hell’s going on,” she demands. “Who’s killing these people?” 

Sam looks at us for help, and the question is clear in his eyes. I shrug, I don’t feel comfortable enough to give a solid ‘yes’ but she won’t take no for an answer. She deserves an answer. He looks back at Sarah, “What,” he corrects.

“What?”

“It’s not ‘who.’ It’s ‘what’ is killing those people,” he elaborates. Expectantly, she looks at him like he’s crazy. He sighs, “Sarah, you saw that painting move.”

“No,” she says firmly. “No…I was…I was seeing things. It’s impossible.”

“Yeah well, welcome to our world,” Dean and I say in unison. I look at him a little shocked, “Jinx.”

“Sarah, I know this sounds crazy,” Sam continues. “But we think that painting is haunted.”

She bursts into laughter, tears filling her eyes. “You’re joking.” But, of course, we aren’t. She looks between Sam and Dean and I. “You’re not joking.”

“God, the guys I go out with,” she mumbles. And for Sam’s sake, I hold back my laughter.

“Sarah, think about it. Evelyn, the Telescas, they both had the painting. And there have been others before that,” Sam explains. “Wherever this thing goes people die. And we’re just trying to stop it. And that’s the truth.”

She takes a deep breath, “Then I guess you’d better show me. I’m coming with you.”

“What? No. Sarah no, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous and…and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Look, you guys are probably crazy,” she says bluntly. “But, if you’re right about this? Well, my Dad and I sold that painting that might’ve gotten these people killed. Look I’m not saying I’m not scared because I am scared as hell but…I’m not going to run and hide either.” She strides over to the door before pausing and turning back, “So are we going or what?” Then, she walks out. 

She’s cool. “Sam?” Dean says. Once he has his attention he points to the door after Sarah, “Marry that girl.”

****

“Uhh…isn’t this a crime scene?” Sarah asks as I open the door again. We didn’t have to rush inside this time but it’s easier than waiting for a lock to be picked. I probably should’ve done it when we broke into the warehouse….

“It is,” I answer as we walk in. “If it makes you feel better your prints are already inside…and on the victim and because you found her they’ve already been cataloged or considered. So a couple more won’t make a difference seeing as they likely don’t suspect you. I mean, they let you go after getting your statement so that’s good.”

She looks at me a little strangely, a tight-lipped smile on her lips. I’m probably not helping the crazy allegations. “I used to do the whole crime investigation thing….sort of,” I try to explain. The writing job I had was a weird one because I wasn’t really doing any crime investigation, I’m not certified like that. But I did need and use skills that investigators might have. It was kind of an excuse to be a nerd and write. Also, it paid well. She nods. I don’t think I’ve been convincing…maybe I should stop speaking. “You’ve already lied to the cops. What’s another infraction?” Dean remarks as Sam lifts the painting down from the wall. 

“Aren’t you worried that it’s…gonna kill us?” Sarah asks.

“Nah, it seems to do its thing at night,” Sam answers. “I think we’re alright in the daylight.”

Dean takes the photocopy of the original painting out of his pocket and holds it up in comparison. “Check it out. The razor, it’s closed in this one but it’s open in that one,” he points out.

“What are you guys looking for?” she butts in.

“Well, if the spirit’s changing aspects of the painting then it’s doing so for a reason,” Dean explains.

“What’s that thing in the painting,” I ask, squinting and pointing behind the family. “I mean the painting that’s in the painting.”

“Looks like a mausoleum,” Sam answers with a tilted head. Dean looks around before grabbing a glass ashtray from an end table. He holds it up to the mausoleum. “Merchant,” he confirms.

****

Carefully I step around the gravestones, no need to upset any more dead people. “This is the third boneyard we’ve checked,” Dean complains. “I think this ghost is jerking us around.”

“At least we’re looking for a whole building rather than a lonely gravestone,” I point out. This way we can beeline to the building area instead of searching each line of graves. “So this is what you guys do for a living?” Sarah asks.

“Not exactly. We don’t get paid,” Sam answers.

“Well, Mazel tov,” she remarks. 

After venturing deeper into the graveyard we found the mausoleum, the ‘Merchant’ name carved right into it. Dean breaks the lock, revealing the mass of cobwebs and dust. Various nameplates fill one wall while the other side holds the urns all lined up with glass-fronted boxes built into the walls. But the number of urns is weird.

“Okay, that right there,” she points at a doll in one of the boxes. “Is the creepiest thing I've ever seen.” 

“I think it’s cute,” I shrug. The doll isn’t creepy, it’s quite normal with its brown hair and white dress. There isn’t an eye missing or a smudge on it. “Well, it was a sort of tradition at the time,” Sam explains. “Whenever a child died sometimes they’d preserve the kid’s favorite toy in a glass case, put it next to the headstone or crypt.”

“Notice anything strange here,” Dean asks.

“Yeah, there’s only four urns,” I answer. “And unless I suck at counting there should be five.”

“Daddy dearest isn’t here,” he confirms.

“So where is he?” Sam asks.

****

An office building, a lot of lying, paydirt, and possibly interrupting an almost kiss between Sam and Sarah later leads us to another graveyard, a grave, and some shovels. According to what Dean and I had found, the surviving relatives of the Merchant family were ashamed of Isaiah enough to not want him to be kept with the rest of the family. So, he was given over to the county who gave him a simple burial. Not a cremation. Therefore, a body to burn. Which again, leads to the shovel in my hand. Bad day to wear a white shirt because now I have to keep my zip-up on and digging up a grave is already a workout. Yay, sweat.

Sam lifts himself out of the grave to stand with Sarah and her flashlight. Even with 2-3 people digging it’s a lot of work. I don’t even want to know how long we’ve been at this for. “You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this,” she comments. 

“Well, uh, this isn’t exactly the first grave we’ve dug,” Sam responds. “Still think I’m a catch?”

She laughs and God they need to kiss already. 

Finally, Dean’s shovel hits something hard. “Think I’ve got something,” he announces.

“Oh thank God,” I sigh, leaning on the handle of my shovel as I wipe some sweat from my forehead. “This so sucked.”

“Now you can stop worrying about your pretty little shirt gettin’ all dirty,” Dean remarks. I roll my eyes, of course, he picked up on that. “I’m gonna hit you with my shovel,” I threaten, my smile ruining the seriousness of my words. 

“Are they always like this?”

“Yup.”

“I’d like to see you try,” he counters as he looks me up and down.

“And I’ll hit both of you,” Sam threatens, peering into the grave. 

“Okay Obi-Wan Kenobi,” I mumble as I help Dean clear up more of the dirt to open it. 

“Nerd,” Dean remarks.

“Dude! You saw the movie too!” I defend.

“Shut up,” he grumbles. “Move back so I can open this.”

****

Lighter fluid and salt in place, Dean strikes his match. “You’ve been a real pain in the ass Isaiah. Good riddance.” He tosses the match in, everything going up in flames.

****

The Impala pulls in front of Evelyn’s house, hopefully, for the last time. “Keep the motor running,” Sam directs, opening the car door.

“I thought the painting was harmless now,” Sarah says beside me.

“Better safe than sorry. We’re gonna bury the sucker,” Sam explains.

Sarah gets out of the car, declaring, “I’m going with you.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” she answers, something shining in her eyes. Okay, now they really need to kiss. Sam tries to get out of the car again before Dean stops him, “We’ll stay here, you go make your move.” 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes as he gets out of the car. “Sam. I’m serious!” But, he’s ignored as they round the car and move up the stairs. Dean turns on the radio, a silly love song playing. I have to shake my head with how obvious it is, the upbeat tune paired with lyrics like “I’m in love with a girl that I’m talking about…I’m in love with a girl I can’t live without…” Sam practically whips around to give his brother a dirty look. But, Dean being Dean shrugs, seeing no problem with his intervention. Sam motions for him to cut it off, his eyes wide. Surprisingly, Dean shuts it off but not without sighing. “I’m fairly sure they’ll kiss even without your ridiculous music,” I say as I watch them enter the house.

“It’s not ridiculous,” he counters. 

“I love a good love song but that was painfully obvious, Dean. Plus, can you really kiss to that one?”

“One way to find out.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna try that on your next hookup?” I ask. He shakes his head but I can’t see his face from where I sit in the backseat and with his head downturned I can’t use the rearview mirror either. But, I don’t have time to dwell on it and he has no time to vocalize an answer when our attention is taken away by the front door slamming. 

He’s out of the Impala and up half the stairs before I can open my door. “Sammy, you alright?” he calls out, shoving himself against the door. His phone rings a half second later and I don’t think I’ve seen him pick up his phone quicker. “Tell me you slammed the front door,” he says. And I try to connect the pieces of the conversation with only half of it. Something with a girl. “Wasn’t the Dad looking at her?” Dean asks. “Maybe he was trying to warn us.” Well, that answers what girl.

“Hey, sweetheart?” He suddenly directs at me. “Could you—” I nod before he can finish. I know what he wants. “Move back,” he tells them. I know this time simply unlocking it won’t work with a spirit being the one to keep it closed. I guess Sarah gets to see a door exploding anyway. “Wait! What do you mean no time?!” But my hand is already raised, a blast of energy going right through the door. Shards of wood explode inward. 

“Where’d they go?” I ask, the entryway clear of people and spirits. When he told them to move I thought they’d remain close by, not disappear. “Damn things on ‘em,” Dean answers, moving past me to go in headfirst. “Sammy!” he yells. But there’s no response. “What could be left behind?” I ask, following after him, “We saw her urn!”

“I don’t know,” he throws back. Something crashes and slides fast behind me. I spin around, a large wooden cupboard now blocking the remains of the front door. Closing us in. “Really?” I get it doesn’t want us to leave but I just broke the door. “Sammy!” Dean yells. Something else slams and this time Dean’s gone too. “Dean! Sam!” I call, moving further down the hall. How big is this house? My phone buzzes in my pocket. I fumble for it, flipping it open before I can catch more than the first letter of the name. “Where did you go? I looked away for two seconds and you were gone. Are you with Sam?”

“I’m a little stuck right now,” he answers, his voice sounding a little gruffer.

“Where are you?” I repeat, spinning around slowly for any sign of where he went.

“That doesn’t matter I–”

“It kind of does,” I cut him off.

“Listen,” he says firmly. “I need you to do something for me, sweetheart,” he groans.

“Dea—”

“Think you can do somethin’ for me?”

“Yeah, Dean jus—”

“You gotta get back to the mausoleum and burn the doll, it might have her real hair,” he directs. ”The keys are in Baby, g—”

“I can get there quicker than that,” I cut him off. “Just…be safe and find Sam.” I hang up before he can say anything more. I roll my shoulders back, I can do this. I’ve teleported before. Hell, I managed to teleport to a place I’d never seen before back with the asylum hunt. This may be further but I’ve been there once so that’s going to have to be close enough. Also, I have no time for this. I exhale, summoning my powers forward. I don’t have time to focus on what I want as I did at the asylum. So, I put all my hope into it working as simply as I can. I flick my wrist and envision the inside of the mausoleum. Then…I’m there.

Man, I’m getting good at this. 

I waste no time in sending a small blast of energy at the glass covering. It shatters in the box, covering the doll in glass. Carefully, I lift the doll out of the box and hold it in one hand as I hold my pointer finger up. A little flame ignites from the tip of my finger, not hurting me in the slightest. “Sorry doll,” I mumble, holding her hair over the flame. Quickly, it ignites. Her brown hair goes up in flames and with it, I hope, the spirit of the ghost girl. I shake off my finger flame, not needing it anymore with how flammable the hair is. I put the doll down on the stone floor, letting it go up in flames as I take out my phone. I click on Sam’s contact, bouncing on the balls of my feet, nervously, as it rings. Please be okay. “Sam! Oh my god, are you guys okay? Did it work?” 

“We’re not bad.”

At the auction house, workers buzz around packing various things up in crates. The spirit is dead for good this time and no one else got hurt. “This was archived in the county records,” Dean announces, walking over with some papers. “The Merchant’s adopted daughter Melanie. Know why she was up for adoption? ‘Cause her real family was murdered in their beds.”

“She killed them?” Sarah asks.

“Yeah,” Dean answers. “Who’d suspect her? ‘Sweet little girl. So when she kills Isaiah and his family. The old man takes the blame. His spirit’s been trying to warn people ever since.”

“Guess she figured she couldn’t get away with it twice,” I say, thinking out loud. Yet, through death, she was able to get away with it continuously. 

“So where’s this one go?” One of the workers asks, holding up the Merchant family portrait.

“Take it out back and burn it,” Sarah directs. Both workers seem to pause at once, looking at her strangely as if she might be joking despite her serious tone. “I’m serious guys. Thanks,” she insists. She looks back at us, the workers walking off with the painting. “So why’d the girl do it?”

“Killing others? Killing herself? Some people are just born tortured. So when they die, their spirits are just as dark,” Sam answers.

“Maybe,” Dean adds and I agree with that far more than the idea that people are born evil when it’s more complicated than that. “I don’t really care,” he continues, “It’s over, we move on.”

“Ahh,” Sarah sighs. “I guess this means you’re leaving.”

I nudge Dean as he looks between the two. This is our cue to leave. “We’ll go wait in the car,” Dean says. “See you, Sarah.”

“It was nice meeting you,” I add, giving a little wave before we head out. “Now I can give you your thing,” I tell Dean.

“What ‘thing’?” he asks, looking confused.

“You’ll find out in just a second,” I laugh, skipping in front of him. I get to the car first and open the back door. I bend down as I open my duffle, taking what I left on top in my hands. I zip up my bag and turn to him holding it behind my bag before the big reveal. “Okay, it’s stupid,” I warn. “But here.” I hold out the magazine he had been reading at the old bookstore the other day. His eyebrows rise, and his mouth parts as if he wants to say something, except nothing comes out of his mouth he just smiles and takes it from my hands. “Sweetheart…” he trails off, looking down at the magazine. I smile brightly as he looks at it, practically beaming where I stand.

Then, a knock swifts both of our attentions. I look up at the auction house door, Dean turning to do the same. And right there in the doorway, Sam kisses Sarah, his head bent down to her level and his hands on her waist. “That’s my boy,” Dean smiles.

(Next Chapter)

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[apocalypseornaw]

Chapter Two

Settling in a new place, even temporarily takes time. You set out to get the twins in a daycare, Hayley goes to finish her ged and you find a job.

Dean takes a notice to how jumpy the new neighbors.

"Mom, are you sure they're gonna be ok?" Hayley asked as the two of you walked out of the daycare Simon and Kiya recommend for the twins. You took a deep breath and let it out slowly before nodding "If Simon and Kiya trust it, so do I. They haven't let us down yet" the place was locked up tightly and had a security guard. It wasn't some run of the mill place that just anyone could walk into.

She looked back over her shoulder one more time before nodding "Ok. I have my test scheduled for an hour" she'd decided to take her ged. You'd talked to Simon and as soon as she passed that meant he could cover her trail but also it would clear up any issues moving forward with her should she want to pursue college and keep you clear of truancy.

"Are you sure you want to do this? The local high school is supposed to be good! Plus they just got out so you'd have all summer to get ready" you wanted to make sure this was her choice, not what she felt like she needed to do. She smiled "It is. I can be through with school and help you out more. I can get a job part time or just watch James and Amelia more" "or just try to be a teenager" you offered and she laughed "or that"

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

The first week or so that all of you were in town you spent simply getting used to the new house, routes to the grocery store, the daycare, nearest hospital and fastest way out of town. Everything you normally did when you ended up in a new place. You and Hayley practically had a checklist at this point.

Your neighbors Dean and Ben had proven to be fairly quiet considering. In fact the only times you'd heard anything from them was doors shutting when they'd come or go.

You'd saw in the paper Ben was in the recent graduating class so you weren't sure if he'd be leaving for college or sticking around. Not like it mattered, the four of you would be here a year tops before you'd have to move again. Like Hayley said, the only way to keep them safe was to keep moving. You couldn't let your past catch up with your kids.

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

"Mom!" Hayley's voice made your head snatch in her direction. The two of you were standing next to your car but she was pointing a bit down the street to a rather large car garage "Winchester's Auto. Think that's our neighbors?" You shrugged "Possibly. Not like we know the area well enough to know if they're the only Winchesters" it would make sense though.

Along with the Winchester's Auto, there was Harvelle's diner which belonged to one of your landlords Ellen, a coffee shop, a bakery and a few shops in the main strip of town without going into any big chain stores. And lucky for you the bakery and coffee shops had now hiring signs in the window. "I'm going to take you to the library then head to the bakery first to check on putting in an application" you told Hayley as you backed out the parking lot. She nodded and held up her phone "I'll call if anything comes up"

Ben moved around the garage as well as he moved around his bedroom at home. He'd practically grew up in the place. At one time it'd been his great grandmother's and from what he knew the only thing worth passing down from the Winchester line. His grandpa Bobby had come into possession of it to keep it in the family when the threat of back taxes almost took it then when his dad was ready to take it over Bobby had signed it over to him.

He'd known how to work on an engine before he could ever legally drive on the road. Now that he had graduated he was taking classes at the local tech College and working in the garage. It paid good, he enjoyed it and it wasn't too bad having your dad as your boss.

"Ben" he heard his dad's voice and stepped back from under the hood of the car he was currently working on "Yes sir?"

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

Dean was working on a stack of paperwork higher than his damn head when the phone in his office started ringing. He hated this side of the business. He loved working on cars, he loved owning the garage but the damn paperwork gave him a fucking headache.

He dug around for the phone before finally finding it "Winchester's Auto" he answered it a bit more gruff than he meant to and heard Bobby's scoff of a laugh "Been meaning to call you son. Have you met the neighbors?"

He sat back in his chair and nodded to himself more than anything, running a hand over his head. He needed a hair cut considering he now had to push his hair out of his face at times. He was starting to look like Sam. "Yeah. What happened to giving us a heads up before someone moves in?"

"An old friend's son called. He knew her, said she's in a tight spot and needed a place. She's a single mom with three kids Dean. What was I supposed to tell her? No? Would you rather her or some loud obnoxious assholes?"

Bobby was right, of course. Dean would much rather have Y/N and her kids next door than most other options but it made him wonder just why she was in a tight spot. Any time he'd seen her she seemed so, alert? No that's not the right word, spooked? Like she's waiting for someone to try to hurt her or one of her kids and that didn't sit right with him.

"Bobby, what she running from?" He knew he shouldn't sound so damn protective over someone he barely knew but he blamed it on how the man on the other end of the phone had raised him. "I wouldn't bring anything dangerous to yours and Ben's doorstep" Bobby reassured and Dean chuckled "Not what I asked. Have you met her?"

"Not yet. She's talked to Ellen though, I figured she'd be more comfortable with her for now" Dean nodded "What did Ellen say?" "She seems like a sweetheart but scared" "yeah she does" Dean agreed then ran a hand down his face "What did you need anyways?" Bobby laughed "I need to talk to my grandson and he leaves his phone on vibrate while he's at work so can you get him to the phone?" "Yes sir" Dean laughed and clicked the call onto hold before heading out to find Ben.

When you pulled up the library Hayley had just called you to say she was ready so it was perfect timing. You watched the door as she damn near came skipping out. When she spotted the car the skip turned into a car. You raised an eyebrow when she collapsed into the passenger seat with a broad grin "Let Simon know I passed!" "You passed?!" You squealed and pulled her into a hug.

She squeezed you then pulled back "How'd the job hunt go?" "I got the job at the bakery! Split hours but full time" she grinned "Awesome! Can we go pick up the twins now?" You laughed lightly and nodded "Yeah. We can go pick up the twins now"

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

Everything was always a slow go at first then before you knew it time would slip and it would be the time to make that move again but for now you'd enjoy the few moments to catch your breath and enjoy what victories you could.

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

Later that night after the twins and Hayley was asleep you were double checking the windows and doors. You couldn't sleep despite knowing you started work in two days. It was safe for now, he didn't know where you were. There was no way he could. Simon and Kiya covered every move you made. The job wasn't under your real name, the daycare wasn't under their real last names.

You checked the window over the kitchen sink, it looked over partially into Dean's backyard. You could see his firepit and a few chairs around it. Your heart ached for something so simple. A since of safety, to let down your guard that easily. You sighed and closed the curtain before deciding to go to bed as well. Morning could come quicker than you'd like and the twins never slept in.

@stillhere197

[redwinexsupernova]

oh to be stuck in any space (big or small) with dean? 😩

7 Minutes In Heaven

nsfw prompts, send in a character + a number

PAIRING: Dean x Fem!Reader GENRE: Smut (18+ CONTENT) TO NOTE/WARNINGS: PWP, established relationship, fingering, claustrophobic spaces, unprotected p in v (wrap it up), Sam third wheeling WORD COUNT: 2k PROMPT: 8) oops, we were just hiding in this closet, but then the close proximity get us too turned on not to fuck A/N: ty @justwhisperingfantasies for requesting this one <3 CREDIT & LINKS: dividers by cafekitsune ─〃★ join the taglist ─〃★ Dean Masterlist

“Quick, in here!”

Dean didn’t question your suggestion, blindly following your lead as you opened the door to the closet and pulled him inside. Slamming the door shut behind you, you squeezed against him. You held your breath, and for good measure shoved Dean against the wall, slapping your palm over his mouth.

“Damn, sweetheart, if you wanted to play seven minutes in heaven, you could’ve just told me,” he quipped, voice half muffled by your hand. Though you only understood half of it, the grin you felt against your skin was enough for you to understand.

“Shush,” you whispered, partially flustered but even more insistent on not getting caught.

Sam, Dean, and you had snuck your way into this house, searching for a lead against some demons. When earlier you heard footsteps approaching, you knew you had to hide.

You thought the house would be empty during this time, but apparently you were wrong. And you’d rather not get caught by any demons without knowing how many of them were there.

So, you made yourself as small as possible within this cramped space, pressed up against Dean. Tightly. You’d barely be able to fit a sheet of paper between your frames. At first, you didn’t even notice, completely unaware of how your chest was pushed against his in a way that connected your quickened heartbeats.

After a couple of seconds you turned around, leaning towards the door to decipher any noise from outside. Your back remained flush against Dean’s torso, the warmth of his body seeping right into yours.

His hands clung to your hips, the grip just loose enough to not make you suspect a thing.

If you focused on him instead of the noise outside, you’d feel the twitch of his fingers against the waistband of your jeans—why’d you have to pick these tight ones that made your legs so impossibly long anyway? You’d sense the way he was torn between pulling you closer and creating some distance before his restraint would slip.

When you shifted slightly, he hissed through his teeth and dropped his forehead onto your shoulder.

“C’mon, Dean, focus,” you tutted, still oblivious.

Dean mumbled something in response, almost inaudible despite no longer having his mouth covered: “Should’ve cleaned the pipes.”

You tensed, throwing him a look from over your shoulder. “What was that?”

“Nothin’,” he rasped awkwardly, clearing his throat. “Just said- uh, I wish the pipes were clean.”

You rolled your eyes, choosing to ignore his predicament. Not like yours was any better—his warm breath tickling your ear, his fingertips slipping just barely under your shirt. There was not a lot of air in here, but it was definitely thick and making your head swirl.

“I think they’re gone,” you whispered through a tight throat, then reached for the door.

“Whoa, wait,” Dean hushed, grabbing your wrist to stop you in your tracks. “Can’t get out there like this.”

A rebuttal on your tongue, you opened your mouth but all that came from your lips was a soft gasp as he squirmed behind you. Subtly, but enough to make you feel the press of unmistakably hard against your lower back.

“Dean,” you grumbled, though it sounded less like a protest and bordered more on a whimper.

“Seven minutes are hardly over,” he joked, voice low and raspy in your ear. His hands, rough and warm against your skin, trailed higher under your clothes.

Although the demons, presumably at least, have left, you still weren’t in the clear. Who knew if there were more in the building. Not to mention Sam who had volunteered to check upstairs.

To Dean, however, none of that was important. Not with the plush of your ass right at his crotch and your bare flesh heating up under his palms. Honestly, you couldn’t pretend anything else mattered to you either.

Pulling you closer, he made you grind against his hips and you knew your own composure was lost there. You turned around in his arms and crashed your lips against his. Hungry. Wanting. Needing.

Taking.

Whether it was the sheer adrenaline of the hunt or the impossibly smug smirk on his lips, prominent against your own, the tense air in this small space was set ablaze. And the fire? As consuming and destructive as your kiss. Chaotic in a way that took over all of you.

You were not sure how, with how little room you two had, but you tore off layer for layer. Lifting your arms, you aided Dean in pulling your top over your head. Your hands, roaming everywhere, unfastened his belt in rushed fashion.

After you clumsily kicked off your jeans, Dean suddenly lifted you up and turned, pinning you against the wall. Clattering told you that you must‘ve knocked something over, but neither of you could care less.

You only chuckled briefly, breathless, craning your neck while Dean busied himself littering kisses all over your throat.

“This is embarrassing,” you huffed bemusedly, “we’re acting like some sex-crazed highschool sweethearts at prom.”

“Nothin’ embarrassing about it so long as we’re not caught,” Dean shrugged, one hand sliding between your bodies. Deft fingers slipped in your panties, sliding through your slick. “Unless you’re into that? ‘Cause, pretty thing, you’re fucking dripping and I haven’t even started yet.”

A whine was pulled from you as one of Dean’s fingers slipped into you with an embarrassing lack of resistance. His thumb circled your clit, making your thighs twitch around his waist.

“You’d like that, huh? Letting all those black-eyed sons of bitches watch me wreck you.”

You bit your lower lip, so hard you thought you’d be drawing blood. Pulling your underwear to the side and adding a second finger, Dean worked you open, though the filth he whispered into your ear made you clench around him in no time.

“We’d be putting on one hell of a show, hm?,” Dean teased. “Too bad I don’t like to share.”

His mouth met yours again, tongues tangling and teeth colliding while the rough pad of his thumb expertly pushed you closer to the edge.

He was playing you like an instrument, strumming your chords to make you all but sing his name.

“That’s it,” Dean cooed, peppering your face with sweet kisses. “Practically sucking me right in. But you seriously gotta turn that sweet voice down, ‘less you really wanna be caught.”

All you could do was press your lips together tightly, which earned you a rewarding “Atta girl,” and a soft peck to your nose.

The pace with which he pumped his digits in and out your tight channel was relentless—until he pulled away and you literally sobbed.

Dean murmured softly, shuffling his jeans down and lining up with your glistening folds. You let out another cry, pleading and needy, your hips desperately bucking to meet his agonizingly slow motion.

“Shh, nice and quiet, remember?”

“Please—” you moaned, and fuck, if your wish wasn’t his command. “Need you, De.”

You didn’t have to ask him twice, your pleas answered as he thrusted into you in one, perfectly fluid motion. Your broken gasp swallowed by his lips, your nails bit into his shoulders. Haphazardly you removed his shirt, craving to feel every inch of him under your hands.

He barely shrugged it off, focused on maintaining the iron grip on the back of your thighs to not let you drop.

“Getting me all hot ‘n bothered in the middle of a damn case,” Dean grumbled, pretending to scold you when in reality he couldn’t get enough of you. Ever. “You even know what you’re doing t’me? Driving me nuts, wiggling that pretty ass in front of me, ‘s fucking dangerous, sweet thing.”

As far as you were concerned, you technically didn’t do anything—you never had to. Wrapping Dean around your little finger was as easy as dismantling your favorite gun, and just as satisfying. Taking Dean apart and rebuilding him new was always rewarding.

Still, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t proud of stirring his desires. Your boyfriend could barely keep his hands to himself. Not even in a small closet, hiding from demons. Especially not in a small closet, just the two of you squeezed together.

You leaned in, claiming his lips in a softer, slower kiss— sensual and deep, making every second of it last.

He thrusted his cock into you at just the right angle, the tip bruising that one spot with precision every.

Single.

Time.

Again. And again.

Stars flooded your vision, Dean’s name the only coherent word falling from your kiss-bitten lips.

Sensing how close you were just from the hitch in your breath and the tension in your body, Dean’s thumb repeated the circular motion over your clit. He kept rubbing and pinching until you were gushing on him, leaving a creamy ring around his base.

“C’mon, sweetheart, let go f’me,” he whispered, breath hot and searing against your neck. “Let me feel you, I got’cha.”

A final thrust had you shatter and yelp and clench. Hard. Hard enough to push Dean over the edge too, voiceless grunt sputtering from his throat as he stilled deep within you. You shuddered as his warmth flooded you, your walls fluttering around him still.

A moment of silence lingered, aching lungs eagerly refilling with oxygen the only sound between you.

Dean’s forehead slumped against yours, ragged breaths mixing with chaste kisses in between. He slowly, carefully set you back on your feet, but never removed his hands. His fingers continued rubbing soothing circles over your hips, your sides, while he helped you put your clothes back on.

Maybe you got carried away a little, your stance barely stable as you accidentally knocked over yet another unidentifiable piece of interior. A small laughter burst through you as you realized what a mess you’ve caused— clothing hangers scattered across the floor along with the damn clothes rail.

“You okay, sweetheart?,” Dean hummed, to which you gave a cheeky smile and a nod. “Got kinda distracted there, huh?”

“I’m not complaining,” you giggled softly, readjusting the collar of his shirt.

Admittedly, both your hands were clumsy in redressing each other—both of you still shaken and flushed, and, in your defense, working pretty much in a dark, tiny closet.

Upon finally opening the door and stepping back out, you nearly stumbled on your wobbly legs. Dean staggered just as much, though somehow he managed keeping both of you upright, chuckling to himself.

Said self-satisfied grin faded the second someone cleared their throat behind you. Both of you froze, then with wide eyes turned to Sam, whose judgmental gaze scanned you up and down.

Mismatched buttons, your shirt hanging half off your shoulder, messy hair, was that lipgloss on Dean’s mouth?

At least you had the decency to look a tad bit guilty and flustered. Much unlike his brother, who was all chin held up high and confident posture. Damn show off.

Briefly, Sam’s eyes flickered to the closet behind you, the small space looking anything but inviting. Even less so the more he thought about what must’ve transpired in there.

He gave a disapproving sigh, shaking his head. “Really? Here?”

“Oh please, Sammy,” Dean quipped, “Not the weirdest place you’ve found us.”

Not even your playful, though somewhat firm elbow to his ribs stopped Dean from grinning. Neither you nor Sam needed a reminder of him walking in on you. In the library, or the kitchen, or— Maybe for the better not to elaborate further.

“Seriously, what are you two, teenage horndogs?,” Sam scoffed, scrunching up his nose.

“Remember that one time in the dungeon—”

“Please stop talking,” Sam and you groaned in unison.

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[thirdsaltyhunter]

If I Catch You

Dean Winchester x female!Reader

Summary: Dean chasing you through the halls of the bunker in a ghostface mask, what more do you need

Warning: SMUT, if I catch you I f*ck you trope, mask k*nk, choking, praise, edging, manhandling

A/N: did I forget to post this yesterday cause I was to busy partying... yes but hopefully you'll enjoy this enough to forgive me

You had always loved Halloween even despite being a hunter. It brought back the happy memories from your childhood, when there were no worries, the monsters were only people in masks and the good guys always won at the end of every scary movie. Dean shared your appreciation for the holiday. Even before you and him started dating, you would often spend Halloween nights curled up on motel beds, watching horror marathons with all the snacks and sugar you could handle. Sam on the other hand didn't see the appeal. Sometimes he would join you in your movie watching, but it was mostly to appease you and avoid ridicule from Dean.

This year you and your boyfriend had the bunker all to yourself. Sam had chosen to spend the night with Eileen and leave the two of you to your festivities.

The empty bunker allowed the perfect opportunity for you and Dean to play out a fantasy that you had talked about a few nights before, when you were cuddled up bingeing the Scream franchise.

"Ghostface is hot," you blurted randomly in the middle of the movie. You mostly said this to see his reaction, but there was a hint of truth to your statement.

"Why?" he said in utter confusion. He paused the movie and looked down at you in his arms.

You shrugged. "I don't know masked men are just hot."

"Masked men?" he tried to hide the hint of amusement.

"Oh yeah, it's a real popular thing now. I can show you all the thirst trap videos."

"Yeah I don't need to see that."

You laughed at his look of disgust before he continued.

"So what your saying is that I need to get a Ghostface mask, hm?" he said with a smirk.

"I mean I wouldn't mind, have you chase me through the halls in it." You tilted your head back to face him, your lips almost touching.

"What happens when I catch you?", he asked with a devious smile, his hold on you tightening slightly.

"You'll have to find out," you responded, your voice sultry and teasing.

"I think that can be arranged."

One costume store purchase later and you found yourself in only a set of sexy underwear, standing in the empty hallway. The concrete floor was cool under your bare feet, but your racing pulse kept you from being cold.

Dean had given you a head start before he would try to come and find you. Your excitement was growing. He wasn't going to chase you, if it came down to a sprint race, Dean would win every time. No, he was going to hunt you. You knew this made the game more even, but you also knew that he was crafty and smart. Though in all honesty you wanted to be caught, you were just going to be a little tease before you let him find you.

You had just rounded the corner by the kitchen, when the power went out, causing the bunker's red emergency lights to come on.

Nice touch, you thought.

You heard his voice echo through the hall, signaling that he was coming to find you. Your adrenaline was pumping. Not out of fear, you knew Dean would never hurt you, but out of anticipation for what would happen when he found you.

You slipped into kitchen looking for a spot to hide. Unsatisfied with the spots, you head to the library. You hid in the far corner behind one of the shelves and waited. You listened for his footsteps but heard nothing, years of hunting had trained him to be light on his feet. When you finally heard his voice call your name he was much closer than you expected. He purposefully stepped heavy coming up the stairs from the War Room, his boots thudding against the stone.

You took the opportunity to dart out the door in the back of the library. The bookcase blocked you from his view, but he definitely heard the door shut. You bolted down the back hall, heart pounding as you rounded the corner just as the door opened behind you.

Quietly you slipped into one of the bedrooms and hid under the bed. You listened until his footsteps passed the door and went down the hall. Crawling out from your hiding spot, you checked to make sure the hall was empty before sprinting the opposite direction.

As you ran past the next hall you saw him rounding the other end. You picked up the pace, knowing he had seen you. You turned the next corner and stopped, pressing your back against the cool tile wall to catch your breath. When you decided the coast was clear you went to move to the next hall, when an arm wrapped around your middle, you back pinned to his chest.

You tried to wriggle from his grasp just making it free when you stumbled. You caught yourself, but his hand caught your ankle dragging you across the polished concrete floor and pulling you under him.

He rolled you over and you came face to face with the black eyes and long mouth of the mask, illuminated by the red glow of the lights. This was the first time you had actually seen him in the mask and it was even hotter than you imagined. When he pinned your hands above your head you knew you weren't getting away.

"Gotcha," he growled.

"What are you going to do with me now?" you said through panting breaths, partially from running, partially from how incredibly turned on you were right now.

"You'll have to find out," he responded before using one hand to pull his belt from his jean and loop it around your wrists.

Ok that was hot.

When your hands were secured, he stood up scooping you up off the floor and tossing you over his shoulder, delivering a quick smack to your ass before walking toward your shared bedroom. It wasn't often that he manhandled you like this and you were loving every second of it.

When you got to the bedroom, he tossed you onto the bed and straddled your legs. He hooked two fingers into the belt around your wrists.

"You want this to stay on?" he asked.

You nodded eagerly. Even being dominant and aggressive, he never wanted to push you limits, solely focused on giving you what you wanted.

"Stay," he ordered, getting up from the bed to strip down to his boxers, leaving the mask in place.

You watched him with lust blown eyes, your chest still rising and falling rapidly as you admired his body. He moved to the end of the bed, grabbing your ankle and pulling you to the end. Your underwear was pulled down your legs and tossed over his shoulder. He wrapped you legs around his hips and you could feel his clothed erection. You moaned grinding down on him until his arm crossed you hips, holding you still.

He ran two finger through your slick. '"So wet for me. Is this just from me chasing you?"

You nodded again.

He lowered to his knee, his masked face coming level with your dripping cunt. Two of his fingers dipped into you, immediately curling into the spot that made your back arch and your knees weak. Your head fell back letting the pleasure wash over you.

From the box under the bed, he pulled out your vibrator. He planned to torture you tonight.

"Don't cum until I'm inside you. Do you understand me?" he said turning the toy to the lowest setting and pressing it to your clit.

"Yes," you moaned, hands gripping the sheet above your head. You didn't know how long you were going to last. You were already on the edge of release and he had hardly touched you yet.

As you got close he removed the vibrator, running his hand up your thighs and squeezing your hips to sooth you. You whined and looked at him between you legs. You tried to give him your best puppy eyes, but you couldn't see his expression. You only were met with the blank stare of the mask and the vibrations returning to your sensitive cunt.

He continued teasing you, edging you another four or five times. You hated it and loved it at the same time. It amazed you how he knew exactly where to keep you on edge, or at least it would amaze you, if there was a single part of your brain that could think straight.

"Dean," you whined again, desperate for release.

"Beg for it," he responded sternly, fingers dipping inside you again.

"Please, fuck me." You squirmed, you didn't know if you wanted to get away from he sensation or fuck yourself on his fingers.

He sped up his motions and leaned over you body until he was face to face with you. You could just barely see his eyes, but you knew he was watching you fall into ecstasy.

"Please," you begged.

He removed his fingers and dropped his boxers. His cock was thick and dripping precum, edging you had teased him almost equally as much. He pulled your hips even closer to the edge of the bed and hooked your shaking legs over his shoulders. His hands gripped your hips firmly as he slid into you, filling you completely.

He watched your face as your head fell back in pleasure, a loud moan escaping your lips.

"That's my girl," he praised, running his hands up and down your sides, desperately trying to keep himself together.

He started thrusting into you, slow, but so deep you could hardly take it.

"Look at me," he said, his hand came up to circle around your throat to put your attention back on him.

Your eyes opened to watch as he fucked you. You could see a blush of exertion creeping down his neck from under the mask. He gently added pressure to the sides of your throat as the speed of his hips increased.

Your hands reached for him as you got closer to falling apart. Noticing how close you were, he started to circle your clit with his thumb. You came with cry of his name, your hand gripping his forearm, his hand loosening from your throat, causing you to feel almost high.

He planted his hand beside your head as his hips stuttered and he came with a deep moan. You both stilled for a few minutes, panting and trying to regain your bearings.

After a moment, he gently pulled out to go get a towel to clean up your combined mess. You squirmed from the sensitivity as he wiped you down. He whispered an apology before tossing the rag and undoing the belt from your wrists.

Finally removing the mask, he ran a hand down his face and smiled down at you. It was funny to see him have that boyish grin after playing the sexy, dangerous slasher for the past hour. He lifted you up to place you at the top of the bed against the pillows.

"That was awesome," he said, laying down beside you and wrapping you in his arms.

"Yeah it was, I fucking love you." You laughed and buried your head in his neck.

"I love you too sweetheart, and I love that I can do things like this with you."

You nodded in agreement before you started to feel how worn out you were.

Both of you were exhausted from your activities and quickly fell asleep, deciding to take a nap before settling down for a night of Halloween movies and junk food.

[losers-clvb]

good boy // dean winchester

pairing: dean winchester x female!reader

summary: you call dean a "good boy" as a joke, but things heat up when you notice the hard-on it gave him.

content: sub!dean, dom!reader, use of "good boy", praise, smut, unprotected piv sex, oral sex (female receiving), strip tease, dirty talk, dean smells reader's panties, face riding, orgasm denial, whiny dean winchester, overstimulation if you squint, dean comes inside reader, cockwarming, sweet dean post-orgasm

word count: 2.1k

note: okay, i don't know where the fuck this came from. inspired by those tiktoks of girlfriends calling their boyfriends "good boy" as a joke. i am a switch!dean believer. give that man an order and he will follow it.

masterlist

----

“That’s a good boy.”

Dean nearly dropped the plate you had asked for.

“What?” He asked, looking at you bug-eyed. You bit back a teasing smile.

“I said, you’re a good boy.” You said, purring the last two words. It was out of character for you to speak like this, especially to him. You were his best friend, yes, but the most you had done was tell him a certain shirt looked hot on him. Now, you were watching him squirm under your intense gaze.

“Why-,” Dean started, but cleared his throat when his voice cracked halfway through, “uhm, why am I a,” he hesitated, “good boy?” He finished through gritted teeth.

“You did what I asked.” You shrugged and took the plate from him. In all honesty, you had only said the words because of some social media post that had caught your eye earlier that day. It was supposed to be something small, make him laugh at you, but now you were wondering if you should’ve just scrolled past it.

You looked back at Dean and narrowed your eyes at him. He was still staring at you.

“What?” You asked when he didn’t say anything. Was he mad at you?

“Nothing.” Dean replied, but it came far too quickly to be natural. You flickered your eyes across his face. He was avoiding eye contact. You caught a glimpse of his blown pupils and his cheeks flushed pink. A realization crossed your mind.

“Did you like that?” You asked, stepping toward him. His eyes fell to your hands, tracking them when they moved to place the plate on the counter. You ran your tongue over your teeth before smirking at him. “You like being a good boy?”

You placed a hand on his chest and swore you could feel his heart pounding. You flicked your eyes to his face.

“Do you like being my good boy?” You asked, a sultry tone falling over you. You felt him tense up. You trailed your fingertips down his chest. His breathing quickened when your hand landed on the bulge in his jeans. “I think you do.”

Dean swallowed down the shame he felt. He was supposed to be the big, bad hunter, not this. He squeezed his eyes shut when you leaned in to kiss his neck.

“You like being told what to do, baby?” You purred. A small moan fell from him before he could bite it back. You pulled away and Dean’s eyes shot open.

“Follow me.” You ordered, voice lilting softly. You turned on your heel and began to walk to your room. When you didn’t hear footsteps behind you, you wondered if you had messed up. Maybe he was uncomfortable, not turned on.

You had almost started to crawl under your bed to die from embarrassment when your ears caught the fall of his socked feet on the floorboards. You turned to face him.

“Get on the bed.” You pointed to where you wanted him. Your voice wavered slightly. You weren’t used to this, giving orders. It was… nice.

Dean sat in the spot and looked up at you. You bit your lip and walked closer until you were standing in between his legs. His hands flew to the backs of your thighs and pushed you so you were straddling his lap. Oh, Dean wasn’t completely powerless after all. You pushed your hips down into his.

“Do you wanna fuck me, De? Wanna feel me squeeze around your cock when I come?” You breathed into his ear and bit down on his earlobe just enough to pull a noise from him. His hands gripped your ass.

“Yes.” Dean breathed out. You licked your lips and kissed him. He kissed you back hungrily.

You pushed his chest, causing him to fall back onto the bed. Your fingers made quick work of unbuttoning his flannel. You ran your nails down his exposed chest. It didn’t leave any scratches, but it did make Dean groan.

“Are you gonna be a good boy and let me take what I need?” You asked. Dean nodded. You smiled and he could see the flash of desire in your eyes. You bent down and licked up his abs. If you were going to do this, you would take full advantage of it.

“Mmm, nice and hard for me?” You hummed out when your clit brushed against his bulge through your leggings.

“Yes,” Dean hissed in pleasure, “all for you.”

You rolled your hips down again and moaned theatrically. Sure, it felt good, but you liked the way he reacted to your noises more than the actual pressure. Just as you had hoped, Dean squeezed your ass again.

You stood from him and raised an eyebrow when he whined in protest. Who knew Dean Winchester was so needy? Oh right, you did.

You stripped for him. It was all for his pleasure. You were just having fun making him feel good. Your arms pulled your shirt up slowly, hands kneading your breasts through the fabric before exposing them to him. His mouth was practically watering at the sight.

You turned your back to him. Your fingers hooked around the waistband of your leggings and you worked them down your legs. You were a little clumsy pulling them off your feet, but Dean didn’t see to mind. The only thing between him and your throbbing core were the lacy green panties. You thanked past-you for choosing the pair, knowing the color matched his eyes almost perfectly. You shuffled them off and let them hang from your finger, dangling them in front of Dean’s face.

He leaned his head forward just enough to stick his nose into the wet patch, moaning at the idea that he had anything to do with this. You licked your lips again and dropped the underwear to the ground. Dean opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off with another push. He fell back to the bed and you crawled on top of him.

“Have a taste, baby.” You encouraged, positioning yourself over his face. Dean blew out a breath to steady himself. You moaned softly at the pressure, hands resting on his where they held your thighs. You almost demanded he do something to pleasure you, but the words were forgotten when his tongue stuck out and licked up your slit. Your breath hitched in your lungs when he pulled you down, putting all your weight on his face.

His nose nudged at your clit while he ate away, his hunger for you tearing through any restraint he had left. You buckled over in pleasure when he groaned into you, the vibration tearing through your pussy.

“Don’t stop,” you practically begged, forgetting for a moment that you were the one in control. You felt his tongue push into your hole. It didn’t go too deep, but between the muscle inside of you, his nose nudging on your clit, and his lips moving against you, it was becoming too much. You whined out his name when your climax came, grinding down on his face.

You were feeling pretty good right now, but you wanted more. You clambered off of him and turned to sit just above his head. His lips were swollen and he was smiling like an idiot, but you figured he wasn’t too pussydrunk to listen to you.

“Take your jeans off.” You demanded. You were surprised at the strength in your voice, the bossiness you thought you only had when you were angry shining through. You watched him do as you told, mouth slightly parted when his dick sprang up and hit his stomach. His eyes trailed to you and he waited for the next order, fists balling up to keep from grabbing at you.

You tore your eyes from his length to blink up at him.

“Come fuck me.” You said simply, but it was like they were Dean’s trigger words. He launched himself at you, dragging your body to the edge of the bed. Caught up in the moment, he pushed into you without a condom. That would be tomorrow’s problem. Now, you were only worried about how many times he could get you to come.

“So tight,” Dean moaned, thrusting his hips into you. Your eyes fluttered to the ceiling.

“S’all for you, Dean.” You managed to get out. “All for my good boy.” You were making a point of using that until he told you to stop, not that it would be any time soon. The name made him choke out a breath and increase his pace.

“Ah!” You seethed when his hip bone bumped against your clit continually, back arching up. You grabbed his face in your hand and squeezed his cheeks together before kissing him.

“You’re fucking me so good, baby.” You moaned out. You felt his hips stutter for a moment. He needed help, the praise was getting to him. You managed to flip him over. He was now on his back and you were on top of him. You don’t know where the strength had come from.

You lifted your hips before slamming them back down. The tip of his cock sponged against your g-spot and you sent a silent prayer of thanks to the gods above for giving Dean that slight curve. You cried out when his thumb rubbed into your clit, Dean returning the noise when you clenched around him.

“You’re such a good boy, listen to everything I say,” you babbled, rubbing your hands over your breasts. You rolled your eyes back, the words meant for Dean somehow increasing your own pleasure.

“Gonna come,” Dean warned you, swallowing when your eyes shot open. He watched a crazed look cross your face.

“No!” You bit out. You sucked in a breath while you continued to ride him. “You don’t come until I say you can.”

Dean choked on his protests. His head flung back in both concentration and ecstasy. Fuck, he wanted to come but you holding him back was making it so much better. You panted out short breaths, almost hyperventilating. You reached a hand down to squeeze his balls, smiling menacingly when he gripped the sheets on the bed. It’s not like you enjoyed seeing him in pain, but knowing that you held so much control over him had a flurry of ideas flooding through you.

“Can I come?” Dean whined. You were close, oh so close, to another orgasm, but not quite there yet.

“N-no.” You stuttered out, eyes closing again to keep up your stamina. You honestly didn’t know you had it in you to move like this, with this much energy. You chalked it up to the new experience. If you had known it felt this good to be in power you would have done it a long time ago. Then again, maybe it was just from being with Dean.

“Please, baby, please.” Dean begged, voice going up an octave when you rolled your hips down. You ignored him. He wouldn’t allow the release until you gave him the magic word.

You looked down at him again. Your chest warmed to see Dean reduced down to this whiny, needy mess underneath you. You wondered if any other girl had done this for him, if he had ever let them take control. You liked to imagine that you were the first, that you would be the thing that Dean would remember every time he was able to be submissive.

The thought made your knees buckle and you keeled over, forehead on Dean’s chest. You tried to lift your hips up again, but it was more of you grinding down onto him.

“Now.” You gasped. Dean made a strangled noise and you felt the warmth of his cum bloom into you. You breathed into his skin and swore you could see stars as your own release flooded into you. You closed your eyes to focus on it, your eyelashes butterflying against his abs.

Dean’s arms wrapped around you to tousle you to the side. He was still inside of you, his dick now soft. You were curled up against him, body wore out. You couldn’t remember a time when you had come so hard.

“We have to do that again.” You mumbled. Dean was able to find the energy -- from where, you didn’t know -- to chuckle. He stroked your hair, fingers tangle in between the strands.

“Later.” He answered, breathing in the scent of your hair. Your skin was tacky with sweat, and you were sure there would be many, many questions that needed to be answered tomorrow, but for now, you fell asleep in his arms, his dick still stretching you out.

[j2archives]

What a shame

── - ˚.⋆ 𝜗𝜚˚.⋆ - pairing sam winchester x fem!hunter!reader

summary you joined the winchester boys a few months back and got close to the younger one, sam. after sam mentioned a run in with a hunter gordon, your heart sank. gordon was your ex, and you knew how crazy he got. but sam reassured you it was okay, he always did. now, there was a case in new york and it turned out your ex was in the same town hunting vamps. when gordon is turned, sam and dean go out to hunt him while you stay at the motel. when they come back, and dean starts describing how sam handled a super-charged vamp gordon — you started to think about about the image. your crush on sam didn’t help either.

content warnings based on 3x07, mentions of blood, gordon (he’s a tw), sam has a crush on reader, dirty thoughts, way too empathic sam, unprotected p!v, shower sex, oral sex (female receiving), dirty talk, praise, pet names, sam’s oral fixation, mentions of dean, fingering, sweet sammy <3, reader gets the best head of her life and doesn’t know what to think, pure filth (trust), slight breeding if you squint really hard, if you squint it’s hinted that sam isn’t average

notes 3.7k words and the long awaited fic!! proofread, enjoy <3

sam knew you and gordon went way back. it wasn’t any of his business, but that didn’t mean he’d shut you out when you wanted to vent. he’s had a few run-ins with gordon himself. Mainly when gordon was trying to kill him — which was pretty much every single one. so he got an idea from that how much of a dick he was.

you’d been hunting with the Winchester boys for a few months now. running into them at some bar in chicago. dean took an interest in you and introduced you to sam. you’d heard of him, almost everyone has. there was no way that this guy is the antichrist and is supposed to doom the world? not with those puppy-dog eyes.

he was nervous meeting you, and you couldn’t blame him. dean told you how they never really ran into other hunters, and you were sure sam had bad experiences in the past. so you were cautious, not wanting to make him uncomfortable in anyway. he was shocked you knew his name, but once again, there was the whole demon thing. word travels fast, especially when it got out that sam was immune to the croatian virus, that was crafted by satan himself. but, you didn’t let that control your view of him, he was much more than that.

dean noticed how close you and sam got, he teased his brother relentlessly for his bright cheeks. sam always rolled his eyes, but deep down he knew his brother was right. he was utterly down bad for you. and he didn’t think you knew it.

it was in indiana when you last saw gordon again, on top of the roof with a sniper trying to take sam and a victim out. dean was the one who tackled gordon, you rushed inside to alert sam so he could get the girl out of there. he noticed how quiet you were afterwards when gordon was arrested and sentenced. He had no idea how much guilt you felt.

when you finally explained to the brothers what happened, sam comforted you afterwards. assuring you that it was okay, and he also apologized for how he fought gordon. you didn’t understand why he was, but it was something he did, he always did. So you thanked him, every time. wrapping your arms around him in a warm embrace.

You were tracking a vamp currently in Albany, New york. it turned out a girl named lucy was turned, she had no idea what had happened to her. she didn’t know what she became overnight, she didn’t know that she killed people. your heart weighed heavy for her, and judging by sam — who left the room a few minutes ago, it did for him too. someone had to kill her before she’d lose control again. you stayed with sam in the kitchen, trying your best to comfort him while dean took care of the situation.

“you did what you could sam. at least she had answers.” he didn’t look you in the eyes, averting his gaze to the floor. his head tilted up at your voice, a sigh leaving him. he was grateful you were here with him, but he also didn’t want you to feel worse when he knew you felt a similar feeling as well. “i know.”

there was a lot on the man’s mind right now. you couldn’t even begin on how fucking horrible you felt seeing him like this. and now that gordon was back in town, he’d already shot a few bullets at the winchester. sam didn’t need anymore on his plate, and your stupid, son-of-a-bitch ex had to add more.

dean was going to hell. selling his soul to bring sam back had good intentions, but he still wouldn’t confront what was going on. he showed so little care about himself, and all his younger brother’s been doing is try to save him. dean’s been saving sam for years, since he was six months old — since the house fire. he hadn’t found an answer yet and the trail was getting colder every day. his brother said he did it because he couldn’t live without sam, but now his baby brother would have to live without him. and it pained him in ways you couldn’t imagine. just watching him made your heart ache. you felt so much for sam, and the main thing was empathy.

when dean found out gordon had turned, it changed things. he’d be more skilled, more reckless. he became the one thing he hated most, and now, he didn’t have anything left to care. his main motive has been to kill sam winchester. and now, he was invincible at night. he fed. you and sam found the bodies. the stakes were higher, sam was in danger. and fuck, it worried you. so damn much.

after luring sam and dean out, sam urged for you to stay home — not wanting you in harms way. despite every instinct telling you to go after the brothers, you respected sam’s decision. it tore you apart, that you didn’t know what was happening. you didn’t know if they were okay, if gordon somehow escaped, if sam was hurt, if he was turned. the different scenarios raced through your mind and it only served to make you panic, to worry you even more.

you stayed in the same place you had when they left. when the door opened, it revealed sam and dean. their clothes still bloody. you stood up instantly noticing the look on his face, nearly sprinting towards him. sam was caught off guard by your sudden rush, but he understood.

gordon was dead. and the way dean described it, it was pretty gruesome. sam fought back, wrapping barbed wire around his neck. he managed to over power gordon, slicing his head off within minutes. it explained the blood on his flannel.

dean’s hand grasped the door handle, “I’ll be back in a few, gonna look around to see if we missed anything or anyone.” before you or sam could say anything, the doorknob twisted and dean made his exit.

if you didn’t know any better, you’d say dean was trying to get you alone with his younger brother.

after a few moments of silence, he spoke up first — “I should probably go wash up,” his head tilted slightly towards the bathroom. you nodded, but before he went, he added on.

“about gordon…-“

“it was you or him, sam.”

his eyes widened, confusion painting his features. Sam would’ve assumed you’d be in grieving, mourning, that you might even blame him a bit but no. You replied with: ‘it was you or him, sam.’ to say he was shocked at that was an understatement. he was speechless. having no idea what to say. he just killed his crush’s ex boyfriend. and now you were looking at him with this look. he had a pretty good idea what that look meant, but he didn’t say anything about it. unsure if that’s what you really meant.

sam fumbled for words, “I- wow.” a chuckle left him. one of disbelief, nerves, and for some goddamn reason, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink like a schoolgirl.

“what?” now you’re the one who’s confused. “i thought you’d slap me or something. not defend me…?” the winchester was a damn idiot.

he really didn’t see it, did he?

ever since you met sam outside of the chicago bar, you had your eyes on him. hell, that practically told dean he had no chance. how you felt for sam went way beyond just close friends. you’d seen what it did to him when he talked about jessica. how much he denied or didn’t believe someone actually gave a fuck. now he was losing his brother? no one deserved that, especially not him.

all sam did was worry and care for everyone else. the one time you got your period, he let dean take a solo hunt because he wanted to make sure you were okay. he got you a damn heating pad, practically everything from the vending machine, and even sat through horrible rom-coms with you to try and make you feel better. when dean did something reckless, he’d talk his brother’s ear off about being more careful even though dean sometimes didn’t pay that much attention. he still tried. he still tried to stay positive even when a hunt went off the rails, even when he was pissed at something. he didn’t want to take it out on anyone and make the problem worse, so he tried to calm down.

he really didn’t have a clue.

“i’ll defend you when i want to, sam.” a smile curved up on his lips, shaking his head. “yes ma’am.”

the pet name he used made your cheeks flush, and his own to grow a deeper shade. for a moment you both stood there, sam avoided your eyes. but you kept your gaze trained on him, he was flustered now. when he finally met your gaze, his lips parted slightly.

“I should probably clean up,” another pause. “you can shower with me- I mean, shower before me!” your eyebrows raised, your lips curving up into a teasing grin. “you wanna see me naked, winchester?” he was a mess now, stuttering out anything he could to explain what he meant. despite the implication (that he didn’t mean to blurt out) being so obvious.

“i didn’t mean to blurt that out. it’s not like i’d mind- i don’t want to make you uncomfortable though, at all. Since a lot happened earli-“ sam’s words were muffled by your lips pressed against his. it took him a second, eyes fluttering shut as he melted into you. He kissed you. and the way his lips moved back against yours, you knew that was it— every time he chased your lips, your legs got weaker.

with a herculean effort, he pulled away. sam’s breaths spurred into pants, he was lost for words. you could barely suppress your nerves, the way he was looking at you. the way he kissed you so fierce, kissed you like he loved you too. it was the final straw.

he lightly stroked the side of your arms, it was an intimate gesture even though his touch was so feather-light. it took him a moment, his eyes flickering over your face then darting back to your lips. Still, sam’s eyes couldn’t shake yours; hunger swirling in the depths.

he sucked in a sharp shaky breath, “are you sure?”

—

You urged sam’s back flat against the shower wall, your tongue lapping at his. he was pliant for you as you did, his breath hitching whenever he felt your hands wander. your palms were seeking and appreciating. trying to figure out what made him tick. one of his hands steadied on your hip, while the other tangled in your damp-tousled hair. trying to pull you impossibly closer. there was only one word that could make it through your nerves: he was so damn beautiful. You uttered this to him without thinking, lost in a frenzy.

when you finally pulled away, you kept back open-mouthed breaths. he took you in, admiring how fucking wrecked you looked. he was sure he looked the same, but god. he did that to you. he kissed your lips swollen.

without a second thought, sam took you in his arms. spinning you around for your back to hit the shower wall, knocking the air from your chest once more. he ran his tongue across his lips, his eyes raking down your figure that he now had pinned beneath him. “fuck,” his chin dipped stealing a chaste kiss to your lips before kissing his way down to your jaw.

he nipped and sucked at the skin of your neck, earning soft gasps from your throat. he already found your sweet spots, but he avoided them. biting around them before sealing the forming mark with a kiss. as he went, he pressed a burning, open-mouthed kiss to your quivering pulse. The sound his lips made as they kissed down your body was hot and sloppy in all ways that made your thighs tremble. it would’ve destroyed anyone with how he laved his tongue in a ridiculously passionate drag, and it crushed you in ways you couldn’t explain.

now, he kneeled before you. fingers splaying out on your womb as his breath caressed your sex, sam urged your thighs apart with his hands. the space between your legs ached so desperate it was sore. he was so close to where you wanted, it made you squirm.

“i want this to be good for you, baby. i wanna do this good for you…” his nails scraped against your hips and ass, holding you still. before you could even ask, he braced two hands on your thighs and placed them over his shoulder. he cursed at the sight, you were so fucking wet and it wasn’t from the shower. you let out a small whine at the exposure, the way he was looking up at you. as if he had been starving and you were the last item in the fridge.

sam sighed at the sight, “is this for me? don’t get shy on me, sweetheart. tell me.” he was in awe. he couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah, i love it when you sound like that— ah.” his cheeks returned to its pink tint in full force. you could feel his breath fanning deliciously over your folds, a slight smirk curved up on his lips as pride flowed through his veins. this whole time you were soaked, holy shit.

he pushed your thighs apart wider, making room for him. he spread your pussy open with his thumbs, “even pretty down here, honey.” he praised. you kept your gaze on him the whole time— or at least tried to. his touch was electric, sending shockwaves through you every second. he was mapping out every inch of skin he could. his middle finger slid through your folds, collecting your arousal on the pad of his finger.

“jesus, sam.” you watched as he brought his fingers up to his lips, swirling his tongue around his digit. fuck, watching him taste you… the sight was painfully hot. sam groaned, “so fucking sweet, baby.” the way he watched you made you feel like you were being devoured whole. he could feel his cock throb but he ignored it, focusing on you.

the moment sam’s mouth was against your sobbing cunt, you broke apart.

his lips wrapped around your clit, alternating between flicking and sucking at the bud. he drowned in your body— in your taste, your cries, your reactions. it boosts his ego, even if he won’t say it out loud. you tangled your digits in his locks, tugging him closer. sam moans into your pussy, lifting his finger up to tease your entrance.

he’s so, so loud. not like you were doing any better. two thick fingers press against your entrance before he finally easing them in. he pulls away for a brief moment, relishing in how tight you felt just on his fingers.

“so good, honey. you’re doing so good. you’re perfect f’ me, y’know that?” his fingers are still lazily scissoring inside of you, but now his mouth is latched onto you again. this time, his tongue’s darting at your entrance where his fingers are nestled. you let out a broken sob, you were helpless. it was so easy for him to pin you down. his thumb moved to your clit next. pressing down on the pearl and rubbing it in tight circles.

your hips bucked against his hands, he was moaning messily in your cunt now. your fingers gripping his hair so tight as you braced yourself. you were so close, you knew it, and so did sam. he had already learned your weakest spots, finding your deepest place that your own fingers couldn’t reach. he had memorized every inch of you, and he was still eager to learn more.

“S-Sam…” your voice trembled, “i know, i can feel you, sweetheart. just let go, ‘s okay… i’ve got you baby, jus’ like that.” just hearing his words made you cry out. sam quickly moved a hand up to your waist, making sure you didn’t fall. watching the pleasure take over your features. he did that to you, he reduced one of the most badass hunters to a needy, begging mess all for him.

once your breathing started to steady, sam kissed his way back up to your face. pressing a soft kiss to your jaw, then your cheek, and lastly your lips.

“how’d that feel?” was he being serious right now? this man. “how the fuck are you so good at that?”

sam chuckled at your breathless response, a sly grin flowing on his lips. “naturally born with it.” you rolled your eyes, chasing his lips again. it was a quick peck at first but quickly turned heated again.

your fingers trailed down, wrapping around his length. he moaned into your mouth, parting from you momentarily to look at where you connected. “fuck,” sam knew what you were chasing after, his forehead pressed against yours as he watched every movement you made, guiding him closer and closer to your slit.

a shaky moan left you when he pressed closer to you, his tip brushed against your clit just once. he looked up at you, observing your reaction. “do you want me to?” god, the bastard knew that you did. You were already soaked again, coating his shaft with your juices. with the strength you had, you moved just enough for him to catch on your entrance. making his breath hitch. “sam, please.”

when he pushed into you, you felt the air get shoved out of your lungs like it had for the past half-hour. the stretch burned just a bit as he worked himself inside of you but feeling the warmth spread through you made you let out a moan. sam wasn’t doing any better. soft, guttural groans and moans escaped him.

“shit, baby..” he panted, his face was buried in your neck as he stilled. giving you a moment to adjust. the feel of your velvety walls squeezing around him fueled his pleasure. you could feel every inch of each other, he was reaching places inside of you that you hadn’t even dreamed of.

your fingernails dug into the skin of his back. “m-move, fuck — please.” your broken plea snapped sam out of his daze.

he pulled out, just the tip left in before he slammed back into you. he wasn’t rough but he wasn’t soft either, he was the fucking godsend of both. hitting your g-spot every single thrust he gave, drawing out pornographic cries and broken sobs.

you didn’t even think sam was supposed to be this deep. the room was so damn hot.

“you’re so . . . thrust . . . fucking . . . thrust . . . tight, fuck!” you were already so close, he was too. being connected like this, feeling each other like this was simply too much. the pleasure was overwhelming. he couldn’t get enough of you, of how well you felt around him, how good you were for him. he wanted to give you the world. fuck…and how you responded to him.

sam’s fingers snuck down to rub at your clit, his other hand still holding your hip. he pressed and circled your bundle, earning your pretty noises. the sounds that filled the bathroom were obscene. the way he had you, that he got to have you made him go harder. faster even. “sam, baby.. sa-sam,” you tried to tell him, but he was already ahead of you.

“i know, sweetheart. me too, god, me too. let go, give me one more. i know my girl’s got one more in her. give it to me, baby. all of it, all on me.” you were screaming out his name as he brought you towards bliss.

he wasn’t far behind, manhandling you enough to fuck up into you how he needed against the shower wall. curses left him as he came, warm spurts painting your gummy walls. he splayed his digits over your hipbone, moaning as his hips continued to stutter. “so good, so good, angel.”

the praise echoed in your mind before being consuming by his sloppy kiss against your lips, the shower still ran in the background. surprisingly still luke warm. “alright, let’s get you cleaned up, ‘kay?” he was careful the whole time, continuing to coo and coax to you. making you weak for the winchester all over again.

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Tagged: @mostlymarvelgirl @theamuz @starzify @h8aaz @dulcescorderitas @bluemerakis @immodestly-marina @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth