#everything sam won’t let himself be and it feels good.)

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Beyond Misconceptions

summary: joaquin is usually the poster child for positivity, but sometimes the doubt creeps in.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

contents: angst, jealous/insecure!joaquin, arguing, depictions of anxiety

wc: 1,675

an: based on this requested concept! it went a bit different than expected but i hope yall still enjoy <3 (and also hope it will hold yall over until vuelve pt. v is done!!!)

danny ramirez characters masterlist

Most of the time, Joaquin loves his job. He loves the brother he’s found in Sam, the tangible way he sees himself helping people day in and day out. The feeling of soaring through the sky, the invincibility that he seems to find in the wind.

But, what Joaquin doesn’t love about the job is the rift that it can sometimes create between you. One could say he’s being dramatic by using the word rift— you have never once complained, never made him feel guilty for the unpredictability of his schedule.

You always tell him that you know what you signed up for when you fell in love with him. And you do.

Joaquin is certainly grateful for your love and understanding, but it’s days like today that make him want to find some 9-5 to nurse.

When he steps into the party you two were meant to attend together an hour and a half late, he’s eager to see you. That eagerness twists into something ugly when he sees you. You, standing in a group, but primarily talking to some guy he doesn’t recognize.

You look…happy. Happy to be talking with a guy who showed up on time. With a guy who doesn’t put his life on the line, and your relationship on hold at the drop of a hat.

He can’t decide what he wants to do more— leave and let you be happy or put himself between you and this mystery guy.

As if you can feel him, you glance over in his direction, lighting up at the sight of him. That restless mix of jealousy and guilt fades a little with you so excited to see him.

“Quino,” You call to him, waving him over. When he makes it to you, you reach for his hand immediately, drawing him so that you can place a kiss on his cheek. “Made in one piece, I see, cariño.”

“Siempre lo hago,” he murmurs, snaking an arm around your waist. “So who’s this?”

You introduce Joaquin to the guy easily, slipping him into the conversation without missing a beat. Paul. Joaquin nods along, lets you pull him closer, listens as you chat, and laughs like nothing is wrong. Like he wasn’t late. Like you weren’t having a perfectly good time without him.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you. He does. It’s just that tonight feels like a reminder of everything he isn’t—someone who shows up on time, someone whose job doesn’t put you second. And maybe it’s stupid, maybe it doesn’t matter, but it still twists something sharp in his chest.

His grip tightens just slightly on your waist. You glance up at him, brows furrowing in quiet question, but he just shakes his head, forcing a small smile. You don’t push, but something in your gaze lingers. You know him too well. You always do.

You’re driving the two of you home, music spilling softly out of the speaker when you decide to break the tension that’s been building.

“So what was that?”

“What was what?”

“You were being…possessive?” The word comes out of your mouth like a question because you’re not entirely sure. Nothing like this has ever happened with Joaquin— it’s unfamiliar territory.

“Claro que no,” he insists.

You have to force yourself not to roll your eyes. “Yeah, because that wasn’t defensive at all.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your eyes flicker over at him momentarily, and you soften at his visible tension. You’re gentler when you speak again, “Soy yo, Quino. We don’t lie to each other, we don’t do this… jealous thing that you did tonight. I don’t know that guy, I probably won’t ever see him again and I’m fine with that.”

“It wasn’t about that.”

“Oh, but it was about something? What could I have possibly done when I hadn’t seen you in days?”

“Querida— you didn’t do anything— it’s not… I don’t know what you want me to say.”

You purse your lips, feeling a little frustrated. “I want you to tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours. And if you can’t now, then think about it and we’ll talk about it before bed. Deal?”

The silence stretches between you, the music sounding much louder in the wake of your breaths.

Eventually, Joaquin says begrudgingly, “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

“What do you want?”

“You,” He says softly, and nothing more.

—

Once you and Joaquin get home, you don’t push. You refuse to when he’s being so elusive, so guarded in a way he’s never been. You aren’t really sure what to do with it and it makes your stomach churn. You make your way straight to the shower without so much of a glance in his direction.

Joaquin wants to call after you, but can’t find his voice. Not a surprise when he feels his mind is completely scrambled.

All of this has tilted you off your axis. You make sure the water is scalding hot, hoping that the steam will steep out your thoughts of insecurity and unease. By the time you make it out, it just feels like they’ve grown louder, rooting deeper into your brain stem.

You make your way into the kitchen, walking past Joaquin where he’s sat on the couch. He watches you quietly as you make tea, unsure if you still want to talk or if he’s created the catalyst for his worst fear; losing you.

“So are we gonna talk about it or are you gonna keep staring at me?”

“Mi amor—“

You huff as you sit the chair across from him, “No, don’t mi amor me when you won’t even tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s not that I won’t, it’s that—“

“If you say you can’t, Joaquin, te juro por Dios.”

“I was gonna say that I’m struggling to figure out how. There’s too much up here, you know that. Usually, it’s just cheery.”

“I’m not asking you to be cheery, I’m asking you to be honest.”

Joaquin sighs, leaning forward to place his face in his hands. “When I saw you with him, I just— it made me wonder if you deserve better than me.”

Your brow furrows. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Sure it does.”

“Enlighten me.”

“You’re in a relationship with a man you’re going to outlive. I’m never home, I’m always late as hell. Every day I force you to wait— for me or for a call that’ll break your heart. Don’t you think you deserve somebody that can be there for you? Someone, you aren’t afraid of losing every damn day?”

“I knew what I was getting into when I chose to start this with you. I know that you want to be around and be more consistent, but Quino, you’re out there saving the world. I can’t ask you to put down your dreams because you missed the first hour of a party.”

“I‘ve missed more than just an hour of a party. What happens when it’s our wedding? Or if you get sick? What if you need me and I miss something big? That guy, he could give you that.”

You lean forward, reaching across the coffee table to place your hand over his. “Then we’ll reschedule. Or my parents will take care of me. Or I’ll need you and I’ll be really sad that you’re not there but eventually, you will be. I don’t give a fuck about that guy. I don’t even remember his name. What I do remember, is how much I love you and how long it took me to have the courage to tell you that.”

Joaquin looks down at your hands before interlacing your fingers together. Your words soothe him even as he wrestles with the fact that he wants to give you more. He’ll try to give you more— you deserve it and so does the health of your relationship.

“Are you sure?”

“Are you?” you challenge, wanting him to truly think about it.

There are things about your relationship with Joaquin that are less than ideal and certainly compromise but that’s part of love. Compromising and making things work with the people that you love. Joaquin is loyal, loving, and tender; he always makes you laugh and takes your feelings seriously. He just happens to be a superhero, one you have to share with the world.

How selfish would it be to take him away from people that need him?

He squeezes your hand reassuringly, “I’m sure. ¿Me dirás si algo cambia?”

“Lo prometo.”

Joaquin leans back into the couch, patting his lap, “Ven.”

You quickly make your way to sit in his lap, wrapping both your arms around his neck as you let your legs dangle across the couch.

“Te amo, princesa.”

“I know, I love you too,” you murmur, running a hand affectionately through his hair.

Joaquin’s eyes fall to your lips, and when he finally leans in, his mouth brushes yours softly, a quiet promise that everything will be okay. His thumb traces your cheek, and it feels like all the unsaid words are finally spoken in the wax and wane of this gentle kiss. You close your eyes, grounding yourself in the feeling of him, of home. As he pulls back slightly, his forehead rests against yours, his breath shaky, and you both linger there, knowing that in this moment, everything is enough.

After several moments of silence, Joaquin’s lips find your ear, “Paul.”

You lean away from where you’d gotten comfortable on his chest to look at him quizzically. “What?”

“The guy’s name— fucking Paul.”

You laugh, shaking the both of you. “I’ve already forgotten again. I’m more focused on this marriage you’ve mentioned.”

“I’m thinking under the cherry blossoms.”

“You should think about the blow your bank account is gonna take getting me a ring.”

Joaquin raises a brow at you, “Who says I don’t already have it, hermosa?”

You squint at him— usually, you’re pretty good at telling if he’s bluffing but his features are smoothed into the perfect poker face. “You lying?”

“Guess you’ll just have to find out, baby.”

lmk if you'd like to be on the sfw (or nsfw for 18+) joaquin taglist!

sfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @moonymeloncholymoney

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Imagine...Catching Dean Off Guard

Pairing: Dean x reader

________________

You were used to Dean being cocky and defensive. You were used to the sarcasm and gruffness. You were used to occasionally seeing him angry and downright terrifying. When you walked past his open bedroom and glanced inside though, you weren’t expecting to see him, head in his hands, knees in his chest.

“Dean?” you asked, his body jumping a little at the sudden intrusion. He quickly unfolded his legs, and moved his hands away, putting up a strong face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just have a headache,” he said, shrugging his shoulder.

“No you don’t,” you said, Dean’s eyes flashing with betrayal.

“How would you know? It’s my head,” he said, putting his walls back up. You took a step inside and saw him puff out his chest. “I’d like some peace and quiet if you don’t mind.”

“You’re lying,” you said, tilting your head. “I won’t make you talk-”

“Good. Now leave before I make you,” said Dean, standing and getting in your face. You had to tilt your head up to meet his gaze but you could see the sadness in his eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re okay,” you said, Dean hardening his face to try to get you to look away first. “I get sad too sometimes ya know.” 

Dean looked a little surprised at your omission as you sucked in a big breath.

“I think about all the ways I screwed up in the past, all the ways I continue to screw up,” you said, forcing yourself to keep eye contact. “I don’t like myself very much sometimes. But I know I’ve got my guys to like me when I don’t. I know I’ve got my best friend there for me if I need him. I can think a million bad things about myself but he can look at me and I know he doesn’t believe any of those. I hope he knows the same goes for him.”

Dean cleared his throat as he looked away, vulnerability too close to the surface for him to hide.

“I do,” said Dean, looking down at his feet. “I’m like that every once in a while too. But that’s not what this is right now.”

“I told you I wouldn’t make you talk, Dean,” you said, running your hand up and down his arm. His lips parted as he found your face again and you looked up gently. 

He leaned in slow, slow enough for you to realize what was happening. You let him come most of the way before going the last inch and connecting his lips with yours. You understood his behavior perfectly well now. It was you he was worried about. 

Dean pulled away after a short moment, your hand finding the back of his neck as he opened his eyes back up to see yours staring at his lips.

“Like I said, not going anywhere,” you said, standing up on your tip toes, tilting your head back as Dean leaned down again, more confidence this time. When he pulled away you were breathless, a grin on your face.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” said Dean, cupping your cheek, his breath fanning over your face. “I don’t feel so screwed up around you, like I’m okay.”

“I get that more than you know,” you said, threading your fingers through the short hairs at the back of his head, tickling his skin. He blushed and you felt heat rush to your face at the sight. This was the side of Dean you wanted to know more of. The one that loved himself as much as you did.

“Thanks for checking on me,” said Dean, brushing his lips against yours.

“My pleasure,” you said, moving his lips with yours. You stayed like that for a beat, feeling each other’s heat before Dean’s hand on your cheek tilted your head up and you were kissing again. This was a side of Dean Winchester you were sure not many had ever seen.

But you were lucky enough to be one of them. Soon enough, Sam and Cas got to see that side of Dean too, the younger Winchester stopping you in the hall one day and wrapping you in a hug.

“Thank you for everything you do for him,” said Sam. “I’ve never seen him so happy, content. How’d you convince him the world doesn’t rest on his shoulders?”

“He knows he isn’t trying to carry it alone anymore,” you said. 

_______

[zepskies]

Here are some of my favorites! (A revamp of my old rec list.) They will span Tumblr, Ao3, and FF.net, as I did a lot of my early reading/writing on other platforms.

Keep in mind, I probably like several fics from each of these authors, but I'm featuring one or two that I very much enjoyed.

SUPERNATURAL FIC RECS

[OS] = One-Shot || [S] = Series || [HC] = Headcanon

Dean Winchester x Reader or OFC:

Stories are Dean x Reader unless noted OFC.

✦ Alisha Ashton

Clear the Area - [S | Excellent 4-part series!] This is the story of you and Dean, and how he manages to slip past your defenses. Written so that you can put yourself in the OC's shoes. Sorta set end S8. Slightly AU in the fact that Dean, Sam, Castiel, Kevin, and YOU all live in the MOL Bunker. Everyone is healthy. Cas is still an adorably clueless angel with zero tact.

✦ @luci-in-trenchcoats

Feral [S] (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) Feral is an Alpha’s most dangerous state. Pure raw instinct. A killing machine with no thought. Only an Alpha under extreme duress can submit to their feral side and they rarely can come back out of it. It takes highly specialized rehabilitation to even have a chance at working. When a feral Alpha comes into the reader’s low level rehab facility one night, she knows he’s a dead man walking. But he doesn’t deserve to die and a split second decision to help him escape before that can happen will put them both on the run. He’s no ordinary Alpha though. He’s Dean Winchester. The boy who went missing all those years ago. The boy that made everyone realize no one was safe from the Alpha black market. The man that could destroy them both with one wrong move…

Headcanon: How They Meet Their Plus Size Girlfriend [HC] (Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy, and Russell Shaw included)

✦ @deanbrainrotwritings

Wild Flower [OS] Dean gets hit by a spell when fighting a witch and assumes it was harmless or ineffective. He was wrong, but at least he wasn’t dead. He’s a woman now. 

✦ @waynes-multiverse

Creature of the Night [OS] When her car breaks down on a dark lonely road, she is lucky a handsome stranger takes her in. Grateful, she is willing to do anything to repay his kindness.

Headcanon: Valentine's Day [HC] (Dean Winchester // Soldier Boy // Beau Arlen // Russell Shaw – Edition) How would your favorite men surprise you for Valentine's Day?

Headcanon: Gettin’ Down and Dirty with Dean [HC] Smutty headcanons with Dean...

✦ @rizlowwritessortof

Take a Shot [OS] Let’s face it, his henley looks good on both of you…

Late Night Show [OS] You’re spending a little down time at Bobby’s when HE shows up with his brother. You try to ignore those old feelings for him, but when you accidentally walk in on him pleasuring himself, all bets are off. 

Lost in You [OS] A casual flirtation leads to a violent encounter, and Dean’s reaction is a little more than you expected.

That’s How It Should Be [OS] (Sheriff!Dean x Reader) Sheriff Dean Winchester/Reader have to escape, quick - but Dean won’t let being on horseback stand in the way of showing a lady a good time…

✦ @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

The First Time Series [S] Even though he's a lot older than she is, and more experienced in every possible sense, Y/N finds herself incredibly attracted to Dean Winchester. Amazingly, one day she starts to think that maybe the attraction isn't all one-sided.

The Dangers of Hope [S | Endverse!Dean] When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

It's All For You [OS] After a hunt gone wrong, all Y/N wants is to make Dean feel better. Will he let her?

Things Learned and Unlearned [S] Y/N has spent her life trying to outrun her mother's reputation. When she meets the rich and successful playboy, Dean Winchester, how quickly can he get her to stop running?

✦ Lindsey D. Perez

Say I'm Beautiful [OS] You're feeling a little self conscious about your weight so Dean decides to show you how sexy you are. Dean x Reader Warning: negative body image, swearing Rated M for smut so go forth with caution.

✦ @ejlovespie

It Ain't About Pity [OS] (Dean x Plus-Size!Reader) Dean Winchester has eyes for the reader. She has no idea. When he finally figures out why she’s been dieting, he isn’t pleased. 

✦ kittenofdoomage

More to Love [OS] (Alpha!Dean x Plus-Size Omega!Reader) Reader is a hunter, and an Omega, an unusual combination. She’s always been mocked for her size, so she keeps to herself but a case Garth persuades her to take ends up with a confrontation she never saw coming.

Never Spoken, Always Said [OS] He doesn’t say the words much but he shows her every day.

Taste [S] (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) The reader is pregnant with Dean's baby. Spanning the first year or so, we join them as they discover new things about each other.

✦ @impala-dreamer

A Simple Kinda Man [OS] Dean’s a pretty simple man. He likes the things he likes and you can rarely get him to change his mind about it. 

Like Heaven [OS] (Dean x Curvy!Reader) Y/N’s request might throw him off for a second, but he’s never going to deny her, not when it feels so good in her arms…

Take a Break [OS] Laundry can be annoying and overwhelming, so it's important to take breaks now and then...

✦ @justagirlinafandomworld

Remind Me [OS] (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) There was no escaping what happened to you. There wasn’t a magical number of days in which you would simply get over it either. It happened and you had to live with it. But your alpha would never leave you to work through it alone.

Delicate [OS] Dean made you feel things no one else ever had. But is it a good idea to see this through?

The Fallout (Alpha!Dean x Beta!Reader) [S] When Sam meets his true Omega, you fear your time with the Winchesters is fated to end. Before they can hurt you, you decide to distance yourself. But Dean isn’t willing to let you get away so easy.

✦ @spnbabe67

Girls, Girls, Girls [OS - Part of a Series] (Dean x OFC) While on a witch hunt Dean gets hit with a spell. Later at the hotel, Dean feels the effects of the spell and Tori has to help him through it.

✦ @chevroletdean

NSFT Alphabet [Dean Winchester] [HC]

Masturbation [Dean Winchester] [HC]

✦ @thatonewriter15

Unspoken [OS] How many reasons are there to love Dean Winchester...?

✦ @iprobablyshipit91

Twenty Minutes or Less [OS] Dean raises an eyebrow at you, cocky smile firmly in place. "I bet I could get you there in twenty minutes or less.”

Magical Blooms [OS] After all, there was a flurry of customers walk through the doors to Magical Blooms each and every day, and quite a number of these were regulars. Just because one of those regulars was an undeniably gorgeous man that flirted shamelessly...

✦ @jawritter

Feral (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) [S] True mates don't exist, at least that's what everyone tells you. It's nothing but a childish, fairytale notion to believe that such a person exists. Someone that is made just for you, your person. Who knew they were so wrong…

✦ @marvelfanfn2187a113

Here For You (Dean x Little Sister!Reader) [OS] You help Dean through a couple different kinds of pain.

✦ @deanwinchesterswitch

The Girlfriend Who Remade Christmas [S] Dean’s holiday spirit is nowhere to be found. Fed up with his Grinch-like behavior, Nicole is determined to open his heart again to the wonders of the world around them and help him find joy in the Christmas season.

✦ @spnexploration

Collared [S] Sam and Dean save a woman from where she has been held as a slave by a witch. But things turn dark whenever they try to take her magic collar off, leaving them with a slave to look after and a curse to break.

✦ @kaleldobrev

Old Man [OS - Part of a Series] Dean never had a problem with the age gap between you two; not until now any way.

✦ @deanwritings

Friends with Benefits [S] After walking in on Y/N following a fun encounter, Dean and Y/N decide it would be beneficial and much easier to use each other for their needs. But can they keep it just about sex?

✦ @waywardxwords

Safe [OS] You had hoped to get in and out when you heard what town the next hunt was in. Unfortunately, you can’t outrun your past. You, also, can’t outrun those old feelings--panic, anxiety and fear. You had hoped you’d never have to share this part of your life with Dean, but things don’t always work out the way we had hoped.

Witches [OS] While hunting a witch, you accidentally stumble upon her collection of sex pollen. 

✦ @acreativelydifferentlove

Carry On [S] (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) You’re an Omega in a small rural town. When your father’s gambling and drinking leaves him with a debt he can’t afford to pay, he offers you to a group of Alphas. Dean Winchester is an Alpha desperately trying to escape his past and pain. Can you save each other?

You're Home [S] (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) After years away at college, you have finally returned to your home town. In order to settle back into the community, you have to seek permission from the Head Alpha. What happens when you see his son for the first time since presenting as an Omega?

✦ @deanwanddamons

Helping Hand [OS] Dean is tired after a hunt, so asks Sammy to drive Baby. You and Dean cuddle up in the back seat.

✦ @mind-empty-just-fictional-people

Love Language [OS] You’ve never said it, neither has he…is that weird?

✦ @pink-sparkly-witch

The Widow [S] Sam and Y/N are happily married, but everything changes after a fatal car accident leaves her a widow. The Winchester motto: “Family Don’t End with Blood,” takes on a whole new meaning for Y/N as she navigates her new normal with the help of her brother-in-law, Dean. But what no one can tell her is what happens when she falls in love again.  

✦ shirleypositive72

While They Dance On A Pin (Jane Series 5) [OS - Part of a Series] (Dean x OFC) Sam, Dean, and Jane have been on the road almost constantly since Dean's return from Hell. They're finding Seals, finding danger, finding out each other's secrets. But it's what they find when they open the door to one more motel room that sends Dean back into his darkest moments. An OC's experience of episode 4x16, On the Head of a Pin.

✦ BeccabooO1O

She's My Cherry Pie [OS] Dean was drunk. So terribly drunk. And it was hilarious. Just some karaoke!Dean (aka the best Dean of them all).

✦ @pamwritessometimes

Roots in My Dreamland [OS] Dean encounters a mysterious forest spirit who’s an enigma.

✦ @supernotnatural2005

Sexual Encounters with Dean Winchester - Edging [OS] Exploring new kinks with Dean. How far can you push him before he breaks?

Happy Accidents [OS] (Dean x Plus-Size!Reader) You haven't seen the Winchester's in over a year, but the case you're working has you scratching your head, and who better to call than some old friends. However, insecurities arise as well as the reprise of a long time crush. Little do you know, it's reciprocated.

Lebanon [OS] A wish gone wrong right brings back a familiar face. However, you all soon discover it's not as simple as it seems when what you’ve all accomplished, and your family, hangs in the balance.

Burning for You [OS] You're pregnant and it's awoken something feral, something instinctual in Dean.

✦ @ambiguous-avery

When He Slides In [OS] And says “Fuck, I missed you.” After a hookup with the (in)famous Dean Winchester, you figured that would be the end of it. Too bad you could never seem to get him out of your mind. People always told you that you got attached too easily. And they were right. You were just another notch in his belt. He couldn’t possibly remember you...

✦ @bettystonewell

To You I Belong [S] (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) Dean isn’t looking for a mate. Not only does he think he doesn’t deserve one, but the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain’t real. He still has free will, and saving you from monsters is just another part of the job.

Another Notch on His Belt [OS] Every little part of him is holding onto every little piece of her, and any other woman he’s been lucky enough to escape his life with. Even if it’s only for the night - or - Dean replaces intimacy with sex.

✦ @lamentationsofalonelypotato

It's Not a Big Deal [S] (Dean x Reader x Soldier Boy/Ben love triangle) Dean's in for a rude awakening when he finds out exactly what you did when you got stranded in another universe.

✦ @thoughtslikeaminefield

Deep [OS] Dean shows her more about pleasure than ‘deep’.

✦ @cheynovak

Four Men, One Birthday [OS] A birthday gift to me from lovely Cheyenne. 💜 Four birthday themed stories with Dean, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Russell Shaw.

Dean Winchester x Lisa Braeden:

✦ adventuresinposting

Damages [S] Ben is in a car accident causing a fractured skull. Consequentially he remembers Dean. Ben tries to find Dean, who is now a retired hunter after losing Sam in a final battle. This is the story of Dean finding something and someone to replace the hole in his life left by Sam.

✦ FaithDaria

One Step at a Time [OS] The Winchester way of life changes, and Dean adjusts accordingly.

✦ bloodmagik

A Dad By Any Other Name [OS] Ben is sick and Dean stays home with him while Lisa is at work. Lisa learns something about Dean's relationship with Ben.

Sam Winchester x Reader or OFC:

Stories are Sam x Reader unless noted OFC.

✦ Avrilando

While You Were Sleeping - [S] (Sam x OFC) A seriously injured unconscious man is in the hospital Rachel volunteers. With no idea who he is and if anyone is looking for him, Rachel decides to keep him company while he's sleeping. With The Eyes of a Loving Man [S] (Sequel to While You Were Sleeping) Continuing through Sam and Rachel's relationship with all the highs and lows of dating a hunter. Mostly a collection of oneshots and some connecting stories.

✦ Lindsey D. Perez

It's Your Birthday [OS] The Winchester's find out it's your birthday and insist on celebrating with lots of alcohol. Sam introduces you to body shots and things get heated. 

If You Give a Moose a Muffin [OS] ...he'll want kisses to go with it.

✦ ALoversDream

All of Me [OS] (Sam x Plus-Sized!Reader) Request where the reader (even thought she's usually pretty confident) is slightly insecure about her looks, and because she's plus-size. It ends in fluffy weight smut.

✦ BeccabooO1O

Could Have Told You That One, Winchester [OS] Imagine sitting one Sam's lap while you two are researching. She was reading one of the books about mythology for the Winchester's current case when she heard a frustrated groan from across the table. Sam Winchester had his laptop in front of him and various books of lore scattered around it.

✦ @princessmisery666

Samnesia [S] (Sam x OFC) Brooke is a calming distraction from the chaotic mess of Sam’s life. When a hunt keeps them separated for over a month, Sam returns to find she no longer remembers him. The need to find out what happened while he was gone sends Sam on a case that will change the course of his life. What he discovers along the way will change the way he looks at love.

✦ @ohsc

Delicate [OS] Sam being intimate with an inexperienced reader.

**I will keep adding to this list as I read and explore! Please reblog the fics you read and let these amazing authors know what you thought of their work. 💜

I have several more stories favorited on my FF.net account. (Beware if you try to read any of the stories I wrote there though. Some of those are old as hell and not to my current standard. 🤣)

Dean Winchester AU Fic Rec List

Original SPN Fic Rec List

Supernatural Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 6 - All The Noise

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: May the trials and tribulations of Sam Winchester putting up with some grade A bullshit begin.

Chapter title from Gold, Guns, Girls by Metric

Word Count: 16.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You ask for Dean's help on a hunt, and he leaves immediately. Sam has to go too. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, big angst, fluff, monster of the week.

Chapter 5 - Chapter 7

Read on A03!

Sam wouldn’t shut his big mouth about Her. 

Dean was getting sick of it. 

He knew that She was cool. He knew that She was smart, and funny, and a good hunter. He knew that they could use Her help all the time, because She probably would’ve gotten that stupid crazy girl in the painting immediately. She would’ve ganked the shtriga without blinking. They’d spend half the time doing the research, because She’d take one look at the Mordecai house and say This is a tulpa, De. none of those are related cultic symbols, but that one means blah blah blah, and Dean would stop paying attention because she looked almost inhumanly attractive when she got all freakin’ bossy and smart, and Her voice was like anesthetic to his thought process. 

But She didn’t want to stay with them. She still picked up Dean’s calls, acted like everything was normal, and Dean would feel a fucking lesion in his chest every time she’d ask how he was doing. He’d taste blood as he bit down a shout of fucking shit, Princess, because my brother’s going crazy, my dad’s hunting a demon, and my-

No. She wasn’t Dean’s anything. He understood that. She was made of stardust, and She’d fallen onto Dean by pure chance. He had no right to keep Her, and no right to demand more than just her voice in a phone.

Sam didn’t seem to get that, though. And no matter what Dean said, he wouldn’t just freaking drop it.

“What are these?”

Dean had frowned, glancing up at Sam to see the little bitch standing at the foot of Dean’s bed, his hands in Dean’s bag, holding-

Fuck.

He had vaulted over the motel couch, snatching the flash and jacket from Sam’s hands and shoving them back to the bottom of the bag.

“They’re my things.” Dean had snapped, slapping Sam’s hand as he’d reached down to grab them again. “Hand’s off, buster.”

Sam had rolled his eyes. “Buster? Really? Are you a low-grade 1920s gangster?”

“First of all, I’d be the fucking kingpin, Sammy, and you know it. Second, stop going through my bag, or I’ll break your hand.”

“No, you won’t.” Sam had shrugged, and Dean didn’t appreciate how his threats weren’t being taken seriously. “And that was not your stuff, Dean.

“Yeah, it was-“

“Do you wear women’s jackets?”

Sam had given Dean a pointed look, and Dean had scowled.

“Shut up.”

“Whose jacket is it? I mean, you never keep the stuff girls leave with you, and you don’t really know any women-“

“I know women-“

“Dude, you know one woman, and-“ Sam had cut himself off, his mouth slightly open. “Dean…”

“What.” 

Sam had made the sympathetic puppy-eyes, and Dean should’ve punched him right there. Would’ve saved him a lot of trouble. 

Because Sam said Her name with a painfully gentle voice, and Dean felt something clench in his chest. “That’s her jacket, isn’t it.”

Dean hadn’t been able to think of a good lie, so he’d just let out and unconvincing scoff, grabbed his bag, and stomped back to the couch. 

“It is.” Sam had trailed after him, saying Her name again, and he needed to stop fucking doing that. It always made something in Dean bright and hot, and it was annoying. “Why do you have her jacket-“

“She left it with me a while ago.” Dean had muttered, and Sam had given him a disbelieving look.

“How long is a while?”

Dean refused to dignify that with an answer, only turning on the shitty motel box TV.

Sam had moved to block it, his arms cross as he frowned down at Dean on the couch. 

“What about the flask?”

“That’s mine.”

Sam had given him a disbelieving look. “I’ve never seen it.”

“So? It’s not like I see all your shit-“

“You do, actually. We live on top of each other, and I never hide things. That shit,” Sam had pointed to the bag, his brows raised. “Was hidden.”

“Shut up.”

“Was that her flask?”

Dean had scowled, and that was apparently an answer for Sam, who had let out a long sigh and given Dean an exasperated look.

“Just for the record, I don’t think it’s weird that you have her stuff. It’s sketchy that you’re hiding it-“

“I am not hiding it-“

“Yeah, you are.” Sam had braced his hands on his hips, a small frown on his face. “Were you hiding it from Dad?”

Looking back, Dean should’ve figured out that silence was not an effective method of getting Sam to shut up. All it seemed to do was fuel him.

“You really haven’t told him anything about her, have you?” Sam’s voice had almost been awestruck. “Dude, I don’t think Dad would be that against you having a girlfriend-“

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Dean had snapped. “And you know what Dad found on her. He’d be right not want me around her.”

“But you want to be around her, Dean.”

Dean had scowled. He did. He felt fucking alive around Her, felt seen, and he’d never been happier to be an idiotic, easily manipulated dumbass when it meant he was in Her orbit.

And that didn’t matter.

“Drop it, Sam.”

Sam still hadn’t dropped it. He’d give Dean an odd look, dropped down to sit on the coffee table, and kept pushing. “Have you ever thought that maybe, if Dad got a chance to talk to her, he’d realize she’s not what we thought she was?“

“Doesn’t matter. And Dad has enough to worry about.”

“But I don’t think she’s something to worry about. I mean, if she got you to come around I’m sure that Dad-“

“Sam-“

“You obviously like her, Dean!” Sam had run a hand over his face, his voice rising to a half-shout. “Even if it’s just as a friend, you like her!”

Dean had let out a long, low groan. Sam didn’t get it. Nobody but Dean seemed to understand that She was awesome, but she was still a liar. Dean could never feel anything but golden around Her, but then she’d always walk away and he’d be left hollow. Because She was still too good to stay with him. She was too good for anything, and Dean hated her for it.

He hated that Dad was right, that She wasn’t made for this life, and she’d move on when she got that rush she was chasing. 

He hates that, no matter how hard he tried, he’d want to be Her rush. To share Her smiles and jokes and light, to ensure that She didn’t crash too fast when everything fell down.

“It doesn’t matter if I like her,” Dean had muttered. “She’s not in this shit like we are, Sammy. She’ll move on in a year-“

Sam had shaken his head. “That’s what Dad told you five years ago-“

“And he was just wrong about the timeframe. She’s not sticking around. So fucking drop it,” Dean had narrowed his eyes in a final warning. “Before I hit you.”

He’d thought Sam had gotten it then. He’d been wrong. Because over the next few weeks, every time Dean left the bar with a woman on his arm, Sam would give him a strange look and spend the next day talking about Her. And Dean didn’t fucking need to hear it.

He was living it. He was the one who had to miss Her, not Sam. Sam seemed entranced by Her, but the way everyone but Dad was. The way everyone who saw her knew that they were in Her presence, not the other way around. She spoke with an authority, and looked like She’d fallen from the sky, and moved like the world had been made for Her. Even when she threw a punch it was like she was dancing, and when She screamed it seemed to move the earth itself.  

Dad was strong enough to resist it, because Dad was the toughest, smartest son of a bitch Dean knew. And Dean couldn’t blame Sam for thinking about Her, because she was meant to be thought about. 

But nobody thought about Her like Dean did. Dean was weak and empty and She looked at him like he was something, so he missed Her. He was the one who couldn’t do anything but trail after Her, the one who always wanted to close the space between them and take Her hand. The one who was being cast in Her light, absorbing it and letting it linger around his body when She was gone. Who was always suffocating in the smell of fruit, who couldn’t ever find eyes as blinding as Her’s, who kept hoping he’d kiss someone else and they’d erase the phantom feeling of Her skin on his mouth.

Night after night and town after town passed in long, blended months, and Dean couldn’t find a woman he wanted to touch like he wanted to touch Her.

He wanted to hold Her hand. He wanted to grab Her by the waist and press her against to his chest. To lay his body over Her’s, make Her giggle and press her face against his neck, and demand to know how She was doing this. Why She’d laugh and tease and smile at Dean, just to tell him She didn’t want to stick around. Why he was the one who had to be haunted by Her, why She couldn’t just let Dean actually hate Her. Let him pull himself together and force his will to be as strong as Dad’s. 

Dean was addicted to a drug he’d never even fucking taken. He dreamt of a woman he had no right or desire to dream about. He washed the blood off his skin after every hunt, found another meaningless body in every backroad bar, and cursed himself every night when he fell onto the mattress and She wasn’t at his side. 

But he’d asked Her to be there, and She’d said no. She didn’t want this life in a way that counted, and Dean couldn’t blame Her, or hate Her, or even stop picking up the fucking phone when She called. 

Because the phone rang on his nightstand, he saw Her number on the small, fuzzy display, and he shot up, answering before he could think better.

“Dean?”

She needed to stop saying his name like that. Like She wanted to say it, and it was more than just a word, when She didn’t want Dean.

“Hey,” he muttered Her name, glancing at the sleeping lump of Sam in his own bed. “What’s up?”

“Are you busy?”

“Yeah, we’re talking.”

“No, I-” She let out a long sigh, and Dean could almost see the pout of Her lips. “I meant are you busy with a hunt?”

Dean frowned, because She sounded tired. Heavy. “You good, Princess?””

“Yeah.”

Lie. Dean could hear it. He could picture Her looking at him with a wide explosion and giving him a small smile, standing too tall and fidgeting with Her rings and holding Dean’s gaze as She fucking lied. 

And that was Her voice after long hunts, or gruesome deaths. The voice She used after one of her weird episodes. It always made Dean uneasy, made his heart and lungs itch.

And She was not good.

Dean moved into the bathroom, locked the door behind him, and said Her name with a frown. “What’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on-“

“Why’d you call, then?”

She sighed. “Maybe I just wanted to talk, Winchester. Not everything has to be wrong for us to talk.”

“Uh huh.” Dean didn’t believe Her. Nobody ever just wanted to talk to him. “Where are you.”

“Colorado?”

“Sammy and I are in Virginia, sweetheart, and it’s 5am. With the time difference-“

“Maybe I just can’t sleep, Dean.” She snapped, and that sounded like the truth. It didn’t make Dean feel any less sick “And if you don’t want to talk, we don’t have to-“

“No, that’s not-“ Dean sighed, rubbing his brow. “Can you just tell me what’s happening? We can talk after, but I’m not saying a damn word until you stop freaking me out.”

There was a moment of static silence, and something like iron dropped on Dean’s shoulders. He’d fucked it up. He’d never really had Her but he’d pushed too hard and stepped out of line, and she was going to hang up the phone and Dean would be alone-

“Can you please just tell me if and Sam are in the middle of a hunt?”

He let out a long breath. “No, we just finished one up, in New York. Creepy fucking painting. Sammy got laid.”

She let out a soft laugh, and something warm grew in Dean’s gut. “And how many people have you told?”

“Just you,” he shrugged, leaning against the wall. “And the cashier at the gas station, and the motel cleaning lady. I’m proud of him, sue me.”

She hummed. “Does Sam know you’re telling people?”

“Yeah, he was right next to me-“ Dean cut himself off. “You’re trying to change the subject.”

“No, I’m just-“

Dean grunted Her name. “I’m serious, whatever’s going on-“

“It’s not-” Her long sigh hummed through the speaker. “It’s really nothing, Dean. I’m okay.”

She kept saying that, and Dean knew She wasn’t, and it felt like it was snapping along his spine and festering in his gut. 

And he couldn’t let it go.

“You know, you owe me one.”

He could hear the small frown in Her voice. “I owe-“

“A question, Princess. I’ve got one up on you.”

“Dean, we haven’t done that in a year-“

“And I’m bringing it back. I owed you, but you just asked me how many people I’ve told about Sam. I’m up, sweetheart. What’s going on.”

It was flawed logic. They’d asked each other a million questions, and answered all of them, and Dean had long lost track of it. But it was his in. His chance. And She could probably talk her way out of it easily, but he couldn’t let Her go-

“I need help. Please.” 

Her voice was a whisper through the phone, and Dean’s grip on the phone became painful. 

“You’re in Colorado?”

“Yeah, um, outside of Lakewood-“

Dean nodded, bracing his hands on the bathroom sink and frowning at his reflection. If Lakewood was where he thought, he could get there in a day. He’d have to leave now though, and not stop for anything but gas.

“What do you need?”

“I- I’ve got everything, it’s not even that big a case-“

“What is it?”

“Kelpie. And I can handle it myself, Dean, you don’t need to-“

“You just said you needed help.” Dean snapped Her name. He didn’t understand why the hell She was pushing back. This what She was asking, Dean always did what she asked, and She wasn’t going to have to speed halfway across the country because she didn’t know how to not go to her. “I’ve got nothing going on, and if you need help-“

“I- It’s complicated-“

Dean rolled his eyes. “Hypocrite.”

“I am not-“

“Yeah, you are. Send me the address, Princess, we’ll be there by Friday, we can gank the, uh, the what?”

She sighed. “Kelpie. Scottish water monster, I think there’s one nesting in the pool-“

“In the pool?”

“Modern times, Deano.”

“Whatever, just,” Dean ran a hand over his face, frowning at the bathroom door. “I’ll have Sammy text you an update. Don’t move until we get there.”

He could hear Her scowl through the phone. “I’ll move as much as I want, Winchester-“

“Yeah, I know you will, just- Be careful.” He paused, letting out a slow breath. “Please.”

“I always am.” There was a long moment of silence, Dean unable to figure out how to move his body and hang up the phone, and then- “You really don’t need to, Dean. I can figure it out.”

Dean drew his lips into a tight line. “You need help?”

“Yeah, but-“

“Then we’ll be there. I’ll see you soon.”

He managed to hand up, because he didn’t want to listen to Her protest. To try and walk back that She wanted hishelp.

It ached in his chest that She regretted asking him. That She didn’t actually want him there.

He was going anyway.

Dean almost didn’t bring Sam. He stared at his brother in bed, rolling and grunting in his sleep, and didn’t want to wake him up. He’d told Her he’d take Sam, but he didn’t need to. Dean could go and have Her to himself. He could laugh and joke with Her like nothing was complicated, and forget about this whole fucked up mess. He wouldn’t have to deal with Sam’s pointed looks and questions about Her and how Dean felt. He wouldn’t have to remind Sam over and over that She was just like that—kind and magnetic and bright—for everyone, not only Dean. That it didn’t matter what She did and didn’t tell him, or what the hell those episodes were, or why Dean never told Dad about Her. None of it mattered, because they didn’t matter.

She mattered. She had people and a future outside of the mud. Dean was just Dean, and he didn’t matter enough to matter with Her. She could see that. And Dean wasn’t going to test Her willingness to be near him, to ask him for things.

And that was the worst danger to brining Sam. She and Sam seemed to get along. Sam liked Her. She and Sam fit well together, because they were both weird little nerds. And if She and Sam became friends, that would be another thing that tugged Dean back to Her side. Another reason for Her to fit against him, another reason to grin at and care about Her. 

Then Sam rolled over in bed, blinking up at Dean with a frown, and he was screwed.

“Dean, it’s like,” Sam leaned over to frown at the blinking motel clock. “Five in the morning. Why the hell are you up?”

“Get packed, Sammy.” Dean picked Sam’s bag up off the floor and tossed it onto the mattress. “We’re going in fifteen.”

“Fiftee- What?”

“We’re going-“

“Yeah, I heard you. Where are we going at five in the morning?”

Dean grabbed his own phone, tossing it Sam without a word as he went to pack his own bag.

“Golden, Colorado?” Sam looked up at him with a frown. “What’s in Colorado?”

Dean grunted Her name, and Sam’s eyes widened.

“Shit, is she-“

“She’s fine.” Dean snapped. “Needs some extra hands for a hunt.”

Sam repeated Her name, his tone disbelieving. “Needs some extra hands?”

“Yep. I’m gonna go start the car-“

“Dean, what the hell are we hunting that she needs a hand?”

“Kelpie.” He muttered, walking towards the door. “You’re gonna need to return the motel keys-“

Sam grabbed his arm, stopping Dean in his tracks. “A kelpie?”

“That’s what she said. C’mon, dude, move your ass-“

“How do you hunt a kelpie?”

“You can ask,” Dean yanked his arm from Sam’s grip, snapping Her name. “When we get there. Let’s fucking go.”

Sam gave him an odd look, but nodded, and they were out of Virginia before the sun broke the sky. Sam, for once, seemed to know what was good for him, and wasn’t pressing about why Dean was wired and edged the longer the drive crept on. Didn’t taunt him about running to Her side with barely a question, didn’t push on why She’d asked for help at all.

Because Sam was right. One weird and rare monster shouldn’t throw Her. Hell, it should be right up Her alley.

But She’d sounded so damn tired over the phone. She’d said please.

Dean wasn’t a vic, or witness, or random bartender. She never said please to Dean. Not in a real, nervous, pleading way. Where She acted like she actually needed his permission. Needed him.

So Dean was already flying through Missouri, so there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d turn back now. Not when She needed him. When She’d chosen to call Dean, and he’d picked up, and he could help.

He would help. Whatever the hell was going on with Her, Dean would do what he did best and have Her back. 

It didn’t matter if Sam was up his ass all weekend. It didn’t matter that She’d sounded reluctant for him to actually come. All that mattered was that he’d be there, for Her.

In Golden, Colorado, pulling up the long, dirt road of the address She’d sent, parking in front of a house.

A huge house. 

Something started to twist in Dean’s gut. This was the kind of house rich people lived it. Well-designed, surrounded by open land, so big he could probably park Baby in the living room. The kind of house She belonged in, the kind of house Dean only stepped foot in for pest control, before returning to the road.

The kind of house Her family might live in.

“Dean.” Sam was scanning over the well-trimmed bushes and cars, something close to worry written over his face. “That looks like a house.”

“I know, Sammy, I got eyes-“

“What kind of house had a parking lot?”

Dean’s brow furrowed, and he scanned over the rest of the area. Mowed grass, parking spots with little metal signs, a white picket fence and a painted-

“Country club.” He muttered, dropping his head to the wheel. “We’re at a freakin’ country club.”

“Oh.” Sam nodded. “Yeah. That makes more sense.”

It did make more sense. She wouldn’t lie to Dean about Her family for years, then ask him to drive for days straight to meet them. Dean would probably never get to meet them. One day the thrill would run out, and She’d just stop picking up the phone. She’d return to a house like this one, would live an Apple Pie life with someone just as untouchable as she was, and Dean would be a memory.

Not today, but someday.

Today She was waiting for them on the curb of the sidewalk, and looked up to great Dean with a wide smile.

“Dean!” She pushed herself to Her feet, saying his name the same way She always did. It was going to kill him. “You’re here!”

“Said I would be.” He shot Her a grin, glancing over his shoulder to keep an eye on Sam, sorting through Baby’s trunk. “You might wanna tell Sammy-“

Dean cut himself off with a low grunt, because She was hugging him. Tight. Her arms wrapped around his torso, fitting perfectly. Her face smushed against his chest, Her hair near his nose, and fuck she still smelled like strange fruit and Dean still couldn’t figure out what the hell it was-

She was gone too fast. Dean had to curl his fists to not lunge forward and grab Her. To not pull Her back into him, because goddamnit She’d felt right there, and Dean had no right to want Her there, but he did and She shouldn’t go-

“Thank you.” She mumbled, rolling slightly on Her feet. “I could’ve handled it, I swear-“

Dean sighed Her name, frowning slightly. “I-“

“But I’m glad you’re here.” She gave him a small smile, and Dean’s whole body seemed to have a chemical reaction to it.

The world was sharper, and colors were brighter, and something to the right of his heart was golden and pounding against his ribs because She was looking at Dean, so he was real. This was, at least for now, real. She wasn’t a dream, because She’d hugged Dean and he’d felt the press of Her body. She was glad he was here. She wanted him here. Where he could help Her, and he’d be repaid by just being allowed to be around Her. Allowed to look at Her.

She didn’t look good. 

She looked beautiful—She always look beautiful, in an indescribable and ethereal way—but She also looked exhausted. Her eyes were still brilliant, but there was something dulled beneath them. Her hair was still shiny, but it was messy. Unkempt. Her skin looked soft, and but Her clothing was dirty, and there were no rings on Her fingers. The skin around her nails red and raw. 

She’d been picking at them.

Something was really wrong. 

“Kelpie, huh?” Dean raised his brows. He couldn’t just ask, just demand She tell him what was wrong. That never worked. “How’d you find this one?”

“Paper clippings. The news goes crazy when they think rich people are being targeted for something. Four drownings were bound to capture some attention.” She raised up onto Her toes, frowning over Dean’s shoulder. “Is Sam okay?”

Dean shrugged. “He’s a big boy, he’ll be fine. So the kelpie’s targeting these golf douchebags?”

“No, it’s targeting the people in its immediate vicinity.”

“What-“

“Anyone at the club. There were actually six drownings. Two were staff members, they didn’t make the paper. Sam!”

Sam called Her name back, and Dean turned to find his brother’s face split into a wide, easy grin as he hauled their hunting bag across the parking lot. “Hey!”

“Hi!” She returned Sam’s smile, nodding to the bag as he set it down. “What’s that for?”

“The hunt.” Sam crouched down, hunching over the bag as he unzipped it. “I didn’t get a chance to research kelpie’s on the drive, so we’ve got some of everything. Salt, holy water, bullets, uh, I can find you a knife-“

She hummed, leaning over Sam’s shoulder. “Do you have silver?”

Sam glanced up at Her. “Silver bullets?”

She nodded, and Sam shrugged.

“Yeah, we should. Why?”

“That’s all you’ll need.” She glanced around the lot—mostly empty expect for them and a handful of old people—and Her brow furrowed. “We should go inside. Uh, Sam, you can grab the silver, but I don’t think-“

“Bag goes back in the car.” He nodded, rising back to his feet. “I’ll meet you guys in there.”

Sam wandered back to the Impala, and Dean didn’t even have time to look back to Her before she was grabbing the sleeve of his jacket, tugging him inside. 

“Shit-“ Dean steadied his pace, staying one step behind Her. “Princess, I don’t think we can just walk inside-“

“Of course we can.” She waved him off, pushing through the doors. “You can go anywhere as long as you act like you belong there.”

Dean frowned. He did not look like he belonged here. He was wearing slightly torn jeans and a leather jacket that might still have blood on it. His hands were awkwardly in his pockets, and he hadn’t slept in a little over a day, and anyone with eyes could tell he was an imposter. An invader, trailing in Her wake like a feral street dog.

But She did belong here. She carried herself with purpose, and held Her chin high, and when they walked past the entrance desk She gave the receptionist a sweet smile, and nobody stopped her. Dean got an odd look, but She was still holding onto him, so he was allowed in. 

He was a little worried about Sammy, walking in with matted hair and a bunch of bullets in his jacket. 

It would probably be fine. She was here, and She knew what the hell she was doing all the damn time, so it would be fine.

“Do you want a drink?”

Dean blinked at Her, letting her guide him down into a chair. “A drink?”

“Yeah, they’re free.” She pointed to an empty glass, resting on a side-table next to her own chair. “I’ve had like, seven cokes.”

He snorted. “That’s too many cokes, sweetheart-“

“Fuck off, Winchester. I’ve seen you eat three pies in one night.”

“I earned those pies-“

“And I earned these cokes. So, shut up.” 

She raised Her brows in a silent challenge, and Dean chuckled, raising his palms up.

“Yes, ma’am.” He glanced back to the empty glass. “They really free?”

She nodded—Her smile wide and a little intoxicating—and Dean leapt out of his seat, half running to the sleek bar to order the fanciest, more expensive and stupid whiskey they had. 

By the time Sam joined them—Dean had been right, She vouched for Sam and he walk right past the desk—Dean had added a large basket of pretty terrible fries and a ribeye steak to their table, and was inhaling them like he’d been stranded in the desert for a hundred years.

“Holy shit, dude.” Sam laughed, dropping into the final empty chair. “This is why I said we should take an hour and eat.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but She blinked, leaning forwards in her seat.

“You guys stopped, right?“ She looked between them with a pretty, pouting frown. “On the drive here?”

“Nope.” Sam shook his head. “Not even when I really had to pee-“

“Sam.” Dean grunted, a little bit of fry falling onto the plate. “Shut your mouth.“

It was too late. She was sitting up a little taller, glaring at Dean with Her arms crossed over her chest.

Her tits looked great like that.

“Dean.”

He gave Her his best innocent look. “Yeah, Princess?”

“How long was the drive?”

“I dunno, I left right after you called-“

“Sam?”

“Twenty-two hours.” Sam said, looking a little too thrilled with how Dean was about to be flayed alive. “Dean drank fifteen coffees.”

“Fucking- Dean!” 

“Sammy’s being a dramatic little bitch.” Dean shot Sam a glower. “And I’m gonna fucking kill you- shit-“

Dean winced as She kicked his shin, Her whole expression a little violent. It was kinda hot.

“You need to go sleep-“

“Nah-“

“Winchester.” She leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “You either sleep, or I cut you off from the free food.”

Dean scoffed. “You can’t cut me off-“

“It’s my fake account, Deano. I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

Dean looked between Her and his steak with a pout, his voice becoming mournful. “C’mon, sweetheart, it’s free food-“

“And it’ll keep being free, as long as you go fucking sleep-“

“How about this.” Sam raised his hands, saying Her name as hell of a lot nicer than he ever said Dean. “You tell us what the case is, and what you need us for, so we,” he gestured between himself and Dean. “Can know what we’re in for. Then Dean and I will go to a motel, get some sleep, and we’ll regroup tomorrow. Deal?”

She let out a low, adorable huff, but nodded, and Dean rolled his eyes and grunted an agreement.

“Great.” Sam turned to Her, leaning forward in his seat. “What’s the deal with the kelpie?”

“There’s really not much,” She shrugged, still mostly glaring at Dean. “It’s living in the pool, kills about two people a week, and I can’t find it during the day to kill it.“

Dean frowned. “Have you checked the pool at night?” 

“Yeah, but it’s in the filtration system, and I’d have to break the whole water pump to get into it.”

“’S why don’t you do that?” Dean wiped his mouth of a little steak juice, and She gave him an unreadable look.

“Because that would flood the supply room, and give the kelpie an advantage in the fight. It’s a last resort, because we should be able to get it during the daytime.”

“Kelpie’s are shape-shifters, though, right?” Sam looked around the room, his face drawn in concern. “It could be anyone here.”

She nodded. “Technically, yeah, but we’ll be able to identify it. It’ll have water weeds in its hair, so we��re probably looking for someone with a hat, and it should have a piece of iron jewelry.”

Sam raised his brows. “Iron?”

“It’s bridle. If you take it off, it’ll revert back to its normal form. We can start looking tomorrow, but,” She turned back to Dean, raising Her chin slightly. “You’re going to rest first.”

Dean was ready to protest, to push on the fact that this sounded like it could be quick—like they could gank this asshole in an afternoon, then spend several days eating free food and just hanging out together—but Sam was a freaking traitor and stood up, making Her promises that they’d get some rest and get going tomorrow morning. 

They found a motel room only a few doors down from Her’s, and Dean had to bite down the demand that they all stay together. It would save money, and time, and he’d be able to figure out what the hell was up with Her faster. Because he got that stupid sleep, Sam passed him a coffee in the morning with an amused grin, and they started to look for this pool-dwelling son of a bitch, but something was still wrong.

She was off. When they saw Her the next morning, She didn’t look like she’d rested. The entire time they were making a game plan—gathered around one of the country club’s fancy tables, She and Sam talking as Dean stuffed his face with some pretty freaking awesome scrambled eggs and bacon—She kept glancing around them, beautiful features bloodless and her hand rubbing on her palm. When they actually started the hunt, Sam had barely said the words split up when Her hand shot out and grabbed Dean’s elbow. 

“Dean and I can go together,” She said, and Dean was pretty sure She was going to break his arm. “In case I need something shot.”

Sam nodded, moving on, but Dean just stared at Her. She never needed something shot. She only ever scoffed and rolled Her eyes when Dean suggested she’d need a gun, whenever he insisted on walking ahead of her because he was better armed. And he’d never once heard Her request that they not split up. 

Something was really fucking wrong. Something She wouldn’t tell Dean about. Her eyes kept wandering around every room they walked through, and She was far too rigid every moment, and Dean wished She’d just tell him what to do. Just show him what was wrong, so he could take care of it for Her. That was what he’d come to do, and now he was stuck in some sort of fucked up limbo between needing to help Her and never wanting this to end.

Because Dean was a selfish douchebag, and his worry was only barely outweighed by how good it felt for Her to be this close all the time. The hunt started to stretch into days, and She was barely leaving Dean’s side. He and Sam would wake up, and She’d already be waiting outside their door. She’d curl up in the Impala backseat as they drove to the country club—Her eyes always drooping slightly, and Dean’s gut always rolling with a rotting, taut worry—and She’d let Dean help her out of the car. They’d spend the day trying to talk to the staff and patrons, countless polo wearing, hair-gelled, manicured douchebags would try to hit on Her, and she’d barely even look at them.

She seemed to be only looking at Dean.

Only at Dean, and only around every room, like the furniture might come to life and attack Her.

And he was fucking confused.

“How you feeling, sweetheart?” Dean watched Her carefully—beautiful, exhausted, scanning around the dining hall with a tight expression—and took a large bite of his sandwich.

“I’m okay,” She mumbled. Lie. “Why is Sam taking so fucking long. We agreed to meet at noon-“

“He’s probably just gettin’ hit on by grandma’s again.” Dean shrugged, crumbs falling out his mouth as he spoke. “Or maybe he finally got somethin’.”

She hummed, but Her shoulders were still too tight, her brows drawn together. She wasn’t eating that much. She seemed to mostly be drinking coffee and chewing gum, and it was just another reason to be worried about Her. He’d started to get extra food, placing it in Her path to try and bait Her into eating it. Even now Dean was pushing his food half across the table for her to take, but She was barely even looking at it. 

“Maybe we should go find him- Sam!”

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” Sam sat down, leaning back in the chair with a sigh. “The old lady with the beetle broach was trying to talk to me again.”

Dean laughed, nudging Her foot under the table. “See, Princess, I told you-“

“Shut up.” She muttered, running a hand through Her hair as she frowned at Sam. “You good?”

Sam shrugged. “Yeah, I’m fine. Little hungry-“

“Go grab some food, Sammy.” Dean nodded to the bar, taking another bite. “’S free.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sam frowned, glancing at Dean’s plate. “Dude, that’s like your third meal of the day.”

“Fourth.” She corrected, giving Dean a pointed look. “He made us stop for fries earlier.”

Dean swallowed, shooting Her a smirk. “You ate some of them too, sweetheart.”

“I ate like, two-“

“Hold on.” Sam raised his hand, looking between them with a frown. “You let her eat your food?”

Dean shot Sam a glare, because if he took this where Dean knew he was trying to, he’d get his ass beat. “There were a lotta fries, Sammy. And it’s free, I got another basket right now-“

“But you never- fuck-“

Sam leaned down—rubbing his shin where he’d be kicked—and Dean raised his voice, holding Sam’s annoyed gaze with a glare. “Stop wasting time, dude. You find anything?” 

“No, nothing.” Sam gave him another odd look, but got the fucking message, and moved on. “How about you guys? Did the golf team pan out?”

Dean shook his head. “Nah, nothin’ but a bunch of assholes in boat shoes tellin’ us fuckin’ shit-“

“Dean.” She shot him a glare, holding a cloth napkin across the table. “Chew with your mouth closed.”

He rolled his eyes but took the napkin. “Bossy-“

“Dean-“

He raised his hands in mock surrender, and let Her take over. He’d probably have gotten stabbed if he didn’t, and She was always hot when she thought aloud. 

“He’s right, we don’t have anything.” She let out a long breath, rubbing Her thumb over her palm. “No hints, no suspicious activity, and everyone’s clean. There hasn’t even been a murder since you guys got here-“

“Could the kelpie have left?” Sam asked, and She shook her head.

“No, especially not in a place without any other bodies of water. Something’s… I don’t know. This is weird.”

Dean agreed. This was weird. And as She and Sam started to talk about new plans and ideas, Dean knew something was really, really wrong.

She was the starting to be the one who trailed after Dean. They only separated at night, when he and Sam would go to their room, and She’d go to hers. He knew She’d asked him—just Dean, no one else—to help, and that she didn’t seem to be looking anywhere but him, but he also knew She still wasn’t telling the truth. Still wasn’t telling Dean what the hell was up with Her, wasn’t explaining what was making Her so freaking jumpy, all while clinging to Dean like he was a lifeline. Everything about this was strange. 

Because it wasn’t just Her, acting as if Dean going out of Her sight was the worst thing in the world. It was this whole damn case. Dean had to watch Her get hit on by countless, undeserving assholes, and every time one would move a little too close to Her, the wind seemed to blow them back. He’d thought he was just seeing things the first two times it happened—the stress of the case and his worry for Her getting to his head—but then one son of a bitch placed his hand on Her arm, something started to strangle Dean in his chest, and the trust-fund dickhead stumbled back. 

Dean hadn’t moved. She’d just been standing there with an unreadable expression, hugging Her body so tight Dean was worried she’d bruise herself. And Dean was certain he was losing his mind.

But then it happened again. And again. Strange things building up and up on top of each other, none of them making any damn sense. Random people would brush against Her in the hall, she’d side-step into Dean, and he could swear the whole building would creak. They’d chase something that seemed like a lead but ended up being a dead end, and something would fall off a shelf. Every time She spoke to someone that wasn’t Sam or Dean, Her eyes would narrow and she’d rub her palm like she was trying to wipe the scar off Her body. Sometimes Dean could swear the pavement was cracking under Her, and the water of the pool would always crash up at Her feet, and the flowers in the garden would lean towards Her as they walked through the grounds. She and Dean would turn a corner, bump over each other until Dean steadied them both—one hand around Her waist and another braced on the wall—and the hallway lights would spark.

And they still had nothing. And the deaths had stopped. 

Which only made Dean more confused. Because things were weird, but She never mentioned all the strange shit Dean was seeing, and this case was boring. It wasn’t something that should be making Her—sexy as hell, smart-mouthed, impossibly fucking confident Her—look like She was the one being hunted.

And there hadn’t been another murder, or any leads, or a hint to anything at all.

They were on day four, and Sam had been smart enough not to push about Her and Dean being more than hunting partners, but he was still pressuring Dean about checking on Her. Sam had noticed things were odd too. Every night, when they’d separate from Her until dawn, Sam would press about if She was good. If She’d been having any episodes, if She’d mentioned anything odd, if Dean wanted to push a little harder to ensure they could wrap this up quicker.  

And Dean caved. He felt like he was winding tighter and tighter with every passing day that She remained hollow and on edge, and he agreed with Sam. For Her, they had to wrap this up now.

Dean said Her name carefully that morning, watching Her in the rearview mirror. “It’s last resort time.”

She shook Her head, and Dean knew that if he turned around, she’d be picking at her fingers. “No, we can give it another day-“

“We’ve given it four other days. We’re doing this now.”

“Dean-“

“Nope. You asked for our help, Princess, and this is us helping. You and I are gonna go into the pump room, Sammy’s gonna keep the staff away from us, and we’re wrapping this shit up. Got it?” Dean shot Her his best stern glower in the mirror, and She swallowed. And flushed. 

He tried not to think about it too much. How She was letting him do this for her. How She was almost pressed to Dean’s back as they snuck into the staff only area, and how She was touching him. Holding his arm like She wasn’t sure he was real. Fully listening to Dean for maybe the first time since they’d met.

It was jarring. And kept doing funny things to his lower stomach, when She’d wrap a hand around Dean’s bicep, and he’d get to lead her through the darkened hallways. She trusted him. She wanted him here.

For this, She actually seemed to want Dean. 

And he wouldn’t let Her regret that. He’d prove himself here, and maybe She’d fucking listen to him more. Maybe he could get Her to keep holding him. Maybe he could even convince Her to let him hold Her. In the dark, on every hunt, in broad daylight where nobody would ever try and touch Her again because Dean would be hanging around Her shoulders-

He needed to pull himself the fuck together. These were pointless, impossible fantasies that were distracting him from the hunt, distracting him from actually keeping Her safe, from doing his damn job. Just as Dad had warned.

Dean couldn’t afford to disappoint Her and Dad. He needed to wrap this case up now.

“Ready?” He whispered when they reached the pump room, glancing over his shoulder to see Her eyes wide, her grip on his arm becoming bruising.

“Ready.” Her voice was a breath. Dean didn’t believe Her.

He said Her name slowly, scanning over Her too open features. “I can still have Sammy do this with me, and you can do the distraction-“

“No!” Her voice was almost a shout, almost frantic. “I’ve got this, De. I’m just tired.”

She was tired—Dean could see it all over Her gorgeous face—but there was more. There’d been more, this whole week. And Dean had never learned how to just let it go.

“I’m serious, I can even do it myself-“

“Fuck off, Winchester.” She snapped, and Dean felt odd relief through his body. “You’d never let me do this alone.”

“That’s cause you wouldn’t bring a gun, Princess. I got silver bullets and some food in me, I can kick this things ass easy-“

“And I’ve got coffee and a knife.” She pointed Her knife at Dean’s frown, and fuck, that shouldn’t turn him on as much as it did. But She looked more like Her again—a hot, annoying pain in Dean’s ass—and that was the knife he’d given Her. Comfortable in Her hand, like Dean always wanted to be.

He needed to pull it the fuck together.

“Fine.” He let out a long, slow breath, glancing down the hall behind Her. “Ready?”

“Born it.” She muttered, and at least Her blinding, impossibly secure confidence was back. Even if Dean would see that give-away wrinkle in Her brow. Even if She was leaning into Dean’s body in a way that set him ablaze. “Let’s go.”

Dean nodded, raised his gun in a defensive position, and slammed his shoulder into the door with all the force in his body. 

The room was dark. Pitch black and strangely silent, something wet pooling around Dean’s ankles, and he almost doubled over at the first breath. It smelled horrible. Like rotten fish and trash and sulfur and chlorine-

“Holy shit,” She muttered from behind him, sounding just as choked on the air as Dean felt. “Dean, light-“

“On it.” He fumbled in his jacket, pulling out the flashlight She’d shoved into his hands as they’d walked down the stairwell.

The moment he switched it on, he wished he’d kept it off. 

A young, dark-haired man was slumping against the already broken tank, and his body way fucking mauled. Chest ripped open and mouth unhinged in a permanent scream, eyes clouded and staring into nothing for the rest of time. It seemed like he’d started to decay—clumps of hair missing and skin sagging off his body—and adding that with the smell, Dean guessed the poor son of a bitch had been down here for days.

“Goddamnit.” He muttered, scanning around the rest of the room. The water was red with blood and the tank looked like it had been bashed in, but there weren’t any other signs of danger. “That’s fucking disgusting.”

He glanced over his shoulder, and She wasn’t looking at him. Or around the room. Her attention seemed trapped on the man on the floor, Her every breath so shallow and rapid Dean was a bit worried She’d pass out. 

Dean said Her name, his voice low and cautious, and She just shook her head.

“No.” She whispered, and she was starting to cave in. Curling into Herself as all the color seemed to drain from the world, and Dean watched Her shake her head, repeating the word once more. “No, that’s- no-“

Dean said Her name again, reaching out an arm to hold Her upright, and she flinched away.

He could swear the water filling the room was starting to turn at Her feet.

“Fuck, no. No, I can’t, fuck-“

“Princess, you’re starting to freak me- hey-“

She started to walk in unsteady steps to the body, dropping to Her knees in the water with only another shake of her head. “No, it’s- I’m not-“

Dean snapped Her name, his voice rising to a shout as She didn’t even look at him. Her hands only rested on the neck of the corpse, pulling down the collar of his ripped and tattered shirt. Dean heard a choked, distressed sound, and when he came up behind Her there was a thin, gray chain glinting around the man’s neck. 

She ripped it off, and the body started to transform. Limbs growing longer and thinner—almost bone-like—and skin turning green. Hair started to grow down the man’s neck, his eyes peeling and stretching to the side of his head, his hands fisting and becoming rock solid and hoofed-

Those were hooves. Those were fucking hooves. That was a fucking horse.

That was the kelpie. Still with its chest carved apart and bleeding, still rotting and glassy-eyed, but now in its true form.

Dean hadn’t thrown up on a hunt for a long, long time. He was pretty damn close to losing his lunch now.

But then he glanced at Her, and the whole world narrowed down. She was panicking, scratching at her throat and scrambling backwards—slipping in the blood-stained water and hyperventilating with glassy eyes—and She needed him.

Dean didn’t care that the hunt was suddenly and strangely over. He didn’t care about who or what had killed the Kelpie, or cleaning up a horse from a basement, or how the water was definitely starting to swirl and crash like an ocean at his feet. He cared about Her. About how She was falling apart, and Dean could help. She’d wanted him here for Her, to help, and that’s exactly what he’d do.

He ran to Her side, ignored Her weak and strangled protests as he hauled Her up in his arms, and carried her out of the pump room, away from the body.

He didn’t bother to look anywhere but Her and the immediately steps ahead of him as he carried Her away. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and Her face buried in the crook of Dean’s neck as her breathing didn’t steady, but slowed. They were both covered in the reek of blood and chlorine, and when he lowered Her onto the curb of the parking lot, she seemed to just collapse. Hugging Her knees to her chest and clawing at her face, muttering low words Dean couldn’t make out.

He could swear he heard his name, somewhere in this impossible, confusing mess. But it didn’t really matter, because there were tears flowing down Her cheeks, and Dean needed to take care of this. Take care of Her.

Just make this better, somehow, because every weak noise that left Her mouth seemed to be a poisoned stab into his intestine. 

He didn’t know how to do this. She was fucking crying, and he’d only ever dealt with this for Sam. And She wasn’t six years old. Dean couldn’t promise Her ice cream and TV, or tell Her about how he was afraid of the dark sometimes too. He didn’t think She’d be that comforted knowing Dad would always protect them. 

He knew She wouldn’t give a shit that Dean would always be there to keep Her safe, even if that was truer than he’d ever say aloud. 

But he had to do something, so he knelt at Her side and raised slow, careful hands to frame her face. He wiped away her tears, and his thumb moved on what might be becoming instinct, stroking a slow, firm line down Her nose.

The tight furrow in Her brow vanished. Her breathing started to find a long, slow rhythm. And when Her eyes blinked open they were glossy and a little red, but still brilliant. 

Her hands shot to his chest, and for an infinite, painful moment Dean thought She was going to push him away. That he’d be sent stumbling down to his ass, and She’d shout that he didn’t need to coddle or touch Her. That he should be going to Sammy and focusing on the hunt, because she could take care of herself and Dean should’ve stayed on the target, no matter who fell in his path. Even if it was Her, and she was the most important thing he’d ever been allowed to be close to.

But She didn’t shove him. Her fingers curled in his shirt, she leaned a little further forward, and Dean was pretty sure that if the sky fell, he wouldn’t be able to do anything but remain like a statue or suit of armor at her side.  

“I-“ She swallowed, Her eyes wide and open on his. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, Dean, I’m sorry-“

She fell silent as Dean squeezed his hands on Her face, a frown pulling at his lips. “What the hell are you sorry for.”

“I- I can’t- I don’t- I’m sorry-“

Her voice started to grow pleading, and She was leaning forward like Dean needed to breathe in Her words to get them.

Once again, he didn’t know what the hell was going on.

Dean grunted Her name, shaking his head. “It’s good, Princess. I’ll clean it up, Sammy’ll figure out what killed it, and you’ll go rest until we’ve got something.”

She gave him an odd look, shaking Her head again. “Oh. Um, I can help-“

“You can get some sleep.” He made his voice firm and commanding again, holding her gaze as he spoke. “You need to lie down, Princess.”

“But-“

“You called us for help. This is us helping. If we see you on the grounds before we get back, I’m driving you back to the motel and sitting on you until you sleep.”

She let out a long breath, Her voice becoming a little sharper. “You suck.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean fished around in his pockets, pulling out his keys. “I’m driving you back, and then you’re getting some sleep.”

He expected Her to protest. To push back and say that she could help with clean-up. That She’d just freaked out a little—even if Dean had seen it, and that was one of the worst episodes She’d ever had—and She was more than capable of at least researching with Sam.

Dean needed to stop trying to predict what She’d do. He was bad at it. 

“Okay.” She nodded, and went without a fight.

She let Dean pull Her to her feet, and curled into the passenger’s seat of the Impala as Dean drove her back to the motel. He called Sammy as they pulled out of the country club lot, keeping his voice low and his words simple—Sam needed to get a good look at the body in the basement, keep everyone away from it until Dean got back—as She remained silent at his side.

“Is she okay?” Sam asked, and Dean sighed.

“We’re alright. Hold down the fort, Sammy, and I’ll be back soon.”

Dean hung up, because he didn’t need Sam to push this right now. He’d explain more later. Explain how he still felt sick, long after leaving the basement, because She wasn’t okay. She was staring at Her hands and picking at her skin, and Dean was really fucking worried. 

It wasn’t his place to worry. It was barely his place to take care of Her at all.

But that didn’t stop him for helping Her out of the car, half-carrying her into his motel room, and moving her into his bed. From muttering that this way, when he and Sam got back, they wouldn’t have to wake Her up to check on her. From putting a glass of water on the nightstand, and saying he wouldn’t move until she drank it.

Dean wasn’t sure how the hell water was supposed to help. He knew that Sammy was always telling him to drink more, and it was supposed to be healthy, so he’d have Her drink some. He’d kiss Her brow before he left—because he was weak and bendable, and She was like a flame he would follow until it turned him to ash—and he’d wait until she lay down before walking back to the Impala, and driving back to the country club.

For the rest of the afternoon, She kept spinning around his head. He kept replaying how She’d been so silent. Heavy silence that lodged itself in his throat and rotted in his gut, reminding Dean that something was wrong. That something had been wrong. That, even as he explained everything to Sam—almost everything, leaving out how She’d cried, how she’d leaned into Dean’s touch and gripped onto his shirt like him walking away would be the worst thing in the world—there was something scratching at Dean’s skull that he shouldn’t have left.

She might have needed him, might still need him, might want him there. 

She didn’t. She wouldn’t. Dean had helped, and that had been Her orders, so he’d done his job. With the kelpie dead, She probably wouldn’t want to stick around, because who would.

And that was the worst fear. That She might just be gone when he returned. That he’d open the door to his motel room, and the bed would be empty. That he’d knock on Her door, and she’d be gone. That Her car would be missing from the lot, and Her number would be dead, and Dean had stepped out of line by helping her too much—by showing too many cards, holding Her face and kissing Her brow—and She’d left forever, because everyone always did. 

Sam got out of the club first. He came up with a complex lie involving gas leaks and bugs that kept everyone out of the basement and the pool—the water filtration bursts apparently proving to be a problem—and muttered to Dean that he was going to stop at the library to start working out what the hell could rip a kelpie to shreds like that. Dean nodded, grumbled that he could use some freakin’ hands with this mess, and Sam had just shrugged and told Dean to call when he needed a ride back.

Dean was not a fan of this plan. For one, he was now cleaning up a disguising corpse alone. Two, whatever the hell had gotten the kelpie might still be wandering around, and Dean wasn’t looking to get ripped to shreds. And finally, worst of all, Sammy was getting his grimy nerd hands on Baby.

But the plan made sense. The motel wasn’t far, they had done a sweep of the ground and patrons for anything immediately suspicious, and Sam knew the day he scratched the Impala would be the same day he died, but Dean still didn’t like this.

What if She lost it again. Sam didn’t know how to calm Her down. Dean didn’t want Sam to calm Her down. He’d probably be better at it—Sam was great at soft words and emotional bullshit—but Dean wanted to be the one who did it. Whose shirt she clung to. Whose hands wiped Her tears, and who carried her away from danger.

Dean wanted to do that. He was a hollow, greedy ass, so he wanted to be the one She held in the dark, for comfort or more.

And he wouldn’t be that. She still didn’t trust him enough to tell him what the hell had actually been going on all week, and what the fuck was up with Her family, or why She always lied about such weird shit.

He’d have to live with it. Even as it left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Even as he hated himself for allowing it to get to this. For being so fucking weak that he’d fall this far down.

But he’d fall further. Because when he finished up in the basement, walked up to the parking lot to call Sam for pick up, he spotted a lone car still in the lot.

Her car. The dark blue, four-wheel drive She’d been using for this hunt. Dean wasn’t sure where the hell She got all these cars—he didn’t really want to find out, because that would just be another reason to hate Her that he couldn’t hold onto—but that was Her car.

When he scanned around the silent yards and walkways, there wasn’t a soul but his. Only the dead of night making long shadows and odd shapes on the building wall, only crickets and soft wind, only the pool lights still glowing through the fence.

There She was. 

She was glowing. Literally freaking glowing. Blue and white light shifting over Her features, every shadow cast on her face made the right places sharper and softer, and the golden light of the overhead lamps giving the impression of a halo.

Dean felt like he shouldn’t be looking.

It felt like he was invading something, watching a piece of beauty that no one person should be allowed to witness. She couldn’t be human, not when She looked like that. When the whole world seemed to be bending to make Her more beautiful. The colors around Her seemed brighter to compliment her. The wind drifted around and though Her hair like a movie. The shifting water reflected onto Her skin, giving the impression of a strange water spirit or fallen star, resting for only a moment at the edge of the pool. 

For a brief moment Dean was frozen. Watching the water move, watching Her like she was a secret he’d really like to keep.

Then Her eyes drifted up and met his, she smiled, and Dean was pretty sure that time stopped. That they were the only ones left in the universe.

It didn’t matter why She was here and not Sam. It didn’t matter why She wasn’t doing as he’d told her and resting. It didn’t matter how blood was caked and dried and itching on Dean’s hands, staining the fence as he crawled over it to join Her.

He’d just wash it off in the water.

“Sam was eating really loud.” She said, looking up at Dean as he dropped to Her side. “And I needed some air, so volunteered to pick you up.”

“Huh.” Dean scanned Her over. Still impossibly beautiful. Still tired. “And he let you?”

“He’s not my boss, Winchester, I don’t need permission-“

Dean raised his brows, and She sighed.

“He lost rock, paper, scissors.”

“There it is.” Dean chuckled, glancing back to the lot. “Where’s my car?”

“Back at the motel.” She shrugged. “I never learned stick.”

He could teach Her stick. His hand would touch Her’s. It would cover Her’s and Dean would guide her movements, and she’d smile and he’d maybe find an excuse to touch Her thighs, or trail his fingers over Her lips-

“Are we in the clear?” Her voice was soft, but it still grabbed Dean’s attention. He blinked at Her—feet dragging small circles in the pool, head slightly bowed to watch the water—and frowned.

“In the-“

“The kelpie.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Dean held his hands up, displaying the blood under his nails. “Wrapped the son on a bitch up and burned him in the furnace.” He made a face. “What kinda country club has a furnace.”

She let out a soft laugh. “One that was built in the 1900s.”

“How would you know-“

“It says established 1923 on the sign, Deano.” 

“Oh, c’mon, how am I supposed to tell-“

“It’s a pretty easy thing to spot.” She gave him another small smile, and he was going to explode. “And it’s either just an old building, or,” Her voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. “That’s not the first body that’s been burnt in the furnace.”

Dean laughed. “You think they’re running a front for boat shoes and shorts?”

“I think they just murder people for fun. That’s why there were so freaked out about the kelpie deaths.”

Dean gave Her an amused look, raising his brows, and She grinned, leaning closer as she continued.

“Unsanctioned. No one filled for the murder permit.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “That’s so fucking dumb-“

“You’re laughing.”

“Yeah, cause it’s dumb.” 

She scoffed. “Like you could do better-“

“Oh, I could, Princess. My bet is that the furnace was for orgies.”

“What?”

“Furnace for orgies.” He smirked at Her, wiggling his brows as he leaned closer. “Shit gets so wild with these assholes that they have to burn the evidence, because there ain’t enough condoms in the world to just clean it up after.”

She wrinkled Her nose. “De, do you know how much jizz they’d have to be producing for a trash can not to work?”

He winked. “You know I do, sweetheart- Son of a bitch!”

She’d pushed him into the goddamn pool. When Dean wiped the water from his eyes, She was still sitting on the side, a wide grin of challenge on Her face. Her body so close to his, and She looked so fucking beautiful, and everything about Her goddamn blinding. Dean really could fall further. He could crash all the way down. 

And he could take Her with him.

She opened Her mouth, and any words turned into a yelp as Dean grabbed Her wrist and pulled her down over him. 

“Dean!“

He laughed, watching Her brush wet hair from her eyes, swimming over to hang off of the wall. “You gotta be able to eat what you dish out, Princess-“

Dean choked on chlorine, as She splashed water right into his mouth, Her annoyance seeming to have vanished into thin fucking air.

And this was too simple. Too easy to feel like nothing mattered but Her and Dean in the dead of night, screaming at each other like children and laughing like their lives were nothing more that this moment. 

Nothing really felt real but this. But Her, trying to possibly drown Dean and squeaking when he pushed Her away, looking more and more like something that couldn’t have been born on earth. Mascara was running down Her cheeks, her face flushed and hair clinging to Her neck, but She might be the best thing Dean had ever seen. And when they finally got out of the water—Dean finding some towel in the pool supply office, wrapping two around her shoulders and one around his own—and silence began to stretch on, he was certain she was a siren, or witch, or something made to loosen his tongue and say things he shouldn’t.

Because She asked if he was tired. Just asked it like it was a normal question, and she wasn’t looking for any specific answer, watching Dean with bright, soft eyes, and it broke a dam that always caged over his throat.

“I’m fucking exhausted.” He muttered, dropping his head into his hands, and She was silent.

In the brief second, something started to wrap around Dean’s chest. Vile and toxic and sneering up his spine that he’d fucked it. That She didn’t actually care that Dean was tired, because Dean was supposed to be tired. He was supposed to keep moving and fighting and-

“Do you, um,” She swallowed, and when Dean looked over She was staring at her own hands, picking at the skin around her nails. “You wanna talk about it?”

Dean frowned. He wasn’t the one who had the big fucking freak out. He didn’t need to talk about anything. 

But then his mouth opened, and he was telling Her everything. The words fell out of him like a flood his didn’t know how to stop, didn’t know how to contain when She just listened with wide eyes and a gentle expression. She was dangerous. Dean couldn’t move away from Her gravity, couldn’t shut his mouth and keep down things he needed to keep down.

He told Her about Sammy’s weird visions and nightmares. He told Her about Dad in Chicago, and going back to Kansas, and his fight with Sam about tracking Dad down. And She listened. Silent, leaning forward with an open expression and eyes Dean would like to stay trapped against his forever. The only blatant reaction was at the end, as he told Her about the reapers, and something impossible to understand flashed over Her face.

“You almost died?”

“Yeah, but that’s not the point-“

“The point?” She repeated, shaking Her head in what might be disbelief. “I don’t care what the point was, Dean, you almost fucking died-“

He frowned. That really wasn’t such a big deal. “Well, I obviously made it out alright-“

“Would you have told me?”

Dean blinked. “What?”

“If Sam’s idea hadn’t worked, and you were still going to die in a few months, would you have told me?”

He said Her name, slowly, because he wasn’t sure what the hell was happening. “I dunno, I wasn’t thinking about it that much.”

That was a lie. Before Sam had found that preacher and his bitch of a wife, Dean had stared at his phone and thought about calling Her nearly every second. It would’ve been the time to demand some answers. To do some kind of sick, selfish test to see if She would stick around for Dean, when he needed Her. When he needed someone who was complicated, but not Sam let’s-get-all-hung-up-on-Dad-and-hunting complicated. She was complicated because Dean always wanted Her there, against all reason.

It was the exact reason he hadn’t called. She didn’t want him there. And Dean was pretty sure his heart would’ve just given out there if he’d called, told Her he was dying, and She hadn’t given a shit.

She seemed like She gave a shit now, though. She was glowering at Dean and hugging Her body, and Dean would’ve thought he’d stabbed Her.

“Would you have asked Sam to call me?” She asked, and Her voice was small again. It made Dean’s gut stretch and ache. “After?”

“Probably, yeah. But it doesn’t really matter-“

“It matters.” She muttered, and Dean blinked. “I- I would’ve spent months wondering where you were, what happened, and you’d be fucking dead-“

“I’m not dead.” He snapped, something spiking and irritated creeping over his skin, twisting his words in his throat. “And it’s not like you were sticking around in the first place, Princess.”

She blinked. “What?”

Dean rolled his eyes, every word bitter and hot on his tongue. “You didn’t want to stick with us. You don’t get to have fucking updates on everything we do.”

“This isn’t an update, Dean, it’s you dying-“

“Yeah? And would you give a fuck if I did?”

She recoiled, and Dean hadn’t seen that expression on Her face in a while. She wasn’t wounded, or nervous, or apologetic. She looked like a cornered animal. Every word spitting and laced with a silent, tight fury that burned like a hot poker in Dean’s chest.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She hissed. “Of course I’d care if you died, you’re my partner-“

“Only when you think it’s convenient.” Dean spat right back, everything winding up tight and vaulting out of him without control. “You don’t want to stick around for the rough shit, sweetheart? You don’t get to go all goddamn righteous on me, because this is the goddamn job. People die all the time.”

“You wouldn’t have had to die! I could’ve helped-“

Dean huffed a dry laugh. “You wanted to help, you could’ve been there.”

She shook Her head, her words becoming slower. Sounding more measured as she curled further into Her body. “I told you, it’s complicated-“

“It’s not,” he sneered Her name, and She flinched, and Dean hated that he still wanted to reach out at sooth Her. She didn’t want him. She didn’t get to act like She gave a shit when Dean was just her toy. 

He loathed that he liked being Her toy. He loathed that She always knew the right thing to say to make him follow Her further down. He loathed that She hadn’t been lying when she said she cared, but She also didn’t want to stick around. To lay in the mud with Dean, until they both drowned in it.

He fucking despised that he still didn’t know how to really hate Her. 

But he did know how to keep hurting Her. How to keep fighting, even as every word made him sick, because everything was spewing out of him like lava, and he was tired, and he never knew how to just fucking stay in line. 

“I drop fucking everything when you call. I drive across the goddamn country whenever you ask me to-“

“I do the same for you-“

“No, you don’t!” Dean was shouting. It was making something to the left of his heart cower. “It’s not the fucking same! I’ve got shit to lose, I’ve got things to do and people to look out for, but I still always go for you!”

Her lips curled as She sat a little higher—Her back straight and chin raised—and Dean’s blood went cold. She wasn’t cowering anymore. And She looked furious. 

“Do you seriously think,” Her voice was low. Quiet. Venomous in Dean’s brain. “That I don’t have shit to lose? That I’m here for fun?”

“Aren’t you?” He needed to stop. He couldn’t. “You fucking chose this, Princess.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Her voice echoed around the grounds, leaving scars on Dean’s ribs. “You keep- you keep fucking telling me that I don’t get this life, that I’m not in the exact same situation you are-“

“Because you’re not! I fucking know you’re not! I’m fucking stuck here, Dad’s stuck here, hell, even Sammy can’t get out, but you can just fucking leave whenever the hell you want! You can just crawl home when you get sick of it, got back to your rich fucking family and pretend this never even happened!”

Dean realized what he said too late. He could almost see the words sink into Her skin, she her eyes narrow as something strange and hostile and bloody flashed over Her face.

 “How the fuck do you know about my family, Dean.” She hissed, and Dean let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“Dad. He figured you out immediately.”

She blinked at him. “Immediately?”

“On the moroi hunt.” He muttered. “And you could’ve fucking told me. But you kept never did. You kept lying to me, Princess. And that’s the shit you do when you don’t trust someone, don’t want them around-“ 

“You lie to Sam!” She shouted. “Sam lies to you! Why am I any different, just because I’m not a Winchester-“

“Yes! Sam and I are lying to protect each other-“

“Who says I’m not lying to protect you!”

“Protect me from what?!” Dean scoffed. “I’m the one who always saves your ass! You’re the one who freaks the fuck out, who would be dead if I wasn’t there! You’d be long fucking dead if it wasn’t for me, sweetheart. You’re just a spoiled fucking brat chasing a high,” Dean spat Her name, and toxics rooted deeper into his body. “So don’t fucking act like you give a shit about me.”

“I’m a spoiled brat?” Her laugh was loud, and cold, and set a chill over Dean’s bones. “You don’t have a fucking clue about my life, about my family-“

“I know that-“

“No!” She shot up, walking a few paces from Dean and shaking her head almost frantically. “You don’t have a single fucking idea, you don’t know what they are, you-“ She ran a hand over her face, leaving scratch marks on her skin. “They’d make the worst monsters your dad’s killed look like fucking bunnies.”

He let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Whatever. You couldn’t even kill a bunny without crying and panicking. Maybe they’re just fucking people, and you just don’t like that they don’t do whatever the hell you say. That you can’t control them.”

He wanted to take it back. The words had barely left his mouth and he wanted to take them back. He didn’t know where they’d come from, why the hell he’d said them, what the fuck was wrong with him. Because She didn’t look alive. Her jaw was clenched, hands curled into fists, so still Dean would think She’d be turned to marble, the only sign that She’d heard him the ragged sound of her breath. The wind was cold in Dean’s wet hair and biting at his ears, the night loud and creaking around him, but he could only look at Her. 

She didn’t look broken. She looked faded. Colorless. Silent as she just stared at him, and Dean started to beat himself black and blue in his chest. 

She didn’t insult him, or scream, or fight. She threw her keys at his face, didn’t look to see if he caught them, and just walked away. Vanished into the grounds, swallowed by the dark. Leaving Dean alone, like he deserved. He was a fucking monster. He’d done that. He’d shut Her down. He’d done what he’d sworn not to do and broken this. Taken the one good, easy thing and fucking bashed its brains in on the pavement. He could’ve never said anything. He could’ve kept pushing down the questions, kept moving in Her orbit until she cast him away, and he drowned himself in fruit perfume that didn’t smell quite like her, and beer she’d have never drank.

But he’d opened his mouth, and now he was alone. He’d pushed Her to leave, to wander into the darkness, when there-

Fuck.

Something had killed the kelpie. Something that might still be out there. Where She was. Without any weapons, without Dean there to protect Her.

And that something might be close, because everywhere Dean looked things were wrong. The trees were bend away from him, towards where She’d vanished. The water was crashing up on the deck with the howl of the wind, there were cracks on the pavement that hadn’t been there before, and nothing was good.

She was in danger.

And it was Dean’s fucking fault.

—————————

You can’t be here. You can’t be anywhere right now, not as it all becomes too much. Far too much. 

You never should’ve called Dean. You never should’ve let the lonely, cold exhaustion and fear and pain erode at your will until you caved in the White, and reached for Dean. You should’ve called Bobby. You could’ve told Bobby about the demons, told him you didn’t know what to do, and he’d have told you to come home.

You should’ve gone home.

You should’ve done anything but fucking call Dean.

But it’s been long. Long and dark and lonely for months, and you’d missed him, and you’d wanted to see his stupid, handsome face just to let the world fall back into harmony for a few days. You’d wanted to feel like you weren’t the burden, the sickness, the problem. You’d just needed to not be alone. You’d been sick of being too much and nothing at all in all the worst moments, and you couldn’t stop worrying about Dean anyway, so you’d called.

If you were smarter—if you could ever actually know something and care about it—you would’ve dealt with this yourself. This was your Darkness. This was your problem. The demons weren’t hunting Sam and Dean. They had enough problems without dealing with yours. 

Dean was right. He’d been such a fucking dick, but he’d been right. 

You can’t do anything. You can’t help anyone. You wouldn’t be dead without Dean, and he really didn’t know anything about your family or past, but you weren’t in control. You weren’t worth sticking around for, weren’t worth putting up with. You kept caving and crashing and losing control, and nobody should ever be around you.

Not before. 

And especially not now. 

The past months have been hell. Literal hell, let out to roam the earth and always tracking and hunting you. The plaguelike feeling of horror was always scraping at your head and hands, darker than the Darkness and making the White whine and riot with distress. It was wrong. Plain fucking wrong.

And it followed you everywhere. Every town you stopped in had a demon. Sometimes they’d just watch you on the street, and you only know they were there because you could feel that pitch fucking blackness. Sometimes—if you reigned in the Darkness with a bite of your hand or blood-drawing scratch on your skin—you’d be able to see them. Glinting and rolling and black in the body of someone as they passed you, faces painted and twisted like a lingering nightmare taken form.

But there were others now, too. Strange ones. Worse ones.

The first one had been only a week after the onryo hunt. You’d been hunting a werewolf in Washington, sitting alone in your motel room and scrubbing your skin raw as the Darkness sat at the top of your throat. You’d missed Dean. You’d wanted to call him, to take the risk and just join them. When they found John, you could run. Maybe you’d finally find a time to tell Dean that there was something wrong with you. Maybe you’d have figured out a way to make him stay for good this time.

And the next day—when you hadn’t called, but had been so fucking close to it—a strange woman had started to asking you questions about things you wanted. About how she could give you anything, but you’d have to barter with a different type of currency.

You’d honed the darkness—squinting and ignoring the pain that had gnawed at your organs—and she’d been red on the inside. Seeping and flowing like blood around her vessel, her darkness a little stickier, a little less violently chaotic. 

You don’t know how, but you’d trapped her. You’d gotten the jump and pinned her down, your hands moving of their own accord to draw a symbol you didn’t understand on her brow, and the demon inside had sunken a little further down. 

“Aren’t you a quick one.” She’d mused, scanning you over with a smirk. “It’s going to be so much fun once we have you. Once we get to see what makes you tick.”

She been the first crossroads demon. She’d taunted and mocked you until everything was too big, the Darkness rocketed out of your body and crushed her down into nothing, and you were left sitting on top of a terrified, very normal woman.

The yellow demon was still there. Still the same asshole, still only watching like the black ones, but he felt like ash, clogging around your throat and making the world gray. He wouldn’t try to hide from you like the others. He’d smile at you, following you around on a case and seeming to turn to thin air whenever you tried to confront him. 

And then he’d up and vanished. Fully disappeared. And in his wake had come the nightmare. The fucking blight. 

Green demons. Rock-like and solid and violent. Rioting around inside their vessels, barreling through the world and finding you wherever you went. 

It started in a bar. You’d been in the bathroom, a sweet old woman had come up next to you, and she’d attacked you with the force of a tank. With hands around your throat and a knife that seemed to be aimed near your heart. You’d kicked her off and let the darkness strangle her like all the others. 

But they’d kept coming. And you don’t know what to do. You don’t know where to hide. You didn’t know where to go. In all the months since that first one, you’ve been home once. Bobby had tried to get you to stop, to just rest and figure out what the hell was going on, and you’d said no.

And now you’re afraid all the time. You’re never not in pain anymore, and the Darkness has only grown more malignant as you push it down almost every waking second. It’s why you’d called Dean. He always made it better, just by being there. Everything would bend and turn to silver, and fear wouldn’t seem real because Dean was there. The pain would be worse when it came, but it would come less. 

All you’d wanted was to be in pain a little less. 

But Dean had been right. You’d just wanted him for you. He had enough of his own stuff going on, and he wasn’t yours to be angry about. He wasn’t yours at all.

That didn’t stop you from hating him. Knowing Dean wasn’t yours wasn’t nearly enough to stop the white-hot and boiling fury that he’d fucking left you. That he’d known about your family and never just asked you, that he’d looked at you and seen everything and acted like he could stick around, when he’d probably just been waiting. Waiting to see the part of you that wasn’t quite human burst out. Waiting for you to say what you were first, so he could…

You don’t know what he would’ve done. You just know that he’d known, and he’d left, and he’d lied, and you’d probably never see him again. He’d been noticing the episodes. He’d know you weren’t worth trying to fix anything with, because everything would always shatter around you. 

All those fractures in you were bursting again. Lodging deeper, searing along your guts and in the cavity of your chest. Dean wouldn’t stick around after this. You hated him for that.

You hated yourself more for wanting him to stay. Hated that, if he grabbed your face between his hands and apologized, you’d forgive him. You shouldn’t. But he’d plunged deep into your body, carved himself along your ribs, and you just didn’t want to be in pain anymore.

You don’t know how long you wander. You don’t know where you’re going. You only know you don’t want to hurt anyone until the Darkness—howling and stretching through the whole world around you, making rocks crumble to dust when you pass them and brush part to clear your path—falls back down into your body.

When it does, you make it back to the motel. The Impala isn’t in the parking lot. 

You’re not surprised. It still makes the White ache and whine.

You’ll have to go in the morning. The kelpie had been a message. You’re sure of it. It had been a demon—probably one of the green ones—telling you that you can keep running, keep fighting, keep hiding, but they’ll find you. They always find you. You’re like a beacon. A lighthouse splitting through the dark that seems to draw ships towards you rather than helping them coast away. And it’s not safe here. 

It’s not safe anywhere.

But you’ll get through this. You always do.

You don’t sleep that night. You sit in the corner of your motel room with your knife clutched in your hands, watching the doors and windows with stinging, heavy eyes.

And still, if Dean knocked on the door and told you he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant it and he was an idiot, you would’ve fallen into his arms with a sob, putting a trust in him that you shouldn’t have, feeling a comfort you didn’t deserve.

But when there is a slam on the door, it’s not Dean. You peek out the blinders to see a beady eyed, red-faced cop standing outside, his expression painting with something hateful.

And you can feel it. The blood and disease and sense of worse. Everything around you is worse, and the Darkness is spreading not because you’re on edge and unable to control yourself, but because the fear in your body is justified. Because you draw blood biting on your inner cheek, narrow your eyes, and something foul and green was bursting inside of the cop. 

You could sneak out the back. The Winchester’s are gone, and likely won’t come back, so if you ran to your car and booked it down the road, you could get away without any destruction-

Shit.

You’d given your car keys to Dean. You’d been overwhelmed and everything had been too much—feeling how the water was disgusted and trapped in the pool, how the trees were aching from the country club’s rough trimming, and the wind felt lost and alone—so you’d thrown your keys at Dean because even their weight in your pocket had felt like a blade on your skin. And you couldn’t have stayed there, but you hadn’t wanted to leave him stranded.

And now you were fucked. 

You’re going to have to fight. You’re going to have to drag yourself together with bruises and bites and try to kill this thing without destroying the motel. The green demons are harder to kill—harder to shred apart with the Darkness, harder to aim at and not catch the rest of the world in the crossfire—but you’ll manage. You’ve done it a few times before, and been left wracked with pain and sickness for days after, but survived.

You don’t need Dean Winchester. 

You can do this.

You open the door with a sickly-sweet smile, your knife hidden behind your back, and raise your brows at the demon. “Can I help you, sir.”

The demon scans over you with a flat expression, and says your full name in an empty voice. “You’re gonna need to come with me.”

“Can I ask why?” You take a measured pace back, forcing your tone and expression to remain flat and bored. “No offense, officer, but unless you have a reason-“

“You’ve been turned in for theft.” The demon drawls, moving closer. You’re going to break your jaw. “I gotta warrant for your arrest.”

You raise your chin, still not moving. “Let me see it.”

The demon gives you a dry look, shaking his head. “Darlin’, we don’t have to do this.  You know what I am. I know what you are. We all do.”

“You know what I am?” You ask the question before you can think about it, and the demon smirks.

“We’ve been lookin’ for you for a long, long time.” He drawls your name, taking another step forward. ”C’mon, let’s just fuckin’ spill some blood so we can all go home.” He pauses, letting out a loud, cold laugh. “Well, I’ll go home. You’ll be comin’ with me.”

“I think,” you raise your knife, standing a little taller. “You should walk away. If you know what I am, you should’ve heard what I did to all your friends.”

The demon’s eyes narrow, you brace yourself, and an engine revs in the parking lot.

Sam and Dean didn’t leave. They’re climbing out of the Impala, and they look like shit. Both covered in dirt, both with bags under their eyes, Sam looking mostly relieved and Dean looking like he’s going to strangle you.

A small, glowing and colorful part of you is consumed with joy that Dean’s here. That he didn’t leave, and that he cares enough to roar your name and stomp across the small yard until he’s at your side.

The rest of you is still bleeding from where he’d twisted his obvious hatred for you into your body.

All of you is starting to collapse and panic, because he can’t be here. He’s in danger. You’re putting him in danger, and you’re fucked, and Dean needs to leave now but if you shove him away you know he won’t ever come back-

“Where the fuck have you been?!” Dean stops beside the cop, his attention and wrath so fixed on you that you’re not sure he notices you situation. “We’ve been looking all fucking night, we thought you’d gone and gotten yourself killed! That when we found you, you’d be ripped up like that damn kelpie-“

“Dean.“ Sam comes up to join you, eyeing the cop wearily, and Dean ignores him.

“No matter how pissed off you were that was fucking stupid, we know something else is out there, we know what it does, and we don’t have a goddamn clue what it is, so if it had found you alone you would’ve been fucked-“

“Dean.” Sam raises his voice. It doesn’t work.

“I mean, are you actually that fucking stupid?! Were you trying to prove a fucked-up point? Trying to find the monster first so you could gank it and rub it in my face, trying to get a rise out of me by giving me a goddamn heart attack-“

“Dean!” Sam steps between you, his tone firm and hushed. “Calm the hell down, you need stop talking-“

“I don’t need to do shit, Sam! What I need are some goddamn answers why little miss independent over there is trying to get herself fucking killed-“

“I wouldn’t worry about your little bitch, Dean Winchester.” The demon sneers, and there’s a brief moment of silence as Dean realizes what’s happening.

“The fuck did you just say?” You can’t see Dean over Sam’s massive body, but you can hear the cold fury in his voice. Imagine how he’s moved into a tense, battle ready stance.

Sam groans, running a hand over his face. “Dude, that’s a police officer. We’re, shit, we’re so screwed-“

The demon chuckled, shooting you a look Sam and Dean can’t see, his eyes flashing green just for you. Just in a silent promise of more blood and death and horror.

And this is suddenly about more than you. It’s about Sam and Dean, and keeping them safe even if they never want to speak to you again. 

“I think it’s best if all’a’ya’ll come with me.” The demon drawls, and Sam tense, taking a side-side back to frown at the officer.

It sounds like he’s arguing. You can’t really hear it over the ringing in your ears—twisting in your ear drums as you try to get a goddamn hold and keep it together—but you don’t really need to. You need to get Dean’s attention. You need to stare at him until he looks at you, to push down how it feels like there’s a corrosion along fractured pieces in your body as he ignores you. 

He won’t look at you. He’s furious and hates you and won’t look at you-

You’re about to take the risk and hiss his name when his eyes lock onto yours. There’s something sharp and wounded inside of them, and now is not the time to care about that. You can deal with how the White wants to walk over to him and hold him against you later, when he leaves for good and you have to teach yourself how to hate him again.

But for now, all you can do is blink at him. Two firm times, praying he’ll catch on.

He frowns. One blink.

You repeat your movement, tilting your head slightly to the demon, and it’s like your fight never happened. Dean’s face twists in a wrath that’s for you, not at you, and he slams his fist into the demon’s jaw without hesitation.

There’s a stumble in time, a brief moment where everything freezes and it’s only the demon’s shout of pain, Dean’s rage on his face, and Sam’s look of pure confusion.

Then the rush begins. You’re moving on blind instinct, and it’s stronger than usual. It might be Dean, or the demon, or both. You can’t really see anything but lights and shadows and colors until it’s over. The demon is green, a neon and toxic shade of it that’s made of everything savage and torrid in the world, and Sam’s still strange—he’s always strange, always in an odd time and just a shade off of the color he should be—and you’re made of vast and searing Silver. Contained and in harmony with something golden you’re pretty sure is Dean.

And the Gold is the realest thing you’ve ever see. You can almost taste is, almost feel it pull you, hear it call you. You know how to move with it, around it, in rhythm with it, more than you’ve ever known anything. 

It flares and rampages when something twists into your gut. The color that’s Sam starts to chant something—you don’t remember telling them it’s a demon, but they seem to have figured it out—the green begins to bellow, and when it all falls back to earth, you’re dizzy.

Clutching the blade in your stomach, the metal leaving blisters right under your skin.

Iron.

Fuck.

You hear Dean shout your name again, and it’s just Dean now. No strange, magnetic gold. Only pretty, furious eyes looking at you.

“Sam, get the-“

“Going.” You see Sam move away, heading back in the direction of their room, and just a second later Dean’s face moves into your vision. 

He looks pale. Worried. His face is firmly set and unreadable, but you think that’s just what he does when he’s concerned. Even his voice is steady, but tight, and his hands on your body feel restrained. Like he’s trying not to make it worse with just his hands.

“Keep the knife in,” he snaps, covering your hand where you’re clutching the blade. “And stay awake.”

You shake your head, wincing from only that movement. This is going to be more than just a stab wound. You can feel the iron dull and pushing on the Darkness, and it’s making this all the pain that always lives in your body become more. Your brain feels fogged and clouded, and you don’t trust your own hands or body to aim the Darkness how it needs to be used. You can’t figure out anything that will fix this, because you can’t think outside of pain. Horrible, consuming and tearing pain.

“I need to, fuck-“

“Stop talking.” He grunts, glancing over his shoulder to where Sam disappeared. “I’m gonna pick you up, move you to our room-“

“No, Dean, wait-“

“Listen, you wanna fight, we can tear each other to goddamn pieces. But only-“

“Shut up, Dean, I don’t wanna fight, I- Goddamit-“

His grip on your body tightens, and his face starting to get a little blurred. “Stop fucking moving, Princess, you’re gonna make it worse-“

“It’s already worse.” You mutter under your breath. “Dean, I, I need to go home-“ 

“Shit-“ He mutters, before raising his voice to a shout. “Sam, she’s fucking losing it-“  

You roll your eyes, letting out a low hiss of pain. “I’m not losing it, dumbass, you need to get me to- fuck- he’s gonna kill me-“ 

That gets Dean’s full attention, his words sharp as his gaze shoots back to yours. “Who the hell is gonna try and kill you-“ 

“Bobby.” You mumble, and there are strange, darkly colored spots clouding your vision. “You- Fuck, you need to call him, tell him I’m coming-”

“Bobby?” Dean repeats, and you wince. Bobby’s definitely going to kill you. “Bobby who? Not Bobby-“

“Singer.” It’s hard to keep talking. You don’t feel that all that good. “Use my phone, he always picks up for me.”

“For you?!” Dean says your name, his voice like thunder in your ears. “How the hell does Bobby know you?! How the hell do you know Bobby-“

“He raised me,” you mumble. “Sorry.”

 Dean says something. You don’t hear it. 

You’ll be alright. Dean’s shouting in the distance, and he probably hates you, but he’s not leaving you to bleed into the dirt and turn to ash. He sounds worried, and furious, and kind of like the ocean. Loud. Strong. Certain.

Everything is a little fuzzy and blurred, but there are also strong hands holding you, and they don’t feel wrong on your body. You’re in so much pain, but you’re completely yourself.

Safe, right here, with Dean. 

End Note: Poor Dean is about to spend a whole chapter in an existential crisis. Sorry my king it's for the growth.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist (If you want to be added, please fill out the form!)

@brtodd @artemys-ackles @sthefferrete @lyarr24 @deansbbyx

@bakugotypecrashout @kittycain @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @Zuberweirrd @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco

@ambiguous-avery @elle14-blog1 @impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @heyimolive

@itsdearapril @speedypersonawhispers @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused @kamisobsessed

@arcticwisteria @youroldfashioned @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378

@godhelpthisbtch @ilovedeanwinchester4 @wecangetlostinthepurplerain @sleepykittycx

@immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101 @chi-raz @lori19

@wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh @woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend

@lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey

[deansbeer]

hey girl. i love telepath! reader. ik it’s not halloween yet but i can literally see her trying to match bolt and be a playboy bunny. how do you think dean would react to that?🩷

oh, mans would so malfunction at the sight of her in a playboy bunny costume ‼️ + thank u sm for loving telepath!reader !!! it truly makes my lil heart so happy to hear <33

you're standing in your room, carefully applying the finishing touches to your halloween makeup as bolt lounges lazily on your bed, watching you with his twitching nose and curious little eyes. as usual, you're talking to him like he's your personal stylist.

"what do you think, bolt? the black ones or the pink ones?" you hold up two options of bunny ears in front of him. he doesn’t move, just stares, but you take his silence as an answer. "black it is. good choice, bub. classy."

he's your little partner-in-crime tonight, at least in spirit. you're going as a playboy bunny, and bolt, well, he's the inspiration behind the whole thing. he’s staying behind with dean and sam, though. you'd asked dean earlier if he could bunny-sit, and of course, he agreed. it wasn't like you asked him to do much—just keep an eye on the little furball while you were out.

you glance at yourself in the mirror, making sure everything is in place. the black satin bodysuit fits you like a glove, hugging your curves in all the right places. the sheer black tights make your legs look impossibly long, and the stilettos you chose—which you're still not entirely sure you won’t regret later—add the perfect touch. the bunny ears sit atop your head, completing the look.

"how do i look, bolt?" you ask, turning to face him with a grin. he twitches his ears, and you laugh. "yeah, i thought so. stunning, right?"

bolt doesn't answer, obviously, but you like to think he's silently hyping you up.

when you step out of your room, holding bolt in one arm and fixing the bunny ears as you walk, you head toward the library where sam and dean are. sam's sitting at the table, nose buried in some kind of research, while dean is leaning back in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers.

you adjust one of your heels as you step into the room, the soft click of them echoing in the quiet space. both of their heads snap up when they hear you.

"so?" you say, smiling as you approach the table. "how do i look?”

sam's the first to speak, a warm smile spreading across his face. "wow, you look great. very… festive."

you laugh, setting bolt gently on the table in front of him. "thanks, sam. you're watching him while dean drops me off, right?"

"yeah, no problem," sam replies, reaching out to scratch bolt behind his ears.

then you turn to dean, who hasn't said a word yet. he's just sitting there, staring at you like he doesn't know what to do with himself. his jaw is tight, and his eyes keep darting between your face and—well, everywhere else. finally, he clears his throat, sitting up a little straighter.

"you look… uh, good. yeah. real good," he says, his voice gruff.

you notice the way he shifts in his seat, his hand briefly brushing over his thigh as if he's trying to adjust something. you don't think much of it, though, just flash him a smile.

"thanks, de. ready to go?"

he nods, standing up a little too quickly. "yeah, let's go."

the ride to the party is quiet at first. you're messing with your phone, checking for texts from your friends, while dean keeps his eyes firmly on the road. but you can feel the tension in the air, the way he keeps shifting in his seat every few minutes.

"you okay over there?" you ask, glancing at him curiously.

"yeah, fine," he says quickly, his voice a little too sharp.

you raise an eyebrow. "you sure? you've been squirming since we left. what’s going on?"

he hesitates, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. "just… sore, that's all.”

you tilt your head, confused. "sore? why would you be sore? didn't sam say you skipped working out today?"

he grits his teeth, clearly regretting his excuse. "just drop it, okay?"

you roll your eyes but don't push it. whatever's going on with him, he'll tell you if he wants to. maybe you'll just have to get inside his head yourself. but that's an invasion of privacy and you'd prefer him to tell you, rather than you sticking your nose in his business.

when you finally pull up to your friend's house, the street is already packed with cars, and you can hear the faint thump of music from inside. you spot your friend waiting near the door, waving excitedly when she sees you.

"thanks for the ride, dean," you say, opening the door.

"no problem, sweetheart," he mutters, his voice tight.

you step out of the car, adjusting your tights and tugging the bodysuit into place as you walk toward the house. your friend meets you halfway, pulling you into a hug.

"oh my god, you look so hot!" she gushes, pulling back to look at your outfit.

"so do you!" you reply with a laugh, but before you can say anything else, a guy steps out onto the porch, joining your friend.

he immediately places a hand on your shoulder, leaning in to introduce himself. you're polite, smiling and nodding, but you can feel the older winchester brother's eyes burning into the back of your head from the car.

he's gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white, his jaw clenched as he watches the scene unfold. the guys laughs at something you say, his hand lingering on your arm a little too long for dean's liking.

"sonuva bitch,” dean mutters under his breath, his foot pressing harder on the gas pedal as he pulls away from the curb. he doesn't even wait for you to go inside before speeding off, the tires squealing slightly as he turns the corner.

his heart is pounding in his chest, his mind racing with a mix of anger and jealousy. who the hell does the guy think his is, touching you like that? you're his girl. well, not officially, but still. you're his.

he spends the entire drive back to the bunker stewing in his own thoughts, alternating between cursing himself for not saying anything and cursing out the guy for daring to lay a hand on you.

back at the bunker, sam glances up when dean storms inside, slamming the door behind him.

"everything okay?" sam asks, raising an eyebrow.

dean doesn't answer, just heads toward the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge and mutters, "watch the damn bunny."

sam exchanges a confused look with bolt, who twitches his ears in response.

meanwhile, dean sits at the table, staring at the bottle in his hand, already counting down the hours until he can go pick you up—and maybe punch the guy in the face while he’s at it.

[jossamology]

josssam headcanons. (part one)

josh constantly teasing sam, but there's always that soft, protective look in his eyes. like, sure, he throws out all the sarcastic comments and light-hearted jabs, but it's just to mask the fact he's been falling for her for way longer than he'd ever want to admit. humor's his shield, but the way he watches her—yeah, that says everything.

late-night drives to nowhere, windows down, music low, and josh's mind is racing faster than the car. every time he thinks about telling her how he really feels, the words just get stuck in his throat. he wants to say something—anything—but he always stays quiet, convincing himself she deserves better than the chaos in his head. so, instead, he just drives, stealing glances at her when he thinks she’s not looking, and keeps it all locked away.

sam brings josh coffee without even asking, knowing exactly how he likes it—way too strong. but she always sneaks in a little extra sugar, just for him. she has no idea how much it means to him that she notices the little things.

sharing headphones on rainy days, josh savoring the quiet moments, stealing glances at her. she looks so fragile, and all he can think about is how broken he is—how he’s too much of a mess to risk pulling her into his chaos.

josh uses his dark humor to calm sam after a nightmare, his jokes a shield for the fear he hides—that getting too close might ruin the one good, pure thing in his life.

josh lights a cigarette, smirking as he offers it to sam, knowing she’ll refuse. it’s their little routine, one of the few things that keeps him grounded when he feels like his mind is on the verge of unraveling.

arguments that end in soft apologies—josh running a hand through sam’s hair, guilt eating at him, because he’s hiding his feelings to protect her from the darkness he can’t escape.

sam pretends to be bad at things just so josh can give her tips, but secretly, she’s better than him. every time she smiles, he fights the urge to let her in, convinced she deserves better than the mess he is.

josh finds himself looking at sam’s journal when she’s not around—not to invade her privacy, but because he wants to understand her world. he craves that connection, even though he’s sure he’s too broken to ever fit into it.

josh and sam calling each other before bed—their nightly ritual. josh always feels like he can vent to her about minor issues, big problems, and everything in between. her voice is soothing, and it helps him calm his mind, allowing him to sleep easier. he confides in her about things he can’t tell anyone else, knowing she won’t judge him and that she’ll listen with a patient ear. sam never rushes him, always letting him say whatever’s on his mind, making him feel like he doesn’t have to carry his burdens alone.

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Says I'm his favorite (yeah, I better be) (Boy king of Hell Sam Winchester x female reader)

The King finds you while you sleep. You have a million questions - what will happen to you when he finally makes you his queen? But Sam is too distracted by you...

My Sam Winchester masterlist

Rated 18+. 3.6k words. Consensual somnophilia. Sam the king. Memories of what once was. Fingering, prone bone and cockwarming.

Sam enters your shared bedroom, only to change his shirt because this one has blood on it, sees you lying in the big four-poster mahogany bed, naked, asleep, back rising and falling slowly, and he knows he won’t go back to work anytime soon.

It’s fine, he thinks as he walks towards you, mounts the three steps going up to the high bed as he tugs at the collar of his shirt. He’s the king, after all. Not like he’ll miss anything important.

He undresses while he looks down at your sleeping form. You’re on your front, face turned to the side, lips slightly parted in the most perfect, precious o-shape. Eyelashes resting on your skin. He sees that old scar high on your naked back from a case you took on years ago. He could heal it, make it disappear, but the truth is, he loves it, the shape of it so familiar. Loves feeling it under his lips when he’s buried deep inside of you. His cock twitches at that.

He discards his shirt somewhere behind him, then reaches a hand out, long fingers gripping the thin silk blanket lying over you as he slowly drags it off you. The fabric is so soft and light that it doesn’t wake you, you only make a small noise at the change around you. It drops to the floor, and you’re revealed to him entirely.

Your legs aren’t tugged close to your body for once, the way they always are. You make yourself into a small package when you sleep, and Sam used to tease you with how easy it would be to carry you off like that. It made you shake your head and smile. And who’s gonna take me? you’d ask. They’ll return me the next day. Sam knows you were joking, but still he didn’t like your reply. Anyone lucky enough to catch you would keep you forever, he knows that.

He tugs down his pants, lets them fall to the floor and climbs onto the bed. He disturbs the mattress as little as possible. When he was still human - mostly human, really - he was already able to move so quietly. Now he’s perfected it.

Your ass is slightly raised due to one of your legs being angled and he brings his face close to it, the buttery soft skin, ghosts his lips over it. He’s not sure if you feel it but it’s as much for his benefit as yours. He crawls up your body, nose and lips close to your skin, and you don’t wake from the disturbance.

He reaches the scar on your back, lips gently pressing against it while he keeps watching your face. He sees your eyes move under your eyelids for a moment, but you don’t wake. So, with a smile, he moves one hand to between your legs.

You’re not wet, but he’s sure to change that. He starts slowly, not wanting to wake you, wanting the climb to not rip you out of your dreams. He was always good at self-control, never one to give in to his urges without thinking about it. It’s how he’s made it this far. It’s how he’s accomplished everything he’s accomplished in his life, really. But you pose a challenge - you always have.

When he first started reigning Hell, you out there in the wastelands of the former world, not at his side, he was able to concentrate. The way his kingdom overran the earth is proof of that, of his focus, his determination. It was only when he’d lock himself in his chambers, despite not needing to sleep, that his thoughts turned to you. Thoughts about your skin and your hair and your smell and your voice. About whether you were safe. He’d be torn between the pain of you leaving him and the determination to get you back. Somehow. Someday.

But now that you’re here, never more than a few rooms away? It’s become torture, and Sam knows a thing or two about torture. He’ll be holding court, listening to some plan or proposal or other, and suddenly he’ll realize he hasn’t been listening for minutes, has been replaying what you and him spent the last night doing.

That’s why you’re sleeping now - because the time humans would spend sleeping, Sam spends ravishing you. He knew he’d never get bored of you, but he at least expected the absolute hold you have over his every waking thought to diminish somewhat after a few weeks. It hasn’t.

Instead, there are twenty or thirty demons, high ranking ones too, waiting just down the hallway, in the room he has designated the throne room, waiting for him with their important business, while Sam is here, fingers gently exploring the warm promise between your legs.

He goes slowly, no rush. One of the advantages of being immortal. He’s not a demon - he’s something more, time and sickness cannot touch him any longer, and neither can much else. As he pets you where you’re softest, a low sound emitting from you, he presses his lips to your scar again, not taking his eyes off your face.

He can feel your wetness building. Can feel your body starting to react to him. Deep sleep still has its hold on you, but you are clearly feeling him. Sam wonders if you’re dreaming of him, right now. If you’re imagining him, and if you are, how. How do you want him when no one, not even he, is watching?

Another small whimper leaves you and Sam moves his fingers, pushes two of them into your tight entrance. He sighs as the warmth envelops them, the silky softness of you. His cock twitches again, begging him to replace his fingers with it. But not yet. He’ll be too distracted if he’s inside you. He just wants to watch you, each miniscule change on your face, in your breathing. He’d never admit it, but the way he feels when he’s buried deep inside you, your arousal soaking his balls - he’s not in control then. Not really.

He finds that soft, spongy spot in you, long, dexterous fingers locating it easily. He still remembers the first time he got to feel that part of you. It was a mild summer day and you were on a case. You had worn a white and blue dress that had made Sam’s trousers too tight the moment he laid eyes on you. When you noticed, you dragged him away, to the side of the house of the witnesses whose backyard barbeque you were at. Had taken his fingers, pressed them into your underwear and into you. Sam had to steady his other hand against the wall behind you - that’s how much the feeling had overwhelmed him. 

He remembers the feeling of you coming on his fingers that day like it was yesterday. Your eyebrows knotted closely together as if you were in exquisite pain, lips parted to let out sinful sounds that Sam caught with his own mouth. You squeezed him tight, as if you were saying: this is where you belong. I’m never letting you go.

There’s a slight crease on your forehead now too. You’ve started moving your hips a little, sleep probably making you unaware of the fact that you’re searching out more of him. Sam feels the grin that spreads on his face. He can’t help but press his cock against the back of your thigh, just a little. You’re soft and warm there too. 

When you were done moaning into his mouth, that day back in that summer that might as well be a thousand years ago, you kissed him. Softly, lazily, while your hand rubbed the hard bulge in his pants. One of the thin straps of your dress had fallen off your shoulder, and Sam leaned his head down, far down, to kiss this new spot of skin revealed to him.

“Can’t let you walk around with that,” you said in a low, seductive tone, looked into his eyes. Eyes that Sam already knew he wanted to look into forever. You had sucked any objection out of him in the minutes that followed. One hand cupping his balls while your nose pressed against the dark curls of his crotch. Sam moaned and whimpered when he spilled down your throat, out there, for everyone who walked around the house to see. He couldn’t find that he cared.

Your hips are moving more, and small high sounds are leaving you. They’re soft, vulnerable, open. A side of you you don’t show many. But you do show him. He knows how much that means.

There will be no more sunny days, your back pressed against the side of a house, your hair and skin smelling like sunshine. The sun has been blacked out by him. Sam remembers how the grass smelled, freshly cut. How the bees buzzed. All of that is gone. He’d feel sad at that if he gave himself over to it.

Your eyes fly open a second before you come. Your mouth rips open and your hands twist the sheets below, knuckles going white, and then your wetness flows over his fingers while you shake and pant. 

You press your head into the luxurious bedding below while Sam teases you again, presses his fingers against that spot again, which makes you twitch and pull in your legs a little, so he finally retreats. He pushes his hand into the mattress next to you, ghosts the tip of his nose over your ear while you recover.

When you finally turn your head, your lids are low, your cheeks flushed. You press yourself up and back against Sam and he grinds himself against you, his cock now wearing a crown of pre-come that must smear against your smooth skin. He doesn’t see it, he’s too busy nuzzling your cheek, but he knows it’s there.

You press your face against him, and then you raise your hand to cup his cheek.

It stops midair with a rattle. You sigh and then drop it, the iron shackle around your wrist stopping it from fully meeting the bed. Sam places his hand right next to yours and you extend your pinkie to wrap it around his.

“Are they too tight?” Sam asks, pressing the tip of his nose into the side of your face. You hum, rub your cheek along him.

“They’re fine,” you say, tangling your fingers more with his, and then, in a lower, raspier tone: “Keep going.”

Sam smiles, kisses your cheek softly, your earlobe. Down to your neck, where he sucks the skin between his lips, your sweet, soft skin, until you make a small noise in your throat and he lets go.

His hand goes between your bodies. He doesn’t need to stroke himself - he’s already where he needs to be. But he guides himself between your legs, your ass raised to receive him, guides himself until he can feel your warm arousal at his tip. A perfect, little gasp leaves you and then you squeeze his hand and he pushes in.

In the throne room down the hall, none of the demons get shifty. No one gives away that they mind waiting, even for a second. They know what happens when someone does that. These breaks have simply become part of the job. One of them blows out some air he doesn’t need between lips. Another throws him a warning look. When the screaming starts, they know they’ll be here a while.

Your face is pressed into the bedding, your whine and whimpers and moans loud in Sam’s ears as he keeps thrusting into you, narrow hips snapping as he watches your face contort in orgasm after orgasm.

You’re nearly sobbing from the pleasure and overstimulation at this point, your hand formed into a claw where it is still gripping Sam’s, your cheeks flushed and your eyes wet and low lidded, lips plump from Sam kissing them and you biting and sucking on them.

“Sam,” you gasp, and it’s unclear from your intonation what you need, or if you just want to say his name. But Sam understands, lowers his head again and licks a long stripe along the soft skin of your cheek, picking up sweat and tears - both human luxuries he is no longer provided. 

He pivots his hips and only a second later, you begin shaking, crying out, desperately sucking for breath. Sam feels the swell of his balls, the twitch in his blood, in his cock, everywhere and he brings his mouth down to your jaw again, presses lips and tongue and teeth against you while your tight heat pulls all restraint from him.

He groans your name when he comes. It’s like a whisper in the dark but he might as well be screaming it. That’s what it feels like he’s doing, as he squeezes his eyes shut, presses his entire body against yours anywhere he can, just to be as close as possible to you. His face is pressed into your neck, your hair, and he takes a deep breath. You smell like sunshine.

After a minute, Sam moves. You stir under him and he untangles his hand from yours, but only to reach forward, grab something out of the bedside table. He brings his hand back and to your wrist. It’s the key to your cuffs and they open with a click.

Sam puts the key back, then rolls off you, on his back, staying close, turning to look at you. Your eyes are still closed, and you’re still breathing hard, but there’s a soft smile on your face. He moves his face, presses a kiss to your forehead, then one between your eyes. You hum, then blink your eyes open when he pulls back.

“They’re not gonna like that,” you mumble, your fingertips going out to touch his shoulder, gently stroking it. Sam smiles at your cracked voice.

“I don’t care,” he replies. “I was against it in the first place.” You look at his face, into his eyes. 

“They don’t trust me,” you say, and Sam doesn’t like the sound of sadness in your voice, how the demons’ mistrust, the one he’s threatened death over, but that still has managed to seep through to you, is making the soft light he just ignited in you diminish. He leans in again.

“They’re not gonna trust you more cause you tie yourself to my bed,” he says quietly, before a teasing smile comes across his face. “They already know you barely leave it.”

“Sam,” you say, tone just a bit admonishing, but it only serves to make Sam chuckle.

“Come here,” he says.

You press yourself up on your elbows with a slight groan while Sam stretches out  He helps you maneuver yourself as you crawl over him. He brings his hand to the back of your head to get you to lie down on his chest, but you shake your head. Sam raises his eyebrows at you, another amused smile on his lips.

“Please, Sam,” you say. “Just wanna feel you.”

Sam looks at your face for another moment, at your features. The love he holds for them, for all of you. Sometimes he still cannot believe he got you back.

So he kisses you briefly, then reaches his hand down between your bodies. He has perfect control of everything his body does, nothing like it used to be, so a couple of quick strokes get him hard again. You move your body, a little ungainly, but it only makes more love bloom in Sam’s heart.

You reach your hand down too, find him, and lead him to your pussy. You close your eyes and bite your lower lip as you sink down on him, take him in again, and when you’re flush, a little shudder goes through you. Sam can’t help but chuckle at that and so do you, and then you lay down on his chest.

Sam runs his fingertips slowly over your naked back. He likes it when you ask for this, for this indulgent connection, but the truth is, the fact that you want him close in this way makes him happier than he could ever say.

Your palms run over him, his arms, his chest, and content little sighs leave you that Sam would like to bottle up. You squirm on his cock only  a little, almost testing, and then give a little moan when you move in a way that moves him inside you. Sam wraps his arms tightly around you.

“I don’t mean to move,” you mumble, and Sam kisses the top of your head, “but it’s hard not to.” He huffs, gently pinches your side where his hand is resting and you squeak, clench down on him, make him pulse, before you quiet again, slow breathing.

“Can I ask you something?” you say, lying mostly still now and turning your head so you can look up at Sam.

“Anything,” he says. Your forehead creases, and Sam immediately wants to kiss the skin there.

“Do you really not care that they all think I’m here to trick you with, I don’t know,” you say, shaking your head a little, “my feminine wiles?” Sam chuckles again.

“I told you, I don't care,” he says again. “Their opinions don't matter. Mine do.”

You blink, gaze going down to where his and your hand are intertwining on his chest. 

“And once you're my queen,” he continues, knowing that usually you'd chuckle when he uses that archaic way of speaking, “they'll understand. They'll see.”

He moves his mouth to your ear and you close your eyes, let his words wash over you. He's still snug and tight and warm inside of you, so he's not gonna complain, he thinks, as he closes his eyes as well.

“What will it be like?” you ask, and Sam opens his eyes again, looks at your side profile. 

“The ceremony to become queen, I mean,” you clarify, almost seeming shy or unsure about your own question. “Will I become a demon?”

“No,” Sam replies, voice clear, and when he sees you open your mouth, he speaks first. “And not soulless either. I don’t want you to change.”

You close your mouth, chew the inside of your lip. Breathe out through your nose. Sam knows that means you’re thinking.

“But then how is it going to work?” you ask. He runs his fingertips over the skin on your shoulder.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he says with a soft smile. He likes that you’re impatient to be his queen. It’s exactly what he was hoping for. “Why it’s taking so long. But it’ll happen, don’t worry.” He turns his head slightly, presses the gentlest of kisses against your temple.

“It’s just…” you say and he turns his head so he can look down at you. You sigh.

“Just what?” he asks, voice amused. It’s not the first time you’re having this conversation.

“What if I get sick?” you finally say, voice lower. “Or hurt? Or… or old?” Sam can’t hide his grin now. There is actually a small pout on your lips at the last word and he brings his other hand up, runs his thumb over your lower lip and you look up at him

“Then I’ll heal you,” he says, watching the way the soft skin of your bottom lip gives way to the pad of his finger, how perfectly you yield to his touch. He presses his mouth against your forehead when he speaks, but his words are clear.

“If you get sick, I’ll heal you,” he says, pressing a kiss against your skin. “If you get hurt, I’ll heal you.” Another kiss.

“And if you get old, well,” he grins against you before kissing you again. “I’ll love you either way, but I can still heal you.”

You wiggle against Sam, get closer, his cock still pulsing in you, and your words are pleading when you speak again.

“I just want to be with you, Sam,” you say and turn your face up at him, making him look at you. Your eyes are glistening and the rotten lump of a heart Sam still has shines brightly and prettily at that. “Forever.”

Sam looks into your eyes. There it is. You still smell like fresh-cut grass sometimes, like sunshine. He knows it’s technically impossible for your skin to still be carrying that smell after all this time, but he swears it’s what fills his nostrils. 

He can’t have you lose that. He can’t turn you into something that is sulfur and ash instead of warmth and goodness. He can forgive himself for everything he’s done. He could not forgive himself for this.

“Forever,” he says, and you blink once, and then Sam leans in, kisses you and your hand flies to his face, pulls him closer against you.

As Sam turns the two of you around, rolls on top of you, big body covering yours while your hands run over his side, warming him, he swears it to himself again. That he will keep you the way you are, the way you were, the way you still can be. There is no other option.

He pulls out of you only a little, feels the drag of where the two of you are connected and when he pushes in again, you press your lips against his.

He’ll find a way. He knows that. No matter what it costs.

[supernaturallyedsheeran]

Coffee With Sam

You flirt with Sam and he squirms under the pressure (version with Dean also available)

cw : fem!reader, fluff, no use of y/n, summary : you flirt with Sam and he squirms under the pressure characters Sam Winchester, f!reader wc: 910 famdom: Supernatural

✧∘* ✧･ﾟ✨Masterlist ✨✧∘* ✧･ﾟ

You’ve been here long enough to notice the little things. The way Sam seems to linger a second too long whenever his eyes find yours. How his smile softens just a little, like he's savoring a moment that doesn't need to be rushed. The way he listens to you—really listens—like everything else fades into the background when you're speaking.

You never expected it, but somehow, in the depths of the bunker, you’ve found yourself caught in a strange orbit around him. Sam’s got this quiet intensity, an energy that pulls at you when he’s near. It's the way his shoulders move under the fabric of his shirt, like he’s a man who’s seen too much but still holds himself with a quiet grace. It’s how he looks at you—like you're the only thing in the room, like he can't quite pull his attention away.

Tonight, it’s different. You’re sitting across from him in the kitchen, a cup of coffee between your hands, and you feel the air between you freeze. He’s talking about the latest hunt, but his voice drifts in and out as your attention shifts to the way his eyes flicker toward you every few seconds. And when they meet yours, you feel a charge, an almost electric pull that sends a shiver up your spine.

You don’t know what comes over you, but you decide to test the waters. Why not? Why not flirt a little, just to see what happens?

You lean forward, your fingers curling around the edge of your mug as you let your lips curve into a playful smile. “So,” you say, your voice low, teasing, “do you always get this distracted during a hunt?”

Sam's brows furrow for a moment, a little confused, but then his gaze flickers to your lips, just for a second. It’s subtle, but you catch it—just the tiniest break in his armour, and you know he’s caught.

“Distracted?” he repeats, his voice rougher than usual, a little uncertain, like he’s trying to process your words, but maybe he’s also distracted by you.

You lean in just a little bit closer, letting your gaze slide over him, taking in the way his jaw tightens, how his broad shoulders tense under the faded flannel. "Mmhm," you hum, playing with your coffee cup, letting your fingers brush over the rim in a slow, deliberate motion. “You seem... focused. But not on the case.”

His gaze flickers again, and this time, it doesn’t waver. His lips part slightly, and you can see his mind working, trying to figure out if you're being playful or flirting. But you don’t give him time to fully process; instead, you bite your lip, and say “You know, Sam, for a guy who’s seen so much, you sure don’t seem very good at hiding it.”

His breath catches just slightly, and for a moment, everything between you falls into a quiet pause. You can hear the faint hum of the bunker. You watch his chest rise and fall, and you notice the way his throat muscles twitch as he swallows, his gaze locking on yours like he’s trying to keep up with the game you’re playing.

"I... uh," he stammers, his words coming out slower now, unsure if he’s supposed to be serious or if you’re throwing him off with the change in energy. “What exactly are you getting at?”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, and the sound seems to shake him out of his haze. You take a sip of your coffee, your eyes never leaving his, and then put the mug down with a soft clink.

“I’m getting at,” you say, your voice dropping lower, “that you can’t seem to take your eyes off me. And I’m curious—what’s that about?”

Sam’s mouth opens and closes as though he’s trying to form a response, but the words won’t come. His cheeks blush ever so slightly, and you swear you can see a flicker of sheepishness. It’s a side of him that’s rare but you can see it now.

“I—” He clears his throat, and you feel the tension in his posture, the way his hand rests on the table, tense but not moving. “I don’t... I’m not—”

You cut him off, leaning just a little closer, your voice lowering to a whisper. “It’s okay, Sam. I don’t bite... unless you want me to.”

The words hang in the air, and this time, you see the cracks. His jaw tightens, his chest rises as if he’s holding his breath, trying to keep himself in check. But the flush creeping up his neck gives him away.

Sam swallows again, his eyes narrowing slightly, but this time, there's something new behind them—something dangerous and exciting. Something that tells you he's not playing the game anymore.

"You're... you're trouble," he mutters, a slight grin tugging at the corner of his lips, but it's almost like he can't quite decide whether to laugh or lean in and kiss you right here, right now.

You chuckle softly, leaning back in your chair, the air around you charged with anticipation. "Maybe. But trouble’s fun, don’t you think?"

For a split second, you see him hesitate, his gaze flicking down to your lips and back to your eyes. And for that brief moment, you wonder if he’s going to pull back—or if he’s finally going to give in.

Either way, you know one thing for sure: You’ve got his attention now.

[daylighted]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤBETTER BIRTHDAYS — vampire!dean

slowly, dean is learning to love his birthdays again, after going for decades without letting himself.

not what i intended to write, and not as good as i wish it was, but to be fair to myself i have sickness. and i'm NOT missing out on my beloved baby's birthday! if logistics don't make sense, i don't care. that's fiction baby! vampire!dean is just rent free so it was inevitable.

it wasn’t supposed to be possible.

it was one of those things that dean came to terms with when he’d been turned so long ago — a family? was not something that was personally in dean’s cards. he’d have an infinite life, yes, but any family he wanted would have to be made or created, and not in the way that he’d ever get a chance to hold something so small that was part him.

dean forgot often that the impossible seemed to happen a lot around him.

there was a moment when he thought that being with you was a fate destined for doom. but every step of the way, you’d helped convince him that decades of isolation did not equate to deserving said isolation, and slowly, he’d let you make a home in his heart.

you accepted him for what he was. you trusted him with all you had; let him into your heart, your house, and every room that was deigned yours. no secrets, you’d promised.

it was a promise you held true to, because on a day he’d always remember, june 27th, you’d sat him down and told him that you were pregnant. and, on top of that initial shock, you were three months along.

he’d used the word impossible over and over throughout your pregnancy. this was not something for dean to pour his hope into and get attached to. it had to be a mistake; it had to be a misunderstanding — something.

but on dean’s birthday, a day he refused to celebrate anymore because of how many he’d had, a day that you took into your own hands and made him celebrate anyway—

a little boy was born.

a son with his hair, his face, and your eyes. so human and so real that it stole his breath away, unable to breathe at all even if he wanted to try again.

and it only got more chaotic from there. the little boy was an absolute devil; just as dean had been before sam was born, and before his father sank into a depression that drowned both of them. cassius winchester was a little force with sharp teeth and an affinity for crawling after him everywhere that dean went.

everything about cassius was impossible. that was why he’d been given the name, after all; helmeted warrior, it meant, so nothing could take him, so nothing would try to. now that dean had him, it was not going to be so easy to pry him away.

it was cassius’s third birthday, which meant it was dean’s… he’d lost count, really. either way, it was an incredibly special day for you. your two boys, one grown and one anew, and while you didn’t fit the mold when it came to the family dynamic that your boys painted, you certainly made up for it with your enthusiasm.

“blood in the icing?” you’d asked dean the moment he stepped downstairs, cassius balanced on his hip. “would that make it any more edible for you? for cassy?”

dean, taken aback for a moment, raises his eyebrows. “what would you eat, then?”

“i’m sure a little iron in my diet won’t hurt me.”

his scoff is an amused one, his eyebrows furrowing when he feels a sharp nip on his fingertip. in cassius’s mouth is dean’s finger, gnawing on it like it were nothing more than a teething toy.

his lips quirk up. he hasn’t genuinely grinned in so long that it feels almost foreign all of the time to do it now, since he met you, and even more since cassius. “on second thought, it might not be a bad idea.”

you stop the stand mixer to glance up at them, your eyes glimmering with that look that dean always refused to address. so much love for one person always made him feel on edge, like one day it would all fall away, like everyone else he’d loved prior. his fears had never once deterred you. perhaps it was why he, too, loved you so fiercely.

“he finally learned how to use those little teeth?” you ask, circling around the kitchen island to stand in front of dean and cassius, your expression alight. “what a milestone, my love. and on your third ever birthday.”

it certainly was a milestone. cassius had not let up his biting, little pinches that were certainly going to leave his finger raw for a few hours while it tried to heal. already, dean was planning on tossing all of the teething toys in the house away; he did not care for them like he cared for dean’s pointer finger.

you press a kiss to dean’s cheek, cassius’s forehead, before turning back to the slightly/less-dusty kitchen again. it’d been practically gray before you, but you had to eat, didn’t you? the scattered leftovers of human and forest creature in the boxed refrigerator did nothing for you. but you stop quickly, your eyes widened when you spin back around.

“wait!” you say on a gasp, grabbing something from underneath the countertop. two somethings. very shiny somethings. you jog back up to dean, looping the string of one underneath his chin and planting the birthday hat securely on his head, and doing the same for cassius, albeit with a smaller one. “happy birthday, my boys.”

dean tries to not let it affect him so deeply. how long had it been since his birthday felt like something to be celebrated and not a burden? there were so many years of those feelings that he did not understand yet how to react in instances like this, in the sheer warmth that you and cassius’s joy brought to him.

you were well aware of dean’s affinity for privacy. he was reserved, had made a home in the reservation, and would not leave it, not when he was so comfortable. so you did not call upon his sired to come celebrate — especially not them, when he was only beginning to heal the self-deprecation that came from their being there.

you did, though, dust away his hallway of their paintings, and uncover his painting supplies again. it was special to him, after all, and a hobby he’d locked away for too long after realizing the solace he found in keeping memories forever was embedding him into the past.

the paints and the blank canvasses were neatly wrapped in your room, along with a smaller box — dean’s present pile. there were more toys wrapped in a pile next to it, toys that cassius was far too spoiled already to need, but deserved anyways.

dean is not amused by the blindfold you put over his eyes as you led him to your shared room. or really, he was incredibly amused, but not so much to find out that all it served for was a dramatic way to lead him to his gifts while cassius napped downstairs.

“there are much more fun things that we could do with this blindfold,” he grumbles from in front of you, “there are much more fun things that we have done with it.”

“it is okay to be selfish and accept gifts sometimes, dean,” you say back, lightly kicking open the door with your foot to guide him inside.

dean is at his most shy and timid, somehow, on his birthday. as if he could make himself invisible and shrunken enough to be forgotten about, as if this day was not as equally about dean as it was cassius. “you are well aware of how little birthday gifts i’ve gotten over these years, aren’t you?”

“that is why i’ve got you three today.”

he can’t see, but he can hear the rustling of wrapping paper. shifting around, moving him as you so please, until he’s sat on the edge of the bed, and you are sitting at his feet in front of him, can feel the warmth of your humanity seeping into his legs.

something heavy lands in his lap.

“you may take it off,” you hum, and dean is not surprised to see that when he does, you are wearing a smug grin that makes you all the more beautiful. “go on. open it. that’s why gifts exist; to be opened.”

“i have not gotten a birthday gift in a while,” dean says with a huff, lifting his eyes as he tears into the wrapping paper to meet yours, “but that does not mean i need the process explained—”

his words die in his throat.

his paints. the ones that created life out of people he’d long killed. his heart falters. his mind blanks.

“this—” you pat the biggest gift behind you; flat and hollow when your hand touches it, “is some of the canvases i found too. i was just thinking— well, about how you paint everything you love in case it leaves.”

dean can’t even find the words to respond. his eyes stay locked on yours with a vulnerability you rarely see. “but i’m not leaving. and cassius is not leaving. and i think a family portrait for the front entrance would look lovely, don’t you?”

his swallow is thick and unnecessary, but he feels the lump in his throat and simply can’t help it.

instead of addressing your words, or the paints in his lap, or anything, he looks at the third present sat in your lap. his voice is raw when it comes out. “what is that one?”

dean’s paintbrushes, he assumes. fits the theme, would complete the puzzle.

your lips curl in a little grin. “those are cassius’s building blocks and perhaps a toy train. i can’t spoil everything.”

the attempt at lightening the mood works. he sets the paints aside and leans forward, lifting your chin with one finger and reaching into your lap with the other of his hands. “i meant this, little devil.”

there is no explanation or comments from you this time, as he opens it. it was hasty, the way he tore in, feeling light and airy like he did as a child on christmas. it’d been a long time since dean had felt so free.

it was not paintbrushes as he assumed, though. for the second time in one evening, you’d shocked the words out of him.

impossible, his mind begins to repeat again, but it’s quieter. less insistent. the voice of his subconscious had already been proven wrong once before.

a pregnancy test with two lines sits in the little jewelry box you’d tucked it away in.

the lump in his throat is tight, heavier. his mouth opens, closes, opens again, and no words come out. dean is left holding a pregnancy test between his fingers like it might break, left staring at the one person who heard his cries for company and answered with a family.

a family. how long had it been since he let himself dream? of this, of you, of anything?

“i know it is yours and cassius’s day, but i figured��” you don’t even need to finish the sentence for dean to get it. this was something that he’d wanted desperately, a secret he shared only with you. his childhood was bleak and unforgiving. all dean wanted was a chance to start anew and make it better.

here it was, in the form of a stick and a woman and a toddler.

he is more ginger with the pregnancy test than he was with the paints. as much as he appreciated the sentiments being brought back up, painting sam and judas had pulled all of the fun and the peace out of the hobby. he had no intention of digging back into the part of himself that loved the art of creation, in any way.

but now, in his head, there’s the grant entrance of his manor. and above the fireplace is you next to him in acrylic, a little cassius painted onto his hip, and a little baby in your arms. it would be updated every time his children grew. it would be updated every year, maybe even, so he could have multiples of you in the dresses he loved so dearly, and to see the progression of his kids. his family.

the hand on your chin moves to the back of your neck, tugging you up and into his arms. his eyes close, breathing you in slowly. he’s always loved the warmth of your livelihood, and it felt that much more intense, knowing that there was another life now, too.

“you have a talent for making a man forget he doesn’t deserve this,” he whispers into your throat.

you grasp at the sleeves of his coat, the grin on your face evident even as its buried into his chest. he can feel it, the pull of your lips, your smiling mouth in his shirt. “i hope to foster that talent, then. to become an expert in bringing you a lifetime’s worth of better birthdays.”

dean doesn’t know how to tell you that these years with you have done plenty. this was all he needed — you and the family you brought to him — to have better days and better birthdays.

so he stays silent and holds you to him, letting himself slip away into this life that felt more and more like a wish come true with every passing day.

and it is only when the sounds of little footsteps start stomping up the stairs toward your room, toward his presents, that dean’s eyes lift up to meet the sleep mussed little boy babbling to himself — and the big brother t-shirt you’d had him in, only now noticed.

notes. i literally woke up just to write this quick asf & post it PLS. if it sucks my bad. i'm just a girl. happy bday my pookie beloved baby waby!!!

tags. @titsout4jackles @moonstruksandco @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @itzavahere @sagegreen17 @bruceewayne @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @deansbeer @blushpinkdoll @warpedless @sabrinasopposite @k-slla @deansbite @foolinthera1n @honeyryewhiskey @angelblqde @whyyouegg @bluemerakis @fallbhind @florchids @figthoughts @beausling @chevroletdean @mccartneyqp @bluestrd @sthefferrete @rubyvhs @tortureddarkstar @aileenunfiltered @frosttbitessam @theosaurous

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

I couldn't give two flying farts about Soldier Boy but your reply to that ask with the breeding kink? 🥵🫨😍

So here is my suuuper self-indulgent ask: what, in your opinion, is Sam's biggest kink(s)? The thing that drives him completely crazy? Could be younger Sam or older Sam (or both).

Kisses and thank you for your service! x

first of all. I'M SO HAPPY YOU'RE HERE!!!

"i couldn't give two flying farts" made me BARK like a goddamn seal.

i need to tell you right now. i have THOUGHTS. i've lost literal sleep spiralling over this very concept and i am thrilled—elated—to report that i believe our lord and saviour, sam winchester, absolutely, without question, has a buffet of kinks. so grab a snack, get cozy, maybe (definitely) hydrate a little, because i'm about to drop a full dissertation under the cut.

✨ younger sam (early seasons / stanford era / the “i’m a good boy but i also kind of want to ruin you�� era) ✨

younger sam is... a problem. a menace. a walking, talking praise kink with floppy hair and puppy dog eyes who wants to be good so, so bad but is secretly desperate to wreck you. he’s all wide hands, shaky breathing, and the quiet, low whines he tries (and fails) to swallow down when you praise him. he wants to be gentle. he tries to be gentle. but the second you tell him he’s doing good? it’s over for you. and him. and the bedframe.

praise kink: this is canon. this is his religion. tell him he’s good and you will physically feel him get harder inside you.

oral fixation: he is obsessed with having his mouth on you. between your thighs, kissing up your spine, mouthing at your wrists—he wants to taste you everywhere.

desperation kink: the breathless, frantic way he grabs you like he might die if he doesn't get inside you immediately? yeah. that's not acting.

corruption kink (lite edition): if you’re shy or inexperienced? he’s obsessed with ruining you gently. calling you "sweetheart" or "pretty girl" while he makes you sob into his shoulder.

soft dom tendencies: he’s not fully confident yet, but when it sneaks out—when his hand tightens on your jaw or he says “keep your eyes on me”—it wrecks both of you.

possessiveness kink (hidden but dangerous): he’s so good at playing the polite, sweet, safe boy—but deep down? he’s lowkey deranged for you. seeing another guy look at you would make him snap in quiet, scary ways. "you're mine. you know that, right? no one else gets to see you like this." (growled against your throat while he's buried inside you)

hair pulling kink (getting pulled and pulling yours): we know sam’s hair is practically a character. you tug on it when you're kissing and he shudders. he pulls yours when he needs to anchor himself inside you. “hold still for me, baby. just like that, fuck—” (fist tangled in your hair, forehead pressed to yours)

slow burn / edging kink (accidental): younger sam tries to be so careful, so good at "making it last," but it gets messy fast. still, he’s fascinated by how much you squirm if he just won’t let you come right away. and it lights something dark in him.

and the thing about younger sam is that even though he's trying so hard to be good and sweet and careful with you, it’s so obvious he’s holding back something darker. something heavier. it’s in the way his hands shake when he grips your waist too tight. it’s in the way his voice drops when he gets too worked up.

and the second that boy grows up? the second he stops trying to pretend he’s not wired for obsession and control and desperate, all-consuming need?? it’s over for you. and him. and society at large.

✨ older sam (late seasons / “i have nothing left to lose except you, and i'll kill for you without blinking” era) ✨

older sam is... dangerous. soft in the places that matter, brutal everywhere else. he’s quieter now. more calculating. and when he wants something? when he wants you? he doesn’t ask. he takes.

control kink: you don't lift a finger unless he says so. he’s thought about everything already. he knows what you need better than you do. "hands above your head, sweetheart. there you go. let me take care of it."

size kink: sam winchester knows he’s a big boy. and he loves making you feel it. loves seeing you struggle a little. loves hearing you gasp when he stretches you open and just grins like the devil himself.

degradation kink (soft and firm): he can flip between praising you like you’re an angel and absolutely destroying you verbally in 0.5 seconds flat. "poor baby. can't even take a little cock without crying? thought you were my good girl."

ownership kink: if you think for one second you're walking outta there without a mark or his come leaking out of you, you're wrong. "gonna stay nice and full for me, aren't you, sweetheart? let everyone see who you belong to."

lowkey breeding kink: he doesn’t even say it half the time. he just fucks you so deep and so slow and so hard that your whole body knows it. but when he does say it? when he leans down and growls shit like "gonna keep you, baby. fill you up so good no one else’ll ever touch you again"? yeah. you ascend. straight into the void.

corruption kink (deeper, darker edition): younger sam wanted to corrupt you sweetly. older sam wants to ruin you. he loves the contrast. the way you look so soft, so sweet, and then sob his name with your face messy and your voice broken. it’s about ownership and power and control, but it’s also about trust. "no one’s ever gonna see you like this but me, baby. you’re mine. my pretty girl."

voyeurism kink (lowkey but lethal): YES. HE HAS THIS. it’s the control again, but subtler. sam loves watching you. watching you touch yourself just how he told you to (with permission). watching you squirm under his gaze when you're already wrecked but still trying to be good. watching your body give out because of him. it’s not just visual—it’s psychological dominance. it's: "don’t hide from me, sweetheart. want you to see what you look like when you fall apart for me."

exhibitionism kink (with a dangerous edge): this is where it gets even meaner. it’s not about public sex per se—it’s about the risk. he loves you getting embarrassed by the thought that someone might hear you. he’ll fuck you against a wall in a semi-public hallway in the bunker, hand over your mouth, whispering "shh, sweetheart. you don’t want dean to hear, do you?" while he keeps thrusting.

overstimulation kink (weaponised): bunker sam has no chill. you come once? cool. you come twice? cute. you come three, four, five times? perfect, he’s just getting started. he wants you mindless. crying. babbling his name. "come on, baby. one more. i know you got another one in you. be good f’me."

younger sam is accidental filth. he’s so desperate to be good, so determined to hold himself together, but the second you praise him or even look at him a little too sweetly? he’s fucking ruined. desperate, needy, a mess between your thighs. all floppy hair and trembling hands and whispered “please.”

older sam is intentional filth. controlled. calculating. slow and devastating. he doesn’t just want to make you come—he wants to own every single sound you make. wants to watch you fall apart because of him. wants to know that you trust him enough to let him absolutely destroy you and still crawl into his lap after, wrecked and smiling.

and the thing about sam winchester is that he’s not a boy anymore. he’s a man. an unapologetic, brutal, soft, possessive, hand-around-your-throat-but-kisses-your-forehead-after kind of man. the kind that makes you feel worshiped and ruined in the same breath. the kind you never recover from.

and honestly? thank god. am i right?

honourable mentions: @losers-clvb @xoswiftieprincess <3

[simpforbbarnes]

Dust and Destiny pt. 3

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader

Summary : Bucky Barnes and you used to be lovers , madly in love . But you lost him in the blip and lost him again after the blip because he need to “find himself”.

Warning : no , maybe a little cursing

Words : 2.8k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Again ,i am really sorry . English is not my first language, so there will be many grammatical and spelling errors :(

______________________________________

The ghost of the past

You did leave, for your own good.

That’s what you told yourself. That’s what your dad told you when he stood in front of you two years ago, arms crossed like he was trying to be firm, like this was just another logical decision, another equation to solve. But you had seen the crack in his voice, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to hold on but knew he had to let go.

“You need to go,” he had said. “You’re not okay, and I can’t watch you self-destruct.”

You had wanted to argue. To tell him that leaving wouldn’t fix anything. That nothing would. But you had been too exhausted, too broken to fight anymore. So you left. You packed a bag, walked out of the compound, and kept walking.

And now, after two years of pretending you were fine, you were back.The compound doors slide open, the familiar hum of FRIDAY greeting you like a ghost from your past.

“Welcome home, Miss Stark.”

Home.

You step inside, and for a second, everything feels the same. The glass walls, the sleek furniture, the faint hum of technology in the background. But there’s something different. The air feels heavier, like time has stretched in ways you don’t quite understand.

Your boots echo against the floor as you make your way inside, taking it all in—the things that have changed, the things that have stayed exactly the same. A noise pulls your attention to the side.

Sam is standing near the kitchen, a cup of coffee halfway to his mouth. His eyes widen, and for a second, he just stares.

“Well, damn,” he finally says, setting the mug down. “Look who decided to grace us with her presence.”

You huff out a breath, shaking your head. “Didn’t know I needed an invitation.”

Footsteps echo from the hallway.

“Holy shit,” Clint mutters, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “She lives.” Asshole.

And then..

“About time,” your dad says. Tony’s voice is the same as always, teasing, dry, but there’s something else underneath it. Something softer. Relief, maybe. Guilt, definitely.

You meet his gaze, and for a second, the world narrows to just that. You don’t know what to say, don’t know if you should be angry at him or grateful.

Before you can figure it out, something shifts.

A presence.

A weight in the air so familiar it makes your breath catch.

You feel him before you see him.

And when you finally turn…

Bucky Barnes.

You don’t even register the others anymore. The sound of Sam’s mug clicking against the counter. The sharp inhale Clint takes as he watches the way you freeze. Even Tony seems to tense slightly, like he knew this part was coming but didn’t know how it would play out.

Your vision tunnels. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. Because the last time you saw him, his hair was longer, his metal arm was silver, and he was telling you he needed time.

Now, his hair is short. His metal arm is black, sleek, unmistakably Wakandan.

You can’t breathe. You are not wrong now.

Bucky is an Avenger.

Two years ago, he walked away, telling you he had to figure things out. That he wasn’t ready. Now he’s here. With them. With your team. With your family.

Your heart pound like hell, but you force yourself to keep your face unreadable. You won’t let him see it. Won’t let him see the way it guts you from the inside out.

Your lips part, but no words come out.Neither of you move. Neither of you speak.

The silence is unbearable, stretching between you like an open wound, raw and festering.

Then-

“Stark. You’re back.”

Stark? No doll , no sweetheart , no love , no princess. They are all gone. Just a formal last name.

His voice is quiet, rough, like it physically pains him to say it. You inhale slowly. Steady. Controlled. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

His fists clench at his sides. He looks like he wants to say something else, like there are a thousand words stuck behind his teeth, burning to be let out.

But he doesn’t say anything. And that makes you furious.

Because of course he’s the same. Of course he still just stands there, making you bear the weight of it all alone. Making you carry the silence, you carry the pain, you pretend like it doesn’t fucking hurt.

You let out a sharp breath, shaking your head, turning away. “Nope. Not doing this right now.”

But as soon as you take a step, his voice stops you in your tracks.

“Wait.”

It’s barely a whisper, but it cuts through you like a blade.

Your hands curl into fists. You don’t turn around. You can’t. Because if you look at him, if you really look at him, you’re afraid of what might happen. Afraid of the anger. The heartbreak. The way it’ll all come crashing down at once.

So instead, you swallow everything and keep walking and behind you, Bucky just watches you go.

…

Your old room looks almost the same.

Almost.

The bed is still there, the same black comforter draped over it, the same soft pillows, like some part of the past was waiting for you to come back. Your desk is still against the far wall, but there’s new dust on the surface, untouched for years. The window is cracked open, letting in the faintest breeze, carrying with it the ghost of a life you left behind.

But there are things that don’t belong.

The extra shelves stacked with some of Tony’s junk,random bits of tech, a few unfinished projects, things that look hastily shoved there, like he thought he had all the time in the world to clean up before you returned.

Except he didn’t expect you to return at all, did he?

You drop your bag onto the floor, exhaling sharply, rubbing your temples. Your mind is a mess. A storm that won’t settle.

Bucky. Bucky is an Avenger now.

He’s here. He’s been here. For who knows how long.

And no one thought to tell you.

Your stomach twists. The longer you stand in the room, the more it feels like the walls are closing in, like the air is getting thinner, like you might actually fucking scream.

Then…

A knock at the door.

Not a polite one. A cautious one. Like the person on the other side already knows what’s coming.It swings open before you can tell them to fuck off.

Tony.

Of course. He leans against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

You don’t hesitate.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me anything?!”

Your voice cuts through the air, raw, sharp, years of frustration packed into every syllable.

Tony doesn’t flinch. But his jaw tightens. “You just got here. You wanna try again without the screaming?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Dad,” you snap, throwing your arms up. “Should I lower my voice while I ask why the fuck you didn’t think to mention that Bucky Barnes is living in this goddamn compound?”

Tony sighs, stepping fully into the room, rubbing his temple. “Language, kid”

“Im not Steve , for fuck sake !” , unbelievable.

“And No. No. Dont you dare to ‘kid’ me now to get your way out of this.” Your heart is pounding. “I was gone for two years. I left because you said I needed to heal. Because you said I needed to move on.” You let out a harsh laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “And the second I come back? The second I step foot in this place again? The first person I see is him? As an Avengers? AND NO ONE IN THIS COMPOUND CARE TO TEXT ME OR CALL ME?!”

Tony exhales through his nose, lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s complicated.”

“Bullshit.”

“Alright, fine. Maybe not that complicated.” He crosses his arms. “It happened gradually. He started coming around more, helping out, training with the others. And then one day he worked here now.”

Your head is spinning. “And you never thought—oh, I don’t know, maybe I should mention this to my daughter at some point?”

Tony tilts his head. “And when exactly was I supposed to do that, sweetheart? During one of your ‘I need to be alone’ radio silences? Maybe when you ignored my calls for months?”

Your throat tightens. You hate that he has a point.

But that doesn’t make this hurt any less.

“I deserved to know,” you say, quieter this time.

Tony sighs again, softer now. “Yeah. You did.”

The weight in your chest grows heavier. “I thought I was coming back to my team,” you murmur. “To my family. But it’s not the same, is it?”

Tony watches you for a long moment, then steps forward, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“Things change,” he says gently. “People change. Even the ones we thought never would.”

You swallow hard.

You hate how much it hurts.

Two years ago, Bucky told you he needed time. He told you he had to figure himself out.

And now, standing here, hearing that he’s been here this whole time. that he didn’t just figure himself out, but found a home here? Found a team?

Found a place where he belonged?It feels like a knife to the gut.

Because he used to belong with you.

You inhale sharply, gripping your arms tighter. “I used to be his home,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out. Your throat feels tight, your chest unbearably heavy. “And he used to be mine.”

Tony doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches you with that sharp, knowing look that you’ve never been able to hide from.

Then, finally, he exhales, nodding toward the door.

“You think it was easy for him? You think he just waltzed in here and everything was peachy? Nah. He fought it. He fought us. Didn’t think he deserved to be here. Didn’t think he belonged. Sound familiar?”

Your breath catches.Because it does.It sounds exactly like you.

His voice softens. “he did need a home. And whether you like it or not… this became his.”

A lump forms in your throat.

Because it’s not just that he found a home here.

It’s that he doesn’t need you to be his home anymore.

You blink rapidly, pushing down the emotions clawing at your throat.

Tony nods, as if he understands, then steps back toward the door. “Take the night. Sleep. Scream into a pillow. Whatever helps. We’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.”

He turns to leave—

Then pauses.

Looks back.

And with a knowing smirk, he adds, “Oh, and kid? You’re gonna have to talk to him eventually.”

Then he’s gone, leaving you alone with the ghosts of the past.

….

The meeting room hums with quiet conversation, the usual pre-meetingchatter filling the space. Steve is flipping through a folder, Wanda and Pietro are murmuring to each other, and Nat is leaned back in her chair, boot propped on the table, twirling a knife between her fingers.

It’s routine. Normal. Until you step through the door.Silence falls like a hammer.

Steve’s head snaps up first. His eyes widen, mouth slightly parting, like he’s questioning if you’re actually real.

Then Bruce, who literally freezes mid-sentence, his brows furrowing in disbelief.

Pietro, leaning against the wall, lets out a low whistle. “Well, shit. Holy shit”

Wanda’s eyes flicker with something between relief and shock. “You’re back,” she murmurs, like she’s afraid saying it too loud will make you disappear.

Nat, ever composed, is the last to react. But even she can’t hide the glint of surprise in her sharp gaze. She sets the knife down with a soft clink, tilting her head. “Did hell freeze over, or did Stark finally drag your ass back?”

You smirk, but there’s no real bite to it. “Tony didn’t drag me anywhere.”

Steve finally finds his voice. “We” He stops himself, exhales sharply, then tries again. “We didn’t think we’d see you again.”

Bruce nods, still looking at you like you’re some kind of mirage. “Yeah, I mean… two years is a long time.”

Two years.

Two years away from them. From the life you thought you’d left behind.

From the memories of him.

You force yourself to stay neutral, shrugging like it doesn’t matter. “Yeah, well. Turns out, I’m not great at the whole finding inner peace thing. And pretty sure god make me back here because you guys really hide something realllll big from me huh?”

Silence . They know what you meant.

‘Bucky-kinda-be-an-avengers-now’ matter.

Wanda breaks the silent, her expression softening. “It’s really good to see you.”

You feel something in your chest loosen, just a little.

Nat eyes you for a long moment before nodding approvingly. “Well, whatever brought you back, I hope you’re staying this time.”

You don’t answer.

Not because you don’t want to. But because the door opens again—

And he walks in.

The moment Bucky walks in, the air shifts. It’s subtle, just a flicker of tension, a slight pause in movement. but you feel it.

You feel him. And yet, you don’t look. You don’t let yourself.

Instead, you straighten in your chair, keeping your expression effortlessly neutral. Unbothered. Like this is just another day, just another meeting, and the man who once held your entire world in his hands hasn’t just walked in like he owns the damn place.

Bucky stops for half a second. It’s brief, barely noticeable, but you catch it,how his steps falter, how his shoulders tense. Then he moves again, slipping into a seat across from you.

You keep your gaze on the screen in front of you, casually flipping through the mission briefing. Like nothing happened. Like nothing ever happened.

Steve, ever the peacemaker, clears his throat. “Alright, now that we’re all here…” He glances at you, then at Bucky, and oh, you can tell he’s debating whether to say something.

You don’t give him the chance.

“So what’s the situation?” you ask, flipping another page on the screen. “Tony said it was urgent.”

Bucky exhales quietly, just a breath, just a fraction of hesitation,before shifting in his seat. You can feel his stare, feel the weight of it pressing against you, but you refuse to meet it.

Nat notices. Of course she does. Her sharp eyes flick between you and Bucky before she smirks slightly, like she’s already seeing straight through your act.

You ignore her.

Wanda is watching, too, less smug, more concerned. but she doesn’t say anything. Neither does Steve, though the way he keeps glancing between you and Bucky makes it very clear he has a lot of thoughts.

But no one pushes it. So you keep up the act. Keep pretending.

Keep pretending you don’t feel Bucky’s eyes on you. Keep pretending you’re not aware of every breath he takes. Keep pretending your heart isn’t shattering all over again.

Bucky’s staring. You can feel it.

Even though your eyes are fixed on the mission briefing, even though you’re forcing yourself to stay neutral, your body betrays you. Your heartbeat stumbles in your chest, your fingers tighten around the tablet, your breathing slows,because your body remembers.

Remembers him.

Remembers what it felt like to be held by him, to belong to him. Remembers the way he used to look at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

But that was before.

Before he left. Before two years turned you both into strangers again.

So you pretend.Pretend nothing happened. Pretend that he’s just another teammate. Pretend you don’t care that he’s here.

“Alright,” Steve says, clearing his throat, trying to break the tension. “We’ve got intel that a weapons deal is going down in Madripoor. Stark’s sources say it could be connected to some remnants of HYDRA.”

Steve explained all the details of the mission without missing anything. The rooms is silent , just Steve’s charismatic and leadership voices filled the room.

“Alright,” Steve says. “Pair up. Nat, you’re with me. Wanda, Pietro, you’re together. Bruce, you’re running comms. Sam , as usual”

Then he turns to you. “You’re with Bucky.”

Silence. Your body locks up.

Across the table, Bucky’s jaw tightens slightly,but his face stays neutral. He doesn’t react.

I swear if murdering people is not a crime , i already killed this Captain America with bare hands.

You force yourself to breathe. Keep your posture loose, your face unreadable. “Fine by me.” Bucky doesn’t say anything. Just gives a short, clipped nod.

And that’s it.

No argument. No tension-filled stare-down. No acknowledgment of anything. You pretend that sitting next to him doesn’t feel like sitting beside a ghost. You pretend you don’t notice the way his hands flex against the table, like he’s holding something back. You pretend everything is fine.

Because if the past doesn’t exist….

It can’t hurt you.

Taglist : (lmk if you wanna be apart of my taglist ♡) @sebbymybaby21 @learisa

[ducksido]

Dating Ace Trappola Headcanons

(To hold you off, his post should be up at 6pm aedt)

Endless Teasing – Ace lives to tease you. Whether it’s playfully mocking your bedhead in the morning or calling you “cute” just to see you flustered, he loves getting a reaction out of you. But the moment you tease him back? He’ll act all dramatic like, “How could you betray me like this?!”

Casual but Sweet – He may not be super romantic in the traditional sense, but he shows he cares in little ways. If he buys himself snacks, he always grabs your favorite too. If you’re tired, he’ll offer you his shoulder (while pretending it’s no big deal).

Competing in Everything – Whether it’s who can eat more takoyaki, who can get a higher score in a game, or even who can come up with the best insult for Crowley, Ace turns everything into a competition. It’s all in good fun, though—unless you actually beat him, in which case he’ll demand a rematch.

Flirty but Gets Flustered Easily – He’s got game… until you turn it on him. If you flirt back or catch him off guard with a compliment, his face goes bright red, and he’ll try (and fail) to play it cool. “Pshh, whatever! It’s not like I was blushing or anything…”

Random, Impulsive Dates – Ace is the type to drag you out for a date with no warning. “C’mon, let’s go to Sam’s shop and blow our madol on junk food!” Expect spontaneous adventures, whether it’s sneaking into a fancy event for free food or convincing you to break curfew “for the thrill of it.”

Acts Tough but is Lowkey Protective – He’s all talk about how he’s the one looking out for you, but the moment someone actually messes with you? He’s stepping up with a cocky grin, ready to talk (or fight) his way through it. “Hey, back off, loser. They’re with me.”

Super Clingy When Tired – He’s usually a ball of energy, but when he gets sleepy, he clings onto you. If you’re sitting down, he’ll rest his head on your shoulder. If you try to move? “Noooo, don’t gooo… just five more minutes.”

Nicknames Galore – You never just get called by your actual name. It’s always something like “Dummy” (affectionate), “My favorite sidekick”, or “Ace’s #1 Fan”. If he’s feeling especially soft, he might slip in a sweet nickname and immediately try to act like it was nothing.

Late-Night Talks – On nights when neither of you can sleep, he’ll send you a message like “U up?” and somehow, you both end up talking about the most random things—what you’d do with a million madol, whether ghosts can be scared of humans, or what kind of pranks you should pull on Deuce tomorrow.

Jealousy? Him? Pfft—Okay, Maybe. – If someone flirts with you, he’ll act all nonchalant like “Oh, you have such great taste in admirers.” But the second you reassure him or tease him about being jealous? “What? Me? Jealous? HA. As if. …But seriously, you’re mine, okay?”

He Loves Seeing You Smile – Ace won’t admit it outright, but nothing makes him happier than making you laugh. If he notices you’re feeling down, expect goofy antics, dumb jokes, and all kinds of distractions just to see you smile again.

[shanastoryteller]

I don't know if you do that but I am gonna shoot anyway 😅 Do you have any fic recs that are Dean centric? I am sure he will be suffering in all of them but I'd also love it if he were getting comforted not gonna lie 🥹 But if you don't do recs it's also fine, have a nice day!

answering this publicly if other people have recs because probably not lol

i guess it depends on what you mean by dean centric? like does back count, it's his pov and mostly about his hell trauma, but through the lens of him hashing out all the s4 bullshit with sam. or dumb luck or good ghost is his pov, him losing his mind while in deep denial, and sam isn't even it for the first 2/3, but also does it really count as dean centric if his every waking thought is about sam? then again, if his every waking thought isn't about sam, that's ooc as hell

i am smushing dean like play doh, i am poking him with a stick, i am sitting in my backyard and adding him to my plastic bucket to make potion, but i am at heart a sam girl. these are all simply sam girl activities

in no particular order here are some fics i like that i think are dean heavy to dean focused, but whether they're dean centric probably depends on your specific kind of brainworms

It's the Blueprint of Your Life by queenklu  Sam jerks awake in the middle of the night and everything goes to hell. Well, not literally, though Dean is staring down the barrel of less than a year before his deal comes due. In the midst of dealing (or not dealing) with his impending death, a killer ghost ship, and Bela showing up out of the blue, Dean also has to figure out what’s going on in Sam’s head to make him so twitchy, why he’s suddenly breezing through this case while writing endless notes in a notebook he won’t let Dean see. Damn it, Dean thinks, This is gonna take a lot of chickflick moments. comments: one of my absolute favorite spn fics, so it's possible i'm just biased. dean trying to figure out what the hell is going on with sam and then what the hell he feels for sam. also a really great exploration of dean's self worth issues and him confronting that, which is really what i think justifies adding it to this list

A Lifetime or Two by nigeltde Dean's been living too long on the surface. comments: late seasons when mary's still around but before the BOL has blown up in their faces. great exploration of his relationships with sam and mary and how they intersect. the sequel is also required reading

Credit for a Kill by TheMarvelousTolkienJob Dean had figured he knew how his day was going to go. Do some research, hunt a little, maybe even go out for drinks afterward. He hadn't counted on taking part in someone else's quest for revenge nor on Sam being held hostage to ensure that he would complete said revenge. comments: dean being a badass and saving sam plus bonus bobby to the rescue!

Desiderata by Dyed_Red Dean is hit with a curse. It shouldn’t take that much to resolve, could be a gift under other circumstances, but life’s not that simple for the Winchesters. comments: incomplete, but close enough to the end that you see where they're going and how they get there. dean torturing himself, which we all know i love, and some really scorchingly hot and fucked up sex scenes

mother is pretending by hathfrozen Dean blurts, "So, you're saying I'm like, Mommy, or something?" He's never had a joke land so completely flat. It sounds strangled and weird coming out of his own mouth, like it was never supposed to be a joke in the first place. "Um," Sam starts, and his voice fucking cracks. "Dean." Immediately, Dean says, "I didn't say that. Sam, I never said that." (Sam and Dean get reckless about how they're handling the pain of season 2, and whoops! slowly develop a Mommy kink along the way.) comments: the author is like i am taking your hand and we are going on a journey and at the end of it you are going to believe these two get into mommy kink with dean as the mommy. and by jove, they did it

it started with the kinks by deadlybride Zachariah gave them their memories back, but he didn't erase what had happened in the time they were other people. Dean Smith made a mistake, and Dean Winchester--well. He's still living with it. comments: 4 part series exploring dean's character and his relationship with sam through panty kink

Flying Weight by flesh Sam wakes after being soulless for three years to discover that Dean and his relationship with him have undergone some serious changes. Through traveling and hunting with Dean, Sam struggles to put his life back together after events he has only limited memory of. A season six wincest AU comments: thank you fleshflutter we love you. a classic for a reason. painful, intense, interesting look at dean. you ache for everyone the whole time but it's all okay

Filthy Mind by rivkat Dean acquires unwelcome nightly visitors. Set post-Hell, without details as to how that happens. summary: take the warnings seriously. really good look at sam and dean's (and society's, especially 20 years ago) different views of assault, consent, and masculinity. sequel is required reading and soothes the teeth gnashing hurt of this one

All Shall Fade by theMarvelousTolkienJob The plan was simple. Sam would watch security cameras while Dean did interviews. Nothing bad was supposed to happen and certainly not...this. Anything but this. Set in Season 14. comments: great look of dean pushed to the edge and also explores his skills as a torturer, which is something i don't see often in fics even though it's such a defining and character shaping change for him

Behind Me by K Hanna Korossy She wasn't sure what he meant, just that he needed someone else besides her. Outsider POV. comments: dean stripped down to his bare essentials

Find and Seek by K Hanna Korossy Dean, trapped in a small, dark place, with bodies and rats. Sam needs to hurry. comments: dean having the absolute worst time and losing it inches at a time, which is great especially because practically speaking he's not in any danger - it's just psychological hell

Unforsaken by K Hanna Korossy No matter what Dean believed, his family and friends hadn't abandoned him. comments: the second half and how dean processes it is both realistic and heart breaking. it's short even within the confines of the fic, but you're rooting for him

In Reverse by sodakey After Faith, a job has the boys looking for missing hikers in Wyoming. While Sam worries it’s connected to what happened to Dean ten years ago, Dean wonders if Sam would be better off back in the world of normal. comments: another one that's a classic for a reason. hits dean exactly right

And Fools Shine On, If Belief Was Enough, and Woven by gekizetsu Dean's been souljacked. And nothing in their arsenal is going to save Sam from his brother. summary: the first part is more about sam than dean, but the second and third are really killer. dean is unraveling, literally, and it's up to sam to weave him back together again, even at the risk he'll see parts of dean that he'd rather show no one. there are parts reading this where you say to yourself am i the one going insane here, and an interesting birds eye view on how much you can own a soul not your own. really strongly recommend

[tgmsunmontue]

Wild fields of forget-me-nots - 8/? WIP

During the training for the mission Jake has an accident which results in him losing 10 years of memories.

A lot has happened in ten years. Bradley broke up with him. DADT was repealed. He got and air-to-air kill and a new callsign.

And he doesn't remember any of it.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN

PART EIGHT

                Jake’s not exactly been cleared for normal activities, and that includes sex. It’s been a torturous heaven and hell, holding Jake in his bed. Despite the fact Jake hasn’t been cleared, it hasn’t stopped him trying and Bradley has held firm. He’d tried insisting on going out and purchasing an air mattress if Jake pushed the matter, so this had been the compromise. He won’t do more than hug him and brush gentle kisses to Jake’s face while he’s in this weird limbo land of pretending to be married to the love of his life. Not while he’s also maintaining the fiction of being happily married. God he wishes it were true.

                Jake’s concussion symptoms come and go, the tiredness and nausea being the worst, but the memory loss being the one that is the most concerning. He’s arranged for several people to come by and check on Jake periodically, gone and spoken to people he hasn’t spoken to in years to ask for help. Because he’s not asking for himself, he’s asking for Jake. Some of them he wouldn’t even have contact details for if it hadn’t been for the funeral, and he feels sick just thinking about it, how closely death seems to be dogging his every step. Feels like it is only a matter of time before that cloak is wrapped around his own shoulders to call him home.

                “You need to come back okay?”

                “Hmm? Oh. Wild horses couldn’t stop me.”

                “I’m not worried about wild fucking horses. It’s enemy jets and SAMs and anything else you might be facing. I know you and Javy are trying to protect me, but, please, just… make sure you do everything you fucking can to get back to me. I don’t remember having sex with this body and I want to try it out…”

                Bradley gives a little broken laugh, shakes his head. Glad Jake has given him something to lessen the tightness in his throat, the stinging in his eyes.

                “Trust you to make it about sex.”

                “I’m lightening the mood.”

                “Yeah… I love you Jake. So much. Just. Know that okay? I know you don’t remember the last decade, but… I love you okay. I’ll always love you. I’ll never stop loving you.”

                “You’re talking like you’re going to die…” Jake says, and his voice is quiet and Bradley wishes he didn’t have to put Jake through this. He sounds worried. Scared.

                “I might. You know the risks.”

                He cups Jake’s face in his hands, lets his fingertips through Jake’s hair on either side of his head. He hasn’t kissed Jake properly in over a decade, and as he covers Jake’s mouth with his own, lips soft and gentle, it’s like a benediction and damnation all at once. He’s going to let himself have this, a final kiss goodbye.

                They breathe, foreheads pressed together and he realizes he’s crying.

                “I am going to do everything in my power to come back to you. Okay?”

                “I’ll be waiting.”

                “Good. Thank you. And if I don’t come –”

                “Don’t you fucking dare,” Jake says then, it’s a hiccupping demand, then he’s crying as well. Bradley leans forward, kisses the tears from his face.

                “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry Jake…”

                “No. You don’t… don’t think like that. You’ll be back in a week.”

                “I promise to try, especially for you.”

                “For us.”

…            …            …

                Bradley knows he looks drawn and pale, feels like he barely slept, but knows he did. Everyone is somber and quiet, the weight of the mission ahead making them more introspective rather than they might otherwise be. The fact that Jake isn’t here a physical reminder that they’re placing themselves directly in harms way. Just like they’ve been training to do all of their careers, but the last few weeks especially.

                His mind keeps on circling back to Jake, how badly he fucked up, his regrets and what he’ll do if Jake can’t or won’t forgive him when he gets his memories back. If he gets his memory back. He looks up and Maverick is in his line of sight and he startles a little, the need to talk to him sudden and immediate. He can’t make Jake forgive him, but he can extend that olive branch to someone else and know it will be accepted. He calls after him, and when Maverick tells him they’ll talk after the mission he really hopes that’ll be the case.

NINE

[padfootagain]

Only an Almost (XVII)

Chapter 17: Looking for Help

Hi! Here comes a new chapter!

Chapter 18 will be the beginning of things really getting better!

I hope you’ll like this chapter! Please, tell me what you think!

*************************************

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader, friends with benefits AU

Warning: No explicit smut or nsfw content, but there are sexual themes and heavy make-out sessions (it’s a friends with benefits AU, I can’t really escape it), so 18+ only!

Summary: Andrew has been in love with you for years, and yet he has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.

Word Count : 1855

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

“Well…. That… is a lot.”

“You can phrase it like that, yeah…”

“So… you’ve finally told her you loved her. At least you don’t have that to weight on your chest anymore.”

“The fact that I was still rejected after that confession kind of balances out the relief, though.”

“Yeah… you’ve got a point…”

Andrew heaved a sigh, closed his eyes as he let himself fall back fully in his chair. He hadn’t slept after that conversation with you. Or well, ‘conversation’ didn’t quite fit what had happened; it was rather a fight.

He had waited for an early but somewhat decent hour in the morning to call Sam, and ask if he could come buy. It was 8:13, and he was sipping on a black coffee, sitting at the table with him now. Daphne was taking a shower. Andrew had dropped by a bakery to get some pastries for breakfast, knowing he was depriving his friends from some well-deserved rest, but if Sam had already eaten, Andrew had not taken a single bite.

He nervously rubbed his palms, until the skin was painful and red, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“What are you going to do now?” Sam asked after a rather long silence.

But Andrew merely shrugged.

“What could I do? She doesn’t want me… All I can do is try to find a way to move on. Christ… how do you move on from that?”

“Getting awfully drunk sounds like a reasonable beginning,” Sam smiled.

“Well, perhaps, but not at 8 am,” Daphne chuckled, finally walking into the kitchen, her hair still wet from her shower.

She hugged Andrew tight.

“I’m sorry, Andy.”

“It’s alright.”

“I don’t have a clue what’s going on in her head…”

“Daphne… don’t. Please, don’t…”

She pulled away, got herself some coffee as well, before joining the two men around the wooden table.

“The way I see things… she’s freaking out. She’s freaking out and rejecting her feelings.”

“Daphne…”

“It makes no fucking sense!”

“It makes perfect sense. She doesn’t see me like that. It was just sex for her, and it wasn’t for me, and I was a damn fool. There’s nothing more to say about that.”

“There’s a lot more to say about that. The way she talked about it… she was just afraid…”

“Please…”

Andrew buried his face in his hands. He heard Sam gently shushing Daphne when she started speaking again.

“Come on, now! Tonight, we’re getting brilliantly drunk you and I!” Sam promised his friend.

“Good idea,” Andrew nodded.

A heavy silence followed.

“Andy… I know that this is not the time but… about the wedding…”

“Hmm?” Andrew finally looked up at his friends again.

“You… you’re still going to come, right?”

Andrew frowned hard.

“Of course, I’m coming. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because Y/N is my maid of honour,” Daphne let out in a breath.

“Oh… I hadn’t thought about that,” Andrew admitted.

But he quickly shook himself.

“Of course, I’ll come. I’m the best man! Don’t worry about that.”

“I… I understand that you won’t want to see her, and we can totally avoid the two of you being in the same room while we’re planning the wedding, but during the ceremony and everything…”

“Guys, don’t worry. I’m an adult, I can handle seeing my ex for a day.”

Andrew blinked and frowned.

“Technically, she’s not even my ex, we weren’t together, as she enjoyed reminding me last night…”

“You promise you’ll come, right?”

“Sam, of course, I’ll come. Don’t worry. It’s your wedding, you don’t have to worry about me and my stupid broken heart. I’ll be there, and I’ll just… behave politely towards Y/N. Nothing more, nothing less. Anyway, the wedding is in seven weeks, she’ll probably bring someone…”

The doorbell rang, and Daphne got up to answer the door, while Sam was patting Andrew’s shoulder.

He was attempting to guide the conversation back to something a little more joyful when the sound of someone crying reached the kitchen. The two men looked at each other with a frown.

“Daphne? You’re alright?” Sam called, standing in a hurry, Andrew following suit.

But it wasn’t Daphne who was crying. Sobbing, actually.

She was holding you in her arms. You were shaking with sobs, you seemed about to fall, and crumble to the ground…

Andrew felt tears rising to his eyes at the sight, but he quickly blinked them away. It was about the only movement he could summon though. He was too stunned to move another muscle, remaining frozen in his friends’ hallway.

His first reaction was to want to run to you, hold you in his arms until you would stop crying. Were you hurt? Why…? What was going on?

But then he heard your whisper…

“I’ve fucked up… Daphne, I’ve fucked up so bad… I’ve fucked up everything with Andy…”

To hear his name acted like a punch in the guts, knocking all the air out of his lungs. His brain started to properly function again, and puzzlement slowly replaced worry.

You were crying about last night?

“Andy…” Sam called as Andrew stormed through the hall to grab his coat and shoes.

You finally noticed that he was there, and remained frozen, staring at him with your puffy red eyes and cheeks stained with tears. He didn’t look at you. He couldn’t.

“Andy… Wait!”

But despite Sam’s protest, Andrew was out in the blink of an eye, hurrying out of the house and out of your life…

He didn’t stop before he had reached his car, hearing Sam run after him.

“Wait, Andy… I didn’t know she was going to drop by.”

“I know… I know… It’s alright.”

“Andrew…”

“I just… I can’t see her right now.”

“I understand. I just…”

“It’s alright, Sam. We’ll see each other tonight at the pub, okay?”

Sam reluctantly nodded, and Andrew hurried inside his car.

All he could do for now was trying to move on, move forward, always forward. He drove aimlessly around the countryside for a while, before finally going home.

Was he moving forward, or just running away?

On a scale from one to drunk, Andrew was hammered.

He reckoned that he hadn’t drunk that much since College… or no, scratch that. Since his first record. Yeah, he had had some nice party time during that period, a mix of testing his limits on the road and the buzzing excitement of a long list of first times.

Only, a few years had passed, and after that last whiskey, he wasn’t too sure if he could handle alcohol as well as he did back in the days…

Sam was laughing his arse off over something stupid, that Andrew had forgotten already, but he was giggling along anyway. The buzz of the liquor was making him dizzy, light-headed, with his cheeks on fire and his thoughts a mess.

God… it felt good to forget you for a moment.

The pub was full of life and laughter. A group had started drunkenly slurring through a few songs, but Andrew was hoping not to be recognized and asked to sing, he wasn’t in the mood. You were the only thing he could write about these days, singing reminded him of you…

It was fun, it was an easy and temporary fix to his heartbreak, but Andrew welcomed the momentary reprieve all the same.

That was until Sam became suddenly much paler than before, and pressed a hand over his mouth, choking on his laughter.

Andrew blinked, grabbed his friend’s arm and pulled him as quickly as his wobbly legs could carry him to the bathroom.

Sam had barely knelt down in an empty stall that he was throwing up.

Andrew patted his back a couple of times, waited for his friend to calm down. He sat behind him, against the wall of the tiny bathroom. He didn’t care that the ground was dirty and highly unhygienic… for now he was pressing his temple against the cool tiling on the wall to counter the spinning of his head and the growing pain in his skull.

“You’re alright in there?” he called for Sam, looking at his friend still bent over the toilet.

Sam didn’t answer, merely threw up again.

“I’ll take that as a ‘not dead yet’,” Andrew answered in a fit of stupid giggles, and closed his eyes.

A few minutes later, he heard Sam shifting near him, and he forced his eyes open again, despite his exhaustion and the pain piercing his head.

“You’re okay?”

Sam finally crawled on all fours to join Andrew next to the row of sinks.

“Yeah, better,” he nodded, stumbling to his feet to wash his mouth. “Thanks, mate.”

Andrew merely gave him a thumbs up, before closing his eyes again.

Sam sat down next to his friend then, ignoring a newcomer who had just come in.

“Damn… I don’t think I’ve been this hammered since College,” Sam mumbled, while Andrew merely hummed in agreement. “Do you remember that party by the beach? Alex was fucking out of it, and then the cops arrived! We ran so fucking fast! I thought Alex was going to piss his pants, he was in pure panic!”

Andrew laughed at the memory.

“You tripped on a root and fell like a fucking child. Hands and knees all scrapped,” Andrew added, making Sam double-over with laughter.

“And you banged your head in at least five branches! I thought you’d get a concussion!”

“The red marks on my forehead the next day!”

The two men were laughing hysterically, sitting there on the ground, ignoring anyone else who would come in and throw them amused looks.

They remained there two more minutes without being disturbed. No one was coming in anymore. It seemed as though even the sound of conversations and music from the main room of the pub had quietened.

And there you were again, your picture against his closed eyelids. First the sight of you waking up by his side in the morning. Then the memory of your skin against his. Your voice. Your smile. You turning to look at him, and beaming with this grin of yours that was brighter than any star…

A tear rolled down his cheek and into his beard before he could notice.

“Christ… Sam… I love her so fucking much…”

He vaguely heard Sam shifting next to him, and he finally opened his eyes. A row of brown doors, on the opposite wall some sinks and some mirrors, and white cold tiling all over the walls. Urinals on the other side of the room.

Instead, he could see you lying in his bedsheets, your head thrown back against his pillow…

“I love her…”

That look of mischief in your eyes as you stole some fries from his plate…

“I’ve never loved anyone else the way I love her… so fucking much…”

Sam wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders, pulling him into a hug while Andrew’s silent tears were turning into proper cries.

“It’s going to be okay, Andy… It’s gonna be alright.”

And Andrew knew it was just some stupid fucking lie…

[nathandrakeisabottom]

⋆ Nathan Drake: Domestic Headcanons ⋆

The long-awaited, completely unasked for companion piece to @durrtydawg's Sam domestic headcanons piece. Revel in my self-indulgent, self-absorbed, and grotesquely specific fantasies of getting to call Nathan Drake my house husband. A house husband who jumps off speeding trains with a handgun on the occasional Thursday.

Not only does our pretty boy Nathan Morgan need someone who grounds him— (though that can mean many things; Nate is anything but a one type man)

But for someone who he genuinely believes won’t judge him for who he is

With them, every morning is peaceful and slow 

Will come up from behind before breakfast with a slow grasp at their waist, a delicate kiss he doesn’t break for a good few seconds against his partner's cheek or neck (will literally sigh into it)

And he fucking loves if they do the same for him

Everything is slow and silence and sighs

(He’s rarely so fucking quiet, and he appreciates someone who he feels comfortable finally letting everything go for. His voice gets hoarse with how much he’s always screaming and snarking)

Will shudder more from morning intimacy than straight up sex; if he’s surprised by kisses up his back as he makes some (admittedly, pretty runny) eggs, he'll accidentally drop and shatter dishes like nobody’s business

Speaking of which, only ever gets the cheapest plates/cups because he’s always fucking breaking them (thrift store, preferably)

James Taylor, Norah Jones, Michael Buble, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and (oddly enough) Barbra Streisand for relaxing morning music 

And will white man boogie with a comically bit lip if they quietly, affectionately look at him for long enough 

Speaking of: despite his best efforts, as he starts to wake up, he’ll grow increasingly jokey and self-aware (but soft lil’ earnest boy always comes back eventually)

Will take all the trash and recycling out in one clean go, tucking shit between his bent elbows and under his chin; He’s not afraid of a challenge yes he can fucking do it by himself NO SHUT UP HE’S GOT IT

His partner hears the clang of soda cans falling on the pavement twelve seconds later

A Trader Joe’s BITCH

As much as he loves some sensory overload and a bajillion snack options, big supermarkets kinda overwhelm him

Also they’re always more expensive and this boy is a complainer (and if he can make his partner laugh while he’s dramatically whining, even better)

Literally the man who ACTIVELY LAUGHS at the names of products 

“A Blueberry WALKS Into A Bar? Do you get that? BAR? Oh, that’s goddamn hilarious.”

And then will laugh for a good minute in the aisle; fuck the old people side-eyeing him from the dairy section 

Overbuys groceries rather than underbuys; there’s a lot of food he doesn’t realize has gone bad until it’s actively going into his mouth

Expect to be investing in a good broom, because he constantly needs one

Will open a bag of frozen peas from the wrong side and all of a sudden he’s spilling the entire thing onto the hardwood floor

He just hangs his head with a long, forlorn sigh

God fucking dammit

And huffs before power-walking to the closet

But at least he’s used to it; he’s got a broom in every place he can hide one now 

LOVES to cook, but that doesn’t mean he’s good at it

Probably just likes the theatrics: catch him in double oven mitts and a dozen hand towels at the ready and a novelty apron that says “spooned with love”, “rubs his own meat”, “mister good-lookin’ is cookin’”, or “license to grill”

King of wearing an apron and nothing else without telling; loves surprises and loves giving them almost as much; and will absolutely play coy about it (“I’m just baking out here!! What are you screaming about?”) 

Relatedly, loves stealing his partner’s shirts without telling, especially if they’re too small

“Baby tees are for big, strong babies like me.” “But you’re gonna stretch mine out!” “Heh-heh. Nice.”

Is a fucking sucker for any sort of gender role switch, but also can’t help the flutter in his heart when he sees his partner doing his laundry 

It’s the intimacy of another person touching his clothes and wanting them to be soft for him; loves if they have to reach kinda high to hang them up in his closet, too

Fucking loves to make love to his partner— and yes he loves the phrase “make love”, leave him alone— or hell, do anything to them while the washer is going on heavy duty wash cycle 

Somehow related, but is a hippie at the best of times. Women got off using washing machines before there was anything else and it’s a part of history and now they are too and isn’t it beautiful we’re not all so different isn’t life and history beautiful

Loves smoking weed once there’s a lengthy enough break with his partner, coughs and needs water every time (“nah, I don’t need it” — starts hacking to fucking death)

Loves a local mall trip: J Crew, Abercrombie & Fitch, and REI are his go-tos; he always needs an excuse to go out

“Jeez, is this what the kids are wearing these days?” in any store that isn’t those three

Every time there’s a big ad of a hot guy in a canoe or a girl smiling so hard it looks like her teeth are gonna pop out, he loves to outlandishly mimic their expression to make his partner laugh

Touchy, clingy, whiney 🥺; uses a body pillow and weighted blankets when he has to spend the night by himself

Needs to be the small spoon (at minimum) once a week, otherwise he gets sad and grumpy but isn't quite sure why

“Let’s get some new furniture.” “What? We have Ikea right next door! I can just make it!”

Drills a hole too big or loses the most important screw and has to go buy new furniture anyway 

Adores above all else impromptu massages: whether it’s on the couch or in the bedroom when he’s on his belly watching TV; moans more shamelessly during those than he even does during sex

Those massages often turn into him begging his partner to ride him… or he just fucking falls asleep

By the way, will fall asleep in any position or location you could possibly think of; a habit from his childhood when he didn't have a bed to sleep in

Snores and drools, but not loud or wet enough to be too annoying

2 in 1 shampoo. One bar of soap.

Unless of course he’s all out or… curious about what delicious-smelling shit his partner has; maybe it’s like the reverse of when a dog pees on something to claim it. Something like that.  

Get. him. flowers. His favorites are daffodils.

Really into helping out in his community: soup kitchen, pet shelters, planting trees or veggie seeds for community gardens— and then will abruptly stop because he’s tired and doesn’t feel like doing it anymore 

Until the next summer when he sporadically goes — “You know what we should do?!”

King of late-night karaoke bars (especially if he gets wasted and busts into a weepy song that totally kills the mood)

On the same note, a big musical theatre lover. Wine and dine him!

Loves a dog, wants a dog, needs a dog

Never fucking trains or reprimands the dog but whatcha gonna do

Gets both super shy and vulnerable and horny when he's actively referred to as a “husband” ; loves a good big business partner/house husband roleplay (whether horny or just a joke)

Please, oh god please, do shortform improv with him every time he starts doing a bit

Living with Nathan isn’t always easy, or frankly cheap, but is so fucking gentle and so fucking happy, that you can no longer imagine a world where your life was anything but 🌼💙🗺️

If you hurt him, OP (and Sully) are out for BLOOD.