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sleepyangelkami · 5 months ago

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COSTUME s.winchester

𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT - 3.4K

SAM WINCHESTER X FEM!READER

𝜗𝜚 A/N - this is my first ever time writing about sucking dick, please be nice to me, i'll cry.

𝜗𝜚 SUMMARY - you had to dress up as an FBI agent with the winchester brothers. you felt stupid in a costume but luckily for you, sam really liked seeing you in a skirt.

𝜗𝜚 WARNINGS - smut, dom!sam, sub!reader, oral(s!rec), no p!v sex, size kink, praise kink, fingering, slight manipulation, reader lowk flexible, cum eating, messy sex, squirting, (1) use of y/n, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

"come on, y/n, we gotta go!" you heard dean's not so gentle knock against the bathroom door as you slipped on your last mary jane shoe.

you weren't usually chosen for tasks like this.

usually, it was the winchester boys that did all this kind of thing, you know, fraud? you were usually just the researcher, sitting in the motel room as back up, with a laptop perched on your lap or sitting in baby, the key inside and waiting to be their getaway car.

you weren't really hands on when it came to being a hunter.

you never really had to go out into the real world for much. but this particular demon was snatching girls, twenty something year old girls about your age and appearance. the brothers thought it would be best if another girl accompanied them when investigating the missing girls' roomates and not two six-foot men dressed in suits.

dean's head turned as the creaky bathroom door opened. "I feel stupid."

his eyebrows raised to the tips of his forehead, a look of shock passing over him as he cleared his throat with a breathy laugh. "wait 'til sammy sees you." you just gave him a confused look before grabbing the pretty pink purse that sat on the bed. "aah-ah." you look up at dean confused. "kind of ruins the whole FBI vibe, don't you think?"

you eyed the purse in your hands.

it was a little bag, hardly able to hold anything other than your phone and your lipgloss, not that you ever had to worry about holding your wallet when you had the boys around but nonetheless, a card was wedged in there too.

it was pink with darker pink flowers on it and a ribbon attached to the strap. sam had gotten it for you after a case that you worked particularly hard on.

but dean was right, it didn't fit the whole 'FBI vibe' so you sighed and placed it back on the bed, passing the man an unhappy glance.

sam was outside, sitting in the passenger seat of the infamous impala named 'baby' by dean. he'd packed and started the car, waiting for the two of you when you caught his eye.

or should he say, your outfit.

you often wore pretty little sundresses or blouses and skirts paired together with a pretty cardigan drawn over you. but this? This seemed awfully different to your usual attire.

the white blouse was a little too low for comfort and he could tell by the way you were pulling it up over your cleavage that you agreed. your black pencil skirt was high, too high with a pair of long black stockings that stopped just above your knees paired with the infamous mary janes that you wore with almost everything.

sam was staring.

"what are you wearing?" was the first thing he asked when you and dean got into the car. "what is she wearing?" he turned back to dean.

you owned the stockings and the mary janes before hand but the rest of the outfit? it'd been dean's job to pick it out (which was no wonder you looked like... that.) "dude, she has to play the part."

"yeah of an FBI agent not some sexy stripper cop." sam spoke, exasperated.

"thank you!" you beamed from the back seat before your eyes furrowed. perhaps your boyfriend hadn't been complimenting you at all.

sam passed you a glance through the mirror but was more focused on blaming his brother. how could he let you go out looking like that for everyone to see? how could he make sam watch you while his pants tightened and his bulge was on show?

you thought the interviews went smoothly. you sat down with most of the women. the college women who's roomates had gone missing. dean was too busy fraternizing with the college girls to care about the case anymore and sam... well sam had seemed a little distracted from the beginning.

he couldn't rip his eyes away from you. you sat so perfectly, pieces of hair falling into your face as you nodded and sympathised with the women, asking them questions and jotting down notes onto a little notepad you had found in the backseat of baby.

sam was staring at you, at the way he could see the outline of your boobs down your shirt or the way your plush thighs protruded from the fabric of your stockings.

he was in awe.

it was hard to focus on anything other than you, which is why he had to excuse himself to talk to the headmaster instead of being stuck in a room with you, too close.

he was your boyfriend, it wasn't as if you hadn't done things with him before. on the contrary, you did... many things with sam before. but this was borderline unprofessional, the way he let his thoughts run.

he could imagine sliding his hands beneath your skirt or listening to your little gasps when he touched your skin, barely grazing it. you were so easily led like that, so audible and obedient. he could imagine unbuttoning your shirt slowly, with you sat on his lap while whines fell from your lips, whimpers following shortly after.

he needed to stop thinking.

or better yet, he needed to fuck you until the thoughts stopped.

dean decided he was going to check out the last spot that the college girl had been taken, assuring you both that he wouldn't be back before dinner. but the wink he shot his younger brother told him that he was merely giving you both alone time because he was no stranger to the look in sam's eyes.

and this was when sam got selfish.

honestly, the motel wasn't that far from the college so you and sam opted to walk back. the air turned brisk and for a split second, sam was about to offer you his jacket, the way he always would.

he thought it was rather adorable, watching the way you nuzzled into the jacket that was far too big for your frame. he was six foot five after all, you drowned in anything he let you wear.

but he found himself feeling selfish. he selfishly liked the way your perky breasts looked in that pretty blouse and the way your plush thighs could be seen peeking out from between the skirt and the stockings. he couldn't stop looking, couldn't tear his eyes away and stop his imagination from roaming.

so he let you walk back to the hotel, keeping a slight distance behind you so he could watch your body as he pleased, the only sound between you two being the click-clop of your mary jane heels as you walked home.

when you finally got inside, you felt yourself sigh in thought.

sam had been acting awfully quiet since you'd left and you'd begun to worry that you'd done something to upset him.

perhaps the outfit was too revealing, perhaps he wasn't okay with it.

you turned, an apology already on the tip of your lips. "sam―"

before you could utter the words, sam had grabbed you. his lips pushed into your own, a kiss filled with no passion or love, you could taste nothing aside from thick hunger, half a growl from inside his throat.

you whimpered into the kiss, taken by surprise. you felt him grab at you, one hand slid up your back, the other grabbing the back of your head and a fistful of hair along with it. again, a noise escaped you while sam was mindlessly kicking off his shoes, guiding you towards the bed.

to say you were surprised was saying the least, you hadn't expected this.

when he sat you gently against the bed, he finally broke the kiss. you looked up at him with glassy eyes and swollen lips while he tugged his suit jacket off, not bothering to take off his tie completely but only loosen it so it didn't hang so close to his neck. perhaps now he could finally breathe.

your eyes followed him curiously as he bent down, eyes never leaving yours while you stayed sitting on the mattress. you felt his hands pawing at your legs, slipping your mary janes from your feet. his hands gently rubbed at your sock-covered feet, a little reminder of his gentleness, despite the roughness he was suddenly using on you.

his fingers trailed upwards, following the little sewing thread between the fabric of your stockings. when his hands reached the top, he snapped the fabric back, leaving it snap against your thighs. "you're keeping these on." he uttered, he didn't sound like he normally did. he sounded as if he were pent up, desperate for relief. and he was.

you just couldn't seem to understand why.

"sam, why are you―"

you were cut off. "you're jus' so pretty all dressed up, honey." sam was towering over you as he stood, his large hand falling on your face, practically taking up a whole cheek as he cupped it. "'n i was hard all day thinkin' about this. you do wanna make me feel good, don't you, sweetheart?"

he watched as your eyes seemingly got rounder. "i wanna make you feel good, sammy." you caught your bottom lip between your top teeth and he could tell you were being honest, so honest.

willing to do anything to make him feel good, his sweet sweet girl. he would have cooed at you had he not been busy using his thumb to pull your bottom lip from beneath your top teeth. "don't do that, baby." he watched as you nodded silently. "good girl, i'll give you something to wrap those pretty lips around, don't worry."

he could see your face slowly building a flush, that kind of blush that had him reeling. he liked when he got you like this, all flustered and squirming. which you were, squirming in your seat with your thighs pushing together.

sam was well aware that if he were to reach up your skirt now, he would find a little wet circle sitting on your satin panties.

but instead, he used his hands to pull his own trousers from him. they were sitting tightly on his hips and when he finally pulled them down, you could see his bulge sticking out from his black boxers.

you gulped, hands playing together in your lap. you wanted to look back up at sam but you couldn't seem to tear your eyes away from him, too engrossed by his dick to think of anything else.

"'s how i felt all day, sweetheart." his voice was a whisper now. "you were teasin' me 'n i couldn't do anything about it. do you know how mean that is?"

your eyes snapped up to his, filling with this red glassiness. "w-what?" you didn't want to be mean to sam. he was so good to you, always making you feel good, you wanted nothing more than to be good to him. "'m sorry sammy, 'm really sorry."

"awh, i know, baby." his thumb swiped against your cheek, playing around with your face as if you were dough, thumb dragging across your bottom lip. "you just wanna be my good girl, yeah?"

you nodded quickly. "mmhm, wanna be your good girl, sammy, 'm sorry. 'm really sorry."

"i don't know, you were very bad today." his constant teasing as only making your panties wetter, that tone he was using on you, the one that he knew got you all flustered. "if i give you a second chance, are you gonna be good?"

"uh-huh, 'be so good, sammy, i promise. please, ill be good." you were begging now, eyes as big as saucers and lips wet.

he didn't bother pretending to think about it, he just leaned down, so far that his face was in line with yours, lips against your ear as he softly whispered the words, "then get onto your knee's 'n show me."

when sam winchester told you to do something, you did it, no questions asked.

you'd touched him like this many times before, you on your hands and knees on the mattress while he stood on the ground. he thought it was the most comfortable spot for the both of you, seeing as he was so big.

you did as you were told, moving so you were on your hands and knees against the mattress. your hands moved up to his waist, eyes snapping to his. he watched you intently as you brought your lips to his clothed cock, pressing a pretty kiss against it before using your fingers to pull down his underwear.

you did it without fail every single time.

every time he had you on your knees with his cock in your mouth, you started off with that pretty kiss to his boxers. there was something sickly sweet about it that had his eyes already rolling backwards. it was almost an innocent and naive act of love towards him, laced with lust.

you were on just your knees now, pushing his boxers down with no help from him. his dick sprung free and you could see an idle line of precum dripping down his shaft. instinctively, your hand moved up, thumb swiping the precum and smoothing it over the head of his dick. the act alone caused a grunt to leave his lips.

as pretty as you looked, all curious and ready to take your time, sam simply wasn't having it tonight.

he was too pent up from your silly outfit and his own mindless thoughts that he couldn't help it.

his hand fell to the side of your head, cupping it as he guided it forward. you knew what he was asking and you wasted no time in sticking out your tongue and licking a kitten lick up his shaft.

"fuck," fell from his lips. "good girl." mumbling as your tongue swirled over his head and your mouth wrapped around his dick. sam was a huge man and his dick was no exception to that. he was huge, too big to fit in your mouth but you pushed him in anyway, only covering a little more than half.

sam knew he was big too, he couldn't help the quirk of his lips as he looked down at you, struggling to fit his size into your mouth. his hand slowly guided your head further onto his cock, letting your lips wrap around him completely, your saliva coating him. it wasn't until you gagged that he knew this was as far as you could go.

so he pushed you a little further, anyway.

you brought your head back out then in again, bobbing it as you tongue swirled against him. you were no stranger to sucking sam off but every time you did it, you found yourself getting nervous. you wanted to be good for him and you were doing your upmost best.

his pretty thing.

"fuck, baby, you're doin' so good f'me." and sam knew exactly what effect his words would have on you. "mmph, look so pretty with your lips around my dick, sweetheart."

you couldn't help but moan on his dick.

and his lips quirked into that sickly sweet smile.

he knew how easily you got wet, how all it took was just a few words and you were a moaning, whining mess. sam thought you deserved a little more for all you were giving him than just a little praise.

and like said before, sam was huge so he reached over, his torso towering a little above your head and his arm reached out, soothing down your lower back.

this wasn't the first time sam had pulled something like this. you knew what to do, stomach sinking onto the bed as you rolled your ass into nothingness, wanting to create some kind of friction while your mouth continued to slowly melt around him, licking and sucking, eyes closed as one hand pumped the part of his dick that your mouth couldn't reach.

you felt his fingers tracing the outline of your satin underwear, pulling up your skirt so he could gain access.

you made a noise of complaint, knowing that if he touched you, you wouldn't be able to focus properly on touching him. sam only used his free hand to push your head onto his dick and make you gag again.

he liked watching you fall apart, especially with his dick stuffed in your mouth.

he loved watching the way your body had to bend for him to be able to stick his fingers into your gaping whole, watching as you desperately rolled your hips, wanting him him him. you wanted to feel him. taste him. smell him. he was all consuming, you wanted him to take over your every sense.

and he always did, without complaint.

you were wet, undeniably so, he could feel it through the satin material that he pulled back, getting access to your aching pussy. "there you go, sweetheart, tha's it." while easing two fingers into your hole.

you felt like a slut.

he had you completely and utterly full.

"'s that nice, baby? y'feel so warm." both with your mouth against his dick and your soaking wet hole. "you're so pretty for me, you know that, angel?"

he knew you couldn't respond, only whining and whimpering against his throbbing cock. "you're my good girl, aren't you?" he felt you whine, vibrations spreading through him and he also felt your pussy squeeze against his fingers. he grinned at that. "you like that, honey? like thinkin' about how you're my good girl, yeah? all mine, baby, you're all mine."

and you really were. before sam, you wouldn't look at a boy sideways let alone be like this.

you groaned into him, ass rolling against his fingers while your own free hand moved down. you continued sucking his dick while using your nimble fingers to play with your clit.

and that was enough for sam to let out a moan. "oh, baby, you look so pretty playing with yourself while―shit―sucking my cock."

your eyes rolled back, feeling of pleasure coating you while your soft lips bobbed up and down, fingers tracing him and yourself.

"'m gonna cum, sweetheart." a warning, though he knew you wouldn't move anyway. "you gonna be a good girl 'n cum on my fingers while you suck my cock, huh, baby?"

he felt you absentmindedly nod, too fucked out to think straight while feeling a familiar knot deep in your stomach.

your whines got louder and he felt himself nearing the edge. the sight of you, blissed out while sucking his cock, his fingers stuffed into your hole making you feel all full... he couldn't help but let go.

at the same time, he felt your gummy walls clenching around his fingers, wet juices sliding down his hand while spurts of squirt left your pussy every time his fingers pumped in and out of you, riding out your high.

"good girl, good girl. that's it, baby. oh fuck. yeah, my good girl. there you go." he was in awe, watching you squirt around his fingers, the wet feeling as it spurted out from your pussy, decorating the bedsheets in your juices while your pretty socks got ruined in the mess.

when he finally finished, he pulled his fingers out of you, letting you lean back as you parted your lips to show him his cum all over your tongue, spread messily in your mouth.

his hand was on your face, eyes strained on your mouth as he watched you close your lips and swallow like the good girl you were, swiping his thumb against your bottom lip.

he pushed his two fingers into your mouth, letting you taste yourself. while your eyes rolled back, all fucked out and dumb.

"think we have some time before dean gets back, yeah?" eyes already scanning your body and letting his imagination get the better of him.

he just watched your blissed out face nod, cheeks flushed. "mmhm hmph."

he wasn't done with you just yet.

main masterlist/sam's masterlist

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester one shot #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x reader fluff #sam winchester x reader smut #sam winchester drabble #sam winchester x reader angst #sam winchester x reader comfort #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester angst #sam winchester smut #sam winchester comfort #supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural x y/n #supernatural drabble #sleepyangelkami

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wendichester · 5 months ago

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˙ 🧘🏻‍♀️ ༘ ⋆｡˚ blissful stretching,

summary. sam's new favorite hobbie is watching you work out (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

pairing. sam winchester x reader

wordcount. 637

notes. sam gets a little worked up, intimacy implied .ᐟ

Sam shouldn’t be staring. He knows this. But knowing and doing are two entirely different things, and right now, he’s failing miserably.

You’re in the middle of the library, yoga mat stretched out, your body moving with a grace he finds impossible to look away from. It’s not like this is the first time he’s seen you workout after a hunt—he knows how you like to unwind and this sometimes helps—but today, something about it feels different. Or maybe it’s him.

The curve of your legs as you fold into a deep stretch catches his attention first. Long, toned, perfect. Your hips tilt as you shift positions, and the subtle sway makes his throat go dry. His book is open in front of him, but it’s a lost cause, forgotten an embarrassingly-too-long ago. His eyes are glued to the way your body bends and flexes, the tension in your muscles visible under the thin fabric of your leggings.

When you lean forward into a new pose, your chest pressing against your thighs, the dip of your waist and the arch of your back are too much. His hand drags over his face as if that will somehow erase the images now permanently burned into his brain. You're just so flexible.

He lets out a shaky breath and shifts in his chair, his jeans feeling tighter than they should. He tries to focus on the book in front of him, but the effort is half-hearted at best. His gaze lifts again, like he has no control over it, drawn to the sheen of sweat beginning to form at the base of your neck. He could just lick it off of you.

Your lips part as you exhale slowly, the sound soft but enough to send a jolt through him. He loves the little sounds you make. He catches himself biting his bottom lip, his fingers flexing like they’re itching to reach out. You move into a downward dog, your ass lifting high, and he curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair as he leans back in his chair.

Get it together, Winchester.

But he can’t. Not when your shirt rides up just enough to reveal a strip of skin above the waistband of your leggings. Not when the curve of your spine leads his eyes lower.

You move into a plank, arms trembling slightly as you hold yourself steady. Your breaths come heavier now, each exhale accompanied by the faintest puff of air through those soft, parted lips. His hand clenches into a fist on the table, and if he closes his eyes, he can almost picture you in a different scenario, making those sounds because of him.

When you finally sit back on your heels, brushing a stray strand of hair from your flushed face, you glance his way with a small, innocent smile. It’s his undoing.

He’s out of his chair in an instant, striding toward you with a purpose that makes your smile falter into something more curious. He crouches beside you, his hand moving slowly, deliberately, to trace the curve of your waist. The touch is featherlight, but it sets every nerve in your body alight.

“Oh,” Sam murmurs, his voice low and thick. His finger follows the line of your hip, teasingly slow. “You’re all warmed up now, huh?” His lips curve into the faintest smirk. “Guess we can finally get started.”

Your breath hitches, your pulse racing under the weight of his words. His fingers continue their path, gliding along your thigh now, the intent clear despite the casual tone in his voice.

“Sam,” you whisper, unsure whether it’s a plea or a warning.

His other hand cups your chin gently, tilting your face toward his. “Relax,” he says, his voice soft yet commanding. “I’ll take it from here.”

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x female!reader #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester fic #supernatural #.docx

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loverslantern · 11 months ago

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

Description: Sam is abducted by a family of cannibalistic hillbillies while he, Dean, and reader are investigating several decades' worth of missing people.

Warnings: Cannon violence, talk of kidnapping and crime, cannibals, cursing, detailed blood talk, again all cannon violence and so forth. Dean and reader bickering like friends or idiots in love you decide 😊

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld , @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44 , @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn , @crazyunsexycool , @onlyangel-444 , @seninjakitey , @mystic-mara , @mxltifxndom , @stilesxreid , @chaotic-luvrs , @tiggytaylor

Word Count: 10,711

The Benders

(Masterlist, Previous Ch, Next Ch)

“I know you’re just doing your job, but the police have been here all week already. I don’t see why we have to go through this again. The more he tells the story, the more he believes it’s true,” Mrs.McKay points out, positioning herself closer to her son. Even in the dark living room, the curtains closed to block the bright sun, they looked alike, with similar big brown eyes and dark brown hair.

“Mrs.McKay, we know you spoke with the local authorities,” Sam acknowledges, looking quite intimidating in his Sheriff get-up, the large brown jacket adding to it all. I’m glad I don’t have to be stuffed into those jackets, they don’t look super comfortable or flexible, and having to wear a khaki button-down was restricting enough. Somehow button-downs always wind up being tight for me in the chest area, this time no different. “But, uh, this seems like a matter for the state police, so….” Dean adds.

“It’s okay if it sounds crazy, we’d rather get the full story,” I finish. The young boy looks at his mother for approval before answering, “I was up late, watching TV. When I heard this weird noise.”

“What did it sound like?” Sam asks.

“It sounded like…” he hesitates for a moment, either scared or worried we won’t believe him, “a monster.” His mother rolls her eyes and purses her lips, crossing her arms across her chest she says, “Tell the officers what you were watching on TV.”

“Godzilla Vs. Mothra,” Evan answers. A wide, beaming smile places itself on Dean’s face, “That’s my favorite Godzilla movie,” he excitedly tells the kid, “It’s so much better than the original, huh?” He’s so cute when he gets all excited like this.

“Totally,” Evan nods, his eyes wide in that sweet childish way. “Yeah,” Dean nods to Sam, “He likes the remake.” A small laugh escapes my lips, of course he would take any chance he could get to poke fun at his brother. “Yuck!” Evan exclaims, causing me to laugh more. Sam glares at his brother, clearing his voice he gets us back on track, “Evan, did you see what this thing was?”

“No. But I saw it grab Mr.Jenkins. It pulled him underneath the car,” he answers, looking a little scared again. “Then what?” Sam pushes.

“It took him away. I heard the monster leaving. It made this really scary sound.”

“What did it sound like?” I ask carefully.

“Like this…whining growl,” he answers and I make a mental note.

Sam nods, “Thanks for your time.”

I sip my Shirly Temple, a perfect mix of cherry syrup and soda. Meanwhile, Sam sips a beer before me, and Dean plays darts just behind me. Surprisingly he didn’t really touch his beer, I figured by now he would be on his second, but no he was just a little more than halfway done with his first. I wonder if it has to do with our conversation the other day, not that I didn’t trust him when he drank. I hope he knew that. I just didn’t like drinking, and bars weren’t my favorite place but as long as I was with others then I was fine.

I push my hair behind my ears and with it push those thoughts out of my head, “Okay, so, local police haven’t ruled out foul play because there were signs of a struggle,” I inform, looking down at the research papers that Sam had circling him.

“Well, they could be right, it could just be a kidnapping. Maybe this isn’t our kind of gig,” Dean says, another dart swooshing past.

“Yeah, maybe not. Except for this–” Sam points out, rearranging the papers so that he could push his Dad's journal closer to me and subsequently Dean, “Dad marked this area.” Dean looms closer, standing right behind my chair with his hands on the back of it; his hands dangerously close to my exposed arms or more specifically, shoulders. It isn’t a big deal I remind myself, it was perfectly normal in fact. I took off my cardigan because it had gotten warm in here so naturally with the short-sleeved dress I was wearing my arms were exposed.

He leans forward slightly, peering at the book from above my head, his body heat radiating around me. “Possible hunting grounds of a phantom attacker,” Sam continues.

“Why would he even do that?” Dean asks.

“Well, he found a lot of local folklore about a dark figure that comes at night,” Sam explains, “Grabs people, then vanishes. He found this too–” he turns to a different page, “this county has more missing persons per capita than anywhere else in the state.”

“Alright, that’s weird. But if that’s the case how aren’t there more leads on any of these especially if there’s a pattern?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” Sam answers truthfully.

“Don’t phantom attackers usually snatch people from their beds? Jenkins was taken from a parking lot,” Dean points out.

“Well, there are all kinds. You know, Spring Heeled Jacks, Phantom Gassers,” Sam reminds, “They take people anywhere, anytime. Look, I don’t know if this is our kind of gig either.”

“Yeah, you’re right, we should ask around more tomorrow,” Dean plans.

“Right,” Sam says as he pulls out his brown leather wallet, “I saw a motel about five miles back.”

“Whoa, whoa, easy,” Dean says, holding his hands up, “Let’s have another round.”

“We should get an early start,” Sam counters, placing a twenty on the table.

“You’re very responsible,” I point out.

“Someone has to be,” he smirks, sassy as always.

“Yeah, you really know how to have fun, don’t you, Grandma?” Dean remarks. I turn around in my seat to peer up at Dean, he meets my eyes looking down at me, “I’m pretty sure you could still have fun at a motel,” I say, confused. I mean motels were fun, sort of, as long as there were no bed bugs and it was like a game of ‘how poorly designed will this be!’ Dean cocks an eyebrow, a devilish smile on his face, “‘That so?” he eyes me, teasing me.

The implications of my sentence hit me…I laugh nervously, “No...I mean…cause, like, I didn’t me…I mean–” I stammer but his smile only widens. I whip my head towards Sam for help but he’s also smiling, “You’re on your own with this one,” he shrugs. I turn back, slowly, to Dean to find him still staring, “You know what I meant” I say.

“Do I?” he counters. My face feels all warm, I hear Sam’s chair move and the collecting of papers. He was leaving me! My nervous laughter continues as I try to come up with something but it’s broken letters that leave my mouth instead, I stand up abruptly, tugging down the skirt of my dress as I do so, “I’m gonna go…”

He removes his hands from my chair, and I grab my cardigan, throwing the soft material on. I meet his gaze again but this time he’s just smiling softly. “Wait for me, sweetheart, gotta take a leak,” he says, finished with his teasing. “Ok,” I answer, and he heads to the back of the bar. If I hadn’t embarrassed myself I would have commented on his gross choice of words, but I did so instead I down the rest of my sweet drink.

Hardly two minutes later Dean is back, he throws his jacket on and swings an arm around my shoulder pulling me into his side as we head to the front, “So, about that motel…” he tries to continue his teasing.

“Dean!” I groan, “Stop, alright I get it was funny, whatever, it’s over now.” He laughs, swinging open the door for me. I roll my eyes, he was never going to let this down.

The chill Minnesota air cools down my warm cheeks as I exit the bar, Dean following behind, “No, no, I think you were on to something, sweetheart,” he muses and I can hear that stupid smile on his face. I turn around swiftly, facing him, “I am going to beat you up,” I threaten despite the smile on my face. His stupid, cute, smile drops all of a sudden, his eyes somewhere over my shoulder. I frown, “What?”

He doesn’t answer, his eyes focused behind me, he moves around me and I spin around immediately noticing the cause of his changed demeanor. There’s no Sam. He’s not by the car at all, and if he went back into the bar we would have seen him. I follow Dean to the Impala, my tall boots clicking against the asphalt, he picks up something from the roof holding up his Dad’s journal which Sam had in his possession when he left. That’s not good.

I pull my phone out of my cardigan pocket, immediately scrolling down to Sam’s contact. Dean opens the car door, peering inside before shutting it and shaking his head. I click call, waiting impatiently with the phone to my ear, it rings a couple of times before going to voicemail. “Frick,” I redial his number and this time it goes straight to voicemail, was it shut off? Why would he shut it off?

I shake my head at Dean, this was bad.

Dean moves away from the car asking a drunk couple by the bar, but they have no answer. I call his phone again as if this time would be different, but it isn’t.

“Sam!” Dean suddenly yells, frantically calling for his brother. “Sammy!”

“So, what can we do for you, Officer Washington and Officer Greene?,” Deputy Kathleen asks, looking at our fake IDs. She didn’t seem so amused as she looked at us with those piercing grey eyes. “We’re working a missing persons,” Dean answers, worry still etched on his face.

“I didn’t know the Jenkins case was being covered by the state police,” she acknowledges, perhaps growing suspicious.

“No, we’re here about another missing person. ‘Could be related though,” I reply. Dean adding, “It’s my cousin. We were havin’ a few drinks last night at this bar down by the highway. And I haven’t seen him since.”

“Does your cousin have a drinking problem?” she asks logically.

“Sam?” he scoffs, “Two beers and he’s doin’ karaoke.”

“He wasn’t drunk. And the time frame in which he was left alone was far too short for any wanderin’ off, if by chance he was intoxicated more than my partner here witnessed,” I inform, adding on. Dean looks at me with a little surprise, as if I wasn't capable of being serious and professional which was stupid because I knew more about criminology than he did and as of right now we had to look at this in that frame of light. Kathleen nods, moving to her computer and turning it halfway so that we could see too, “Alright. What’s his name?”

“Winchester. Sam Winchester,” Dean answers.

“Like the rifle?” she asks somewhere between skepticism and amusement. “Like the rifle,” he confirms.

She types away, pulling up his police record, and she scans the file before clicking on Dean’s file (thank god there were no pictures with it). “Samuel Winchester, so, you know that his brother, Dean Winchester, died in St. Louis. And, uh, was suspected of murder.”

Memories of that hunt creep into the back of my mind. The slimy remains of its shedding, his hands on my neck, losing my abilities to iron…Dean’s awkward laugh knocks me out of my thoughts, “Yeah, Dean. Kind of the black sheep of the family…Handsome, though.” I try hard not to throw a look at him, even now he still has to be cocky. “Uh-huh,” she hums, not amused. She types something else in, bringing up more results on the computer, “Well, he’s not showing up in any current field reports.”

“Oh, I already have a lead. I saw a surveillance camera by the highway,” Dean informs.

“Uh-huh, she hums, “The county traffic cam?”

“Right. Yeah. I’m thinking the camera picked up whatever took him…or, whoever” he corrects with a smile.

“Well, I have access to the traffic cam footage down at the county works department, but—well, anyhow, let’s do this the right way,” she goes to a filing cabinet and pulls out some paperwork, “Why don’t you fill out a missing persons report and sit tight over here,” she hands Dean a clipboard. “Officer, look, uh, he’s family. I kind of–I kind of look out for the kid. You gotta let us go with you,” he reasons.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” she answers.

“Sam’s my responsibility. And he’s comin’ back. I’m bringin’ him back,” he says again, this time more demanding than pleading. But she shakes her head, “I’m sorry” she repeats moving away from us.

“The first 72 hours of a missing person's case is the most important!” I call out and she stops in her tracks, “We know Sam didn’t just run off, so we can eliminate the statistic that in 48 hours he will show up,” but still she doesn’t turn. “In this case, 72 hours would be lucky, you know considering the fact this county has had no leads and has yet to find a single person related to the serial kidnapping going on,” she turns and stares at me with a frown.

“So for all of our sakes and our jobs, let’s say a safe 48,” I continue, “I’m sure you’re well aware that the second you go over that time the chances of you finding the person, let alone alive, is extraordinarily low. It is currently,” I look at the clock on the wall, “9:36 am,” I meet her eyes again, “So in less than 30 minutes we will be down 13 hours. Now I don’t think I have to do the math for you to understand how badly you are screwed,” I challenge, “Now, how long do you think you have before the feds get involved? ‘Cause I’m sure that will look just great for you.” I know I’m being harsh but I’m also being entirely serious.

She sighs, nodding, “Okay.”

Dean picks at his nailbeds as we wait on a bench across the street from the County’s Work Department. The bright sun shines down on us making his dirty blonde hair glow. I place a hand over his, he needs to break this habit, “We’ll find him,” I say softly. He shakes his head, “You said it yourself, every minute that goes by the chances of finding him–”

“But we’ll find him,” I cut him off. Maybe being positive about this wasn’t the most logical thing, we don’t know how big of a lead we have yet and if it’s nothing then we really are screwed. I know the odds are not in our favor, but to remind him of that wouldn’t help either.

“Greg, Kayla,” Kathleen says from behind, using our fake first names. We turn to her, getting up from the bench we were waiting on, “I think we’ve got something,” she hands us printouts of traffic cameras. “These traffic cameras take an image every three seconds. As part of the Amber Alert program,” she explains, “These images were all taken around the time that your cousin, Sam, disappeared.” But it's just images of a dark road with no one on it but the soft light of street lamps illuminating the pavement.

“This really isn’t what we’re looking for,” Dean voices.

“Just wait, wait—next one,” she insists. He turns to the next image, tilting it to show me the image of a rusty run-down truck driving down the road, “This one was taken right after Sam left the bar. Look at the back end of that thing. Now, look at the plates.” He turns the page again, this time the image is a close-up of the back of the truck or more specifically the not rusty or old license plate. “Oh, the plates look new. It’s probably stolen,” Dean points out, confirming my thoughts.

“So, whoever’s driving that rust bucket must be involved,” she adds and I'm ever so glad this lead was something. Maybe we could let other officers know to be on the lookout for it.

Suddenly there’s the horrible noise of a loud grumbling and whining engine passing by, I cringe at the screeching noise, looking up to find a beat-up van stopped at a red light. “Hear that engine?” Dean asks.

“Unfortunately,” I mumble, trying to resist the urge to cover my ears. He looks at me, meeting my eyes, “Kind of a whining growl, isn’t it?”

My lips part. He was right. He didn’t need to say any more for me to understand exactly what he meant, it’s what Evan heard. And if we assume that the rusty truck on the cameras is involved, they might even make a similar noise considering they're just about the same on the beat-up level.

The squad car rolls down the highway, Kathleen in the driver's seat pointing to a passing traffic camera, “Okay, the next traffic cam is fifty miles from here, and the pickup didn’t pass that one, so…”

“So, it must’ve pulled off somewhere,” Dean finishes her sentence, adding, “I didn’t see any other roads here.”

“Well, a lot of these backwoods properties have their own private roads,” Kathleen points out. I sigh, “That’s not very helpful,” now we have to figure out how to narrow it down with no other information. Dean grumbles something, looking out his window while I keep my eyes trained out the windshield trying to think of our next move.

Kathleen clicks something on the little tablet on a stand, in the corner of my eye I see her look at us strangely. I drop my eyes to the tablet, picking up on enough words to know it was trouble for us, I unbuckle myself swiftly, thanking my past self for choosing to sit in the middle and that this was a squad car meaning there wasn't the gate between the back and front. I lean forward my hips hitting the end of the center console as I practically weasel myself between the passenger and driver seats, my hands flat on the front of the console. My hair curtains my face but even so I can feel both their gaze on me, just like I wanted.

I don't know how much she was able to read the document but it doesn’t matter now as I carefully lift my pointer finger, hands still flat on the console, towards the tablet letting just a little spark of energy leave my finger and interfere with its programming. I push my hair out of my face, her eyes drop to my chest which was practically pushed out and perfectly visible in this position, I laugh lightly, “Sorry, I thought I saw something.”

I lean back, sitting on the edge of my seat putting my arms on the end of the console near me but close enough that it frames my boobs perfectly. Her eyes had been following my movement back through the rearview mirror, even girls were guilty of staring. Her eyes finally drag up to my face and I smile sweetly at her in the mirror, tilting my head a little for extra measure, her eyes drop down again before she blinks looking away from the mirror. She blinks again shaking her head as if it would shake the image away, “Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull but I ran your badge numbers. It’s routine when we’re working a case with state police. For accounting purposes and what have you.”

I curse internally, so much for a distraction. “And, um,” she continues, her eyes dropping to my chest just one more time, “uh, they just got back to me,” she pulls the car over to the side of the road, “It says here both of your badges were stolen. And there’s a picture of you both,” she turns the tablet. Dean looks at her shocked before dropping his eyes to the screen, his face falls with confusion as we both stare at the same thing, “It’s blank,” he points out and I have to hold back a smile at my work. She turns the tablet towards her, confused, she hits the thing and of course it doesn’t make a difference. “Well it was a picture of a heavier African American male and a (different ethnicity than you) female,” she explains instead.

“I lost some weight,” Dean chuckles awkwardly, “And I got that Michael Jackson skin disease.”

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose, did he really think that was going to work?! Kathleen takes off her seatbelt, “Okay, would you both step out of the car, please?”

“Look, look, look,” Dean spews quickly halting her movement, “If you wanna arrest us, that’s fine. We’ll cooperate. But, first, please—let me find Sam.”

“I don’t even know who either of you are. Or if this Sam person is missing,” she counters.

“Look into my eyes and tell me if I’m lying about this,” he reasons. But she scoffs, “Identity theft? You’re impersonating officers.”

“How much do you care for your people? Those who live in the county?” I ask her. She doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look at me. “You can bring us in now, sure, but there’s still someone out there kidnapping and likely murdering people. And we are your best chance of finding them, we got you this far.” She purses her lips, shaking her head firmly.

“Look, here’s the thing,” Dean tries, “When we were young, I pretty much pulled him from a fire. And ever since then, I’ve felt responsible for him. Like it’s my job to keep him safe. I’m just afraid if we don’t find him fast—please,” his voice breaks, “He’s my family.” He was putting it all out there, he wasn’t the emotional type let alone with a new person like this, but he was more than worried

“I’m sorry. I have to take you in,” she says her gaze elsewhere. But then she frowns, sighing, her shoulders dropping in defeat, “After we find Sam Winchester.” She fastens her seatbelt and Dean looks at me confused but I just shrug, maybe it was better if we didn’t question it.

Despite Kathleen's clear distrust for us, she did suggest stopping for coffee before continuing our search. I cradle my to-go cup between my palms, the sun perfectly warm on my skin and the wind in perfect time with a cool breeze now and then. “Hey, Officer? Look, I don’t mean to press our luck,” Dean starts.

“Your luck is so pressed,” she retorts and her remark makes me laugh. She throws me a sharp glare and my smile drops, burring my face behind my cup as I take a sip.

“Right. I was wondering…why are you helping us out, anyway?” Dean asks, “Why don’t just lock us up”

Kathleen frowns, rounding the car as she answers, “My brother, Riley, disappeared three years ago. A lot like Sam. We searched for him, but…” she sighs, “nothing…I know what it’s like to feel responsible for someone.” The memories seem to flash in her pupils, her gray eyes hardening again. It was like seeing her in a different light, I think in the rush of this hunt we, or rather I, forgot that she was more than her badge she had her pains and losses like us. I make a mental note to apologize later for my previous harshness, I know I could’ve been kinder and that’s true with or without this newfound information.

“Come on,” she beckons, opening the driver's door, “Let’s keep at it.”

****

We drive close to the edge of the forest on the lookout for private roads, but tree after tall tree there is nothing. “Wait, wait, wait,” Dean suddenly says, “pull over here. Pull over.” And despite Kathleen's questioning gaze, she abides, pulling the car over and onto the soft grass beyond the shoulder.

We get out of the car, getting closer to the tree line. “You guys stay here, I’ll check it out,” Kathleen commands leading us into the forest.

“No way,” Dean scuffs.

“Seriously,” I reason, “You have no idea what you're walking into, you could use our help.” I mean did she really want to walk in alone?

“Hey,” she stops before us, preventing us from going further, “You’re civilians. And felons…I think. I’m not taking you with me.”

“You’re not goin’ without us,” Dean answers firmly. She stares at us as if to see how serious we are when finally she sighs, annoyed, “Alright. ‘You promise you won’t get involved? You’ll let me handle it?”

“Yeah, I promise,” Dean half shrugs. I nod, “Promise.”

“Shake on it,” she challenges, extending her hand. Dean and I raise our hands for a shake, but jokes on her for a promise to be serious you need to pinkie promise. She raises her other hand to extend to mine at the same time. She's firm with it when cold metal clinks against my wrist immediately followed by another clink against Dean’s. We’re cuffed to each other. I stare at our cuffed hands confused, the joke was supposed to be on her, not on us. And it certainly was on us. “Oh, come on,” Dean grumbles.

Holding on to the links between each cuff, she dragged us back to the car; no amount of dragging my feet was helping. She uncuffs me twisting both my hands behind my back, holding firmly with one hand as she puts the other cuff through the door handle pulling it back up and on my wrist; leaving Dean and I both trapped to the door handle. It was hard to be totally mad when it was quite clever. Now satisfied with her work, she walks back into the forest, “This is ridiculous. Kathleen, I really think you’re gonna need our help,” Dean calls after her.

She lifts a hand, beeping the car locked as she throws back a, “I’ll manage thank you.” I watch her leave until I can no longer see her past the tree line, I still can’t believe she tricked us. “That was an interesting show you put on before,” Dean says, leaning against the car door, apparently not too concerned about our current position. “What do you mean?” I ask, meeting his eyes.

“What do I mean?” he mocks, “Oh I don’t know maybe the,” he places his free hand below his chest lifting an invisible boob, “‘I thought I saw something’” he says in a girlish voice. I give him a pointed look and with my free hand I hit his chest, he drops his hand laughing. “One, I did not sound like that! Two, I was not doing that, and three! I was tryna save us, she had pulled up incriminating evidence and I figured I could distract her enough to buy us time.”

“Well she still got us,” he points out, green eyes dropping to our cuffed wrists.

“Yeah I know, it was more of an in-the-moment thing and it worked better in my head,” I reason.

“You got the distracting part right though,” he responds, his voice slightly lower. Maybe it was the stupid bickering or the fact he had teased me last night that brought up enough confidence to ask, “Are you insinuating you were looking too?”

His eyes snap up to me his cheeks looking warm, “What?! No, no, I wouldn’t…I–no.”

I smirk though my cheeks burn hotter than the sun and my heart is rapid against my ribcage, I open my mouth to say something clever when I hear the screeching of tires, “Never mind that” I say quietly instead. With my free hand, I hold the cuffs using very little energy to unlock them. I smile triumphantly, discarding the cuffs to the grass. “You’re lucky I don't just leave you here,” I point out.

He looks taken aback as he scuffs, “You wouldn’t.”

I purse my lips, “But I could’ve, I really could’ve.” He scuffs this time with more humor as he rolls his eyes, “Right. Let’s go.” He leads the way, walking quickly into the forested area.

We pass by wagon wheels strewn across the overgrown grass, followed by a rundown barn. Dean carefully opens the creaky barn door, exposing the dark inside to the shining sun. The barn reeks of sweat, and a combination of human and animal waste. The light creeps in behind us revealing at least four cages with thick metal bars, the cage wasn’t too wide and couldn’t have been more than three feet tall. Either way, it was solidifying the idea that this had to be the correct place because why would cages like these be in a rundown barn? And…there were figures inside said cages, very human figures. “Sam?” Dean calls out as we approach. Then they become more than dark figures, Sam smiles from his crouched-down position. “Are you hurt?” Dean asks even though he didn't look harmed, sweaty and dirty, yes, but not harmed.

“No,” Sam answers. Dean grins putting his hands on the bars, “Damn it's good to see you.”

“How did you get out of the cuffs?” A now familiar voice asks. Dean and I seem to turn around at the same time, and I’m taken aback by Kathleen’s appearance. Her dark hair was down, cascading down her shoulders only making her blue eyes more entrancing, the khaki button down she wore as uniform was gone leaving her in a dirty white t-shirt, black splotches on it as well as some on her skin accompanied by a bloody bruise in the corner of her forehead.

“Oh, she knows a trick or two,” Dean answers with a playful smile, “Speaking of which, you should do it again.”

I force a tight-lipped smile. “Right.”

I approach the door of the cage where Sam is held, the thick, heavy lock resting in my hands. The lock looks like it belongs in a medieval dungeon, its surface cold and unsettling. As I clutch it, an eerie emptiness spreads through me, a hollow sensation that chills me to the core. The memory of an iron bar around my neck flashes through my mind. I drop the lock as if it burned me, stumbling back. I rub my hands down the sides of my legs, trying to erase the lingering coldness. Gradually, the tightness in my chest eases, replaced by the familiar warmth of my abilities flowing through my veins. “What’s wrong?” Dean and Sam ask in unison, Dean’s hand suddenly gripping my upper arm.

“Iron,” I manage to get out around the cotton that seemed to fill my throat, eyes focusing on the barn floor. He curses under his breath before he steps in front of me, blocking me from the other's view. He squeezes my upper arm silently asking me to look at him, I meet his eyes the familiarity of him easing the leftover panic. “‘You okay?” he asks quietly enough for only us to hear. I nod and he doesn’t push me to confirm it verbally, he gives a quick nod in response and squeezes my arm once more before his hand drags down my arm before leaving altogether. Suddenly I miss his touch even though I know I shouldn’t. It’s a strange thing when your brain and heart want two different things. My mind pleads for logic, bringing an end to our casual touches to save my heart the grief. But then my heart wants nothing more to latch on to the feeling and exceed just a little more hope. He moves to the lock himself, studying it, “These are gonna be a bitch”

“Well, there’s some kind of automatic control right there,” Sam points to a control panel on the other side of the barn.

“Have you seen ‘em?” Dean asks.

“Yeah. Dude, they’re just people,” he answers voice dipped in disbelief. Our hunts rarely ended up being people; with something like this, they must be seriously messed up. “And they jumped you? Must be gettin’ a little rusty there, kiddo,” Dean remarks as he walks over to the control panel.

“I bet they’re rednecks, and that’s, like, an entirely different breed of human,” I comment.

“How do you know their rednecks?” Kathleen asks as if she’s still suspicious we’re in on this.

“I wouldn’t know anyone else who would keep captured people in a barn in the middle of nowhere, in cages no less. I feel like that has psychotic redneck all over it,” I explain like it’s obvious.

“What do they want?” Dean asks as he clicks different buttons on the panel.

“I don’t know,” Sam answers, “They let Jenkins go, but that was some sort of trap. It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Well, that’s the point. You know, with our usual playmates, there’s rules, there’s patterns. But with people, they’re just crazy,” Dean points out.

“Well, there are certain patterns with humans too, especially criminals,” I explain, “They most likely get off on the thrill of the hunt. They let you go. Give you false hope, and get you running. But like you said it's a trap. You’re just prey to them, they might even have actual traps hidden around as extra measure though it doesn’t matter when they catch you anyway. It’s kind of a whole dehumanizing act too, cages and the hunting like you’re animals.”

All three pairs of eyes stare at me, “What? I thought that was evident,” I shrug defensively.

“...Anyways, ‘see anything else out there?” Sam asks.

Dean creeps open the other barn doors, different from where we came in from, “Uh, he has about a dozen junked cars hidden outback. ‘Plates from all over, so I’m thinkin’ when they take someone, they take their car, too.”

Kathleen scurries closer to the bars of her cage, hands clutching the bars, ��Did you see a black Mustang out there? About ten years old?” She looks desperately at Dean. “Yeah, actually, I did,” he answers and she frowns, her chest depleting with hope, “Your brother?” he asks, taking a good guess. She nods, shoulders dropped, something passing in her eyes, “I’m sorry,” he apologies, “let’s get you guys out of here, then we’ll take care of those bastards,” he points to the control panel, “this thing takes a key.”

“Then please say one of you, by chance, happened to see the key,” I add.

“No, I don’t know,” Sam answers. I nod, “Right. That’s fun and awesome, we get to venture into the home of serial killers.” I turn on my heels, heading back the way we came, hearing Dean’s steps right behind me. “Hey,” Sam suddenly calls out. We stop, turning around, he adds, “Be careful.”

My lips curve up into a half-smile, “We will!” I answer enthusiastically. “Yeah,” Dean responds in the only way he knows how. I don’t think he understands that people care and worry about him, especially when he sees himself as the protector I wish there was a way to help him unlearn that and if one already exists I want to know it.

****

I pull myself up, my hands holding firm to the window sill, we were lucky to find an open window. Scooting myself into the dark room, I turn back leaning out the window to take the flashlight from Dean. He lifts himself up and in with ease, taking the flashlight back from me. He flicks it on, scanning the room with the light, revealing shelf after shelf of specimen jars. I move closer to one of the jars, a severed hand with a star tattoo by its thumb floating in the alcohol. “You know what they say, people with tattoos taste bad,” I mumble.

“Who says that?” Dean whispers in disbelief.

“Cannibals,” I whisper back, “They say it makes the flesh taste all weird. They also say the hands are the worst to eat, ‘not a lot of meat there.”

“You think these guys are cannibals too?” He asks, flashlight shining over the various jars and bottles.

“I don’t know, maybe,” I shrug, if they weren’t then I wonder why they would keep only some body parts but get rid of the others. He nods slowly to the possibility, flashlight gliding over a wall of Polaroid pictures each with the same two boys with long noses, beards, and hats, standing beside a dead body. “I’ll say it again, demons I get. People are crazy,” Dean says pointing to a particular photo, one with them holding Jenkin's corpse. I wonder how late we were, maybe we could’ve saved him too.

Carefully I creep my way to the closed door, opening it slowly just a crack, I peek out viewing the hallway for anyone. I wait one, two, three beats before opening the door more, signaling to him that the coast was clear. I exit the room first, Dean close behind me, I motion towards the old wooden stairs in question and he nods taking the lead once more. He creeps up the stairs careful not to step on something that looks like it would creak, I follow behind walking on my tip-toes for extra measure. The stairs continue up one more level but we stick with the second floor. Reaching the landing we stepped into the living room, the room was grey and dark with no furniture around just a big empty room. I step deeper into the room, the wallpaper is peeling and the room smells like mildew. The only pleasant thing was a soft tune coming from a room nearby, instrumental but not quite classical, a hacking sound interrupting the melody every few seconds.

Suddenly something in the room clacks together, hitting each other repeatedly. I turn quickly to the noise, guard up. Dean moves away from the object he must have hit as he mutters, “What the–.” A windchime of bones hang from the ceiling down by the window, the bones were clean and white–clearly well taken care of, some bones slightly longer but they were mostly smaller bones. I watch as he brushes it off with a slight shiver before moving to a different part of the room picking up a miscellaneous plank of wood. He notices me staring and motions with his head to follow, he leads us to the next room close to the kitchen towards the hacking. We reach the archway and he peeks in before making a hand signal for me to stay where I am as he riskily moves to the other side of the archway.

Perhaps stupidly I take a quick peek before resuming my place flat against the wall, taking a moment to go over what I saw in the quick glimpse. An older man at a kitchen counter, his back to us, nothing reflective in front of him that's visible from this angle, cluttered room, windows bordered up, a bag of tools positioned behind him with at least a meat cleaver in it but guessing by the shape there were more objects- maybe more knives, the meat he was working on wasn’t visible but the likelihood of it being human remained pretty high.

I look over at Dean, some jar full of teeth in his hand, his face scrunched in disgust. “What are you doing?!” I mouth. He puts the thing down on a little stand that stands across from him, and he opens his mouth to respond when the floor creaks behind him, he turns quickly and I try to see behind him with wide eyes but he’s too tall to see anything from this position. I look to the floor instead, trying to look for another pair of feet. I hear him say something softly with his hands raised, but from where I am I can’t hear. Between his own feet, I see small bare ones, perhaps belonging to that of a child.

Then before another beat passes the child says something and Dean is pushed up against the wall with a groan, a choked noise escaping him as he lifts a hand to his abdomen. The girl smiles wickedly, but before her lips can part, I launch myself at her, wrapping my arms around her from behind and pinning her arms to her sides. “DA–” she manages to get out before I clamp a hand over her mouth.

She thrashes against my grip, knocking me against the little table. Objects rattle behind me, but I hold firm. Dean pulls the knife out of his stomach as he slides down the wall, blood staining his shirt. I force the girl forward, her large matted hair obscuring my vision. She kicks wildly, nearly breaking my hold.

“Okay,” I breathe, “Okay, it’s alright, go to sleep.” I focus, letting my abilities surge, the familiar energy coursing through my veins. It flows down my arms into my fingertips that grip her.

I reach into her mind, a violent sea of chaotic thoughts and emotions screaming back at me. Her fear and anger lash out like storm-driven waves. I step into it, the wind of internal screams and panic parting for me. I step in deeper, my steps gentle. I echo the words I said out loud to her, my voice soft like a lullaby once lost. The storms begin to quiet. Her physical struggles begin to slow as she subcomes to my soft insistent voice. Her thoughts slow, the waves turning to ripples until they are still. I creep out of her mind, gently lowering the unconscious child to the floor and leaning her against a nearby wall. It was the best I could without harming her and I would not harm a child.

Quick footsteps adjourn down the staircase. I reach Dean, kneeling in front of him, replacing his hands around the wound. He watches me carefully, quietly, eyebrows pinched together slightly. I know I must work quickly. With a breath, the purple glow of my powers seeped into the deep stab wound. Slowly the torn flesh and tissue knit back together, “You’re either gonna have to hurry sweetheart, or stop,” he warns. It was a deep wound and it would take longer than what we had, “But stopping would be stupid, and dangerous especially since you’ve already taken the knife out which you should never do ‘cause it only makes you bleed out more,” I answer quickly. I can practically feel the roll of his eyes without having to look.

A floorboard creaks a foot away. I curse under my breath, reluctantly pulling away from Dean and standing up just as a hard hand grips my shoulder. I turn quickly, throwing a punch, my knuckles hitting a hard face. The man stumbles just slightly, loosening his grip on me. A fistful of my hair is pulled, forcing my neck back uncomfortably as my scalp burns. A choked grunt leaves my lips as the person uses my hair to drag me away, with a snap of his wrist I’m thrown to the floor. I land on my hands and knees hard, “Bitch,” the man spits. I get up with a single laugh. He charges at me. I throw a hand out, energy shooting from my hand. He goes flying hitting the wall hard, his stupid baseball cap falling off as he slides to the floor. His long face drops, fear filling his dark irises, he scurries to sit up. “W–w-witch!” he yells with a shaky pointed finger, getting the attention of his partner. The other long-faced man stares at us, distracted, giving Dean the leverage to push the man off of him followed by a punch to the face.

I return my attention to the accusing man. I return my arm to my side, and with a small shrug and a smile I answer, “Guilty.” His face seems to pale, and with a newfound determination, he picks himself up. “Do you really wanna do that? You can stay down,” I offer him. But he snarls and suddenly I’m thrown to the side, a separate body on top of me, my upper arm scraping against the wooden floor. I grunt as the person turns me over and lands a smooth punch to my nose, I catch a glimpse of Dean straddling the guy I had been dealing with serving punch after punch. They had switched people and it worked. Warmth trickles down my nose as I lift my legs around the man and in one fair sweep turn us over. I land punch after punch until a weird metal noise echos against the walls followed by a heavy drop. Stupidly, I look over. Dean’s on the floor unconscious, the tall man who was in the kitchen standing over him with a pan. The dots connect quickly as the man below me pushes me off and stands up with a stumble. I follow his lead and stand up too, wiping the back of my hand below my nose, dragging away blood.

All three men stand together. The one I was just dealing with speaks, “You’re partners down why don’t you be a good girl and give up.” My skin curls, my spine chilling, “Why don’t I rip out your eyeballs and feed it to you’re friends over here, ‘m sure they’d enjoy it,” I reply. The man laughs, “Oh,” his dark teeth exposed, “ I like you.”

My lips curl in disgust, “The feeling is not mutual.” The man in the middle with the pan, the oldest, nudges the man who lost his hat. Silently he moves away, into another room. Now left with two men, I wait for them to make a move as charging them would be stupid and I’d likely be overpowered in seconds. The man returns with a butcher knife and a fire poker. He hands the knife to the other, all three now armed with weapons. The knife and pan weren't much of a worry, not compared to the fire poker. Fire pokers were made from iron, a material made to withstand heat, and apparently witches too. I eye the weapon hoping they could not smell the fear on me like Hannibal.

The two younger men come forward, rushing me. I duck out of the way of the butcher knife, nearly cutting my cheek in the process as I kick the man with the fire poker in the chest. He stumbles and I grab the arm of the knife holder pulling him closer before kicking him in the balls. He bellows as he falls to his knees. The fire poker soars in front of me, one of the little hooks catching on the top of my shirt. He pulls it back, the material ripping slightly and biting into my skin. I turn my attention to him, brows furrowed. He seems to regret his decision as I take a step closer to him. His grip on the fire poker is loose as he takes a step back. I follow after him, easily hitting his wrist. The poker clinking to the floor. Heavy footsteps shuffle behind me. I throw a hand up, flicking it back. Sending the knife man flying. All the while I keep my eyes on the man in front of me. I tilt my head slowly. He throws a punch. I catch it. Twisting his arm until it's behind his back, I walk him a few steps in front of me before throwing him to the ground.

Suddenly, the eldest man is hitting me across the face with the back of his hand. I stumble back, a familiar memory flashing in my mind. I blink rapidly pushing the memory away just as I’m hit on the side of my face. The pan is suddenly hard against my stomach. I land on my butt with a choked noise. He motions and suddenly the knife man is holding down my arms and the poker man is holding down my ankles. I struggle against their hold. Energy surges in my veins, eyes wide. The fire poker has replaced the pan. He lifts it above his head. Energy is at my fingertips. The fire poker is stabbed through my thigh, through the jeans. A scream erupts from my throat. The energy disappears at once. The room tilts. Everything disappears.

Deep voices flow in and out. The room in blinks. My head spins. Heavy, so heavy.

Heavy eyelids open. Hardly awake. Glimpses of Dean across the room, tied to a chair, his eyes just a bit more aware than mine.

“Come on. Let us hunt ‘em,” one of them says. My head lulls back, catching a glimpse of the poker sticking out of my leg. My eyes shoot open, suddenly more aware of the predicament. “Yeah, they're both fighters. Sure would be fun to hunt,” the other one adds. Pain surges to my thigh as I sit up straighter, rope binding my hands behind my back and rope to keep my ankles to my chair–matching Dean from what I could see. Their tall frames acted as a wall between us. The eldest laughs a hideous laugh.

“Oh, you gotta be kiddin’ me. That’s what this is about? You–you yahoos hunt people?” Dean comments, his voice gruff. I huff, “This is one of those times I hate being right.”

Suddenly, the little girl from before, now awake, walks past me knife-drawn. I trace her movements with my eyes. She comes close enough to drag the blade across my cheek in a straight line. I clench my teeth to keep from giving them gratification. She pulls away, seemingly satisfied as blood drips down my cheek, “You having fun there?” I mock. She spits at my feet, all retaliation for invading her mind. The eldest turns his attention on me, stalking closer, “You said you’s one ‘em witches?” he asks.

“Sure,” I reply plainly.

“Thought we burned all of ya at the stake.”

“Guess you missed one,” I muse instead of giving a history lesson to correct his statement.

“Why don't you show us a trick?” He tests, eyeing me.

“How about I kill you instead.”

“You ever killed before?”

“I can make an exception for you lot,” I answer. He chuckles before turning to Dean, “What ‘bout you boy, you ever killed before?”

“Wh–” Dean laughs uncomfortably, “Well, that depends on what you mean.”

“I’ve hunted all my life,” the eldest starts, “Just like my father, his before him. I’ve hunted deer and bear—I even got a cougar once,” he sighs almost dreamily, “Oh boy. But the best hunt is human. Oh, there’s nothin’ like it. Holdin’ their life in your hands. Seein’ the fear in their eyes just before they go dark. Makes you feel powerful, alive.”

“You’re a sick puppy,” Dean replies.

“You need therapy…” I add, “And jail time.” He ignores our commentary to continue his demented story, “We give ‘em a weapon. Give ‘em a fightin’ chance. It’s kind of like our tradition passed down, father to son. Of course, only one or two a year. Never enough to bring the law down, we never been that sloppy.”

“Yeah, well, don’t sell yourself short. You’re plenty sloppy,” Dean interjects. Not so much ignoring it he asks, “So, what, you two with that pretty cop? Are you cops?” he asks.

“If I tell you, you promise not to make me into an ashtray?” Dean teased. The eldest tenses. The man whom I had scared before walks over to him and punches Dean square in the face. “Only reason I don’t let my boys take you right here and now is that there’s somethin’ I need to know,” the father informs ever so kindly. He turns his back on Dean and stalks his way towards me. “Yeah, how ‘bout it’s not nice to marry your sister,” Dean mocks from behind him. The father doesn't flinch even as I laugh at Dean's joke. Suddenly, he grabs the fire poker sticking out of my thigh, moving it around inside as he keeps eye contact, silencing my laughter. I try not to give a reaction, clenching my teeth until it feels like I might break a tooth. But in one movement he pulls the poker from my leg, my nails digging into the chair, a rugged scream erupting from my throat. The room rattles. Blood gushes from the wound, soaking my jeans. Something on a mantel clatters to the floor. He grabs hold of my chin, forcing my face up. “There it is,” he murmurs, voice gravely, as he peers into my pupils that are no doubt purple. He lets go of my face roughly, he adjusts the fire poker in his hand and I expect him to shove it back in, instead, he moves to the old fireplace near me. I force my powers inward, containing them, I would not be a toy for someone.

I turn my head towards the man, desperate to track his movements, my chest heaving–breath uneven. With a steady eye, he holds the poker over the fire, waiting for the tip to get hot, “Tell me…any of the cops gonna come lookin’ for you?” he asks, the warm glow of the fire illuminating the side of his grimy face. “Oh, eat me,” Dean responds gruffly, “No, no, no, wait, wait, wait, you actually might.” One of the goons walks over to Dean and holds his head in place as the father walks over, the hot fire poker at his side. “You think this is funny? You brought this down on my family?”

“Buddy,” I breathe, cutting him off, “You brought this upon yourself.”

“Alright, you wanna play games?” he mocks, “We’ll play some games.” He looks at the others as he announces, “Looks like we’re gonna have a hunt tonight after all, boys,” a horrible smirk on his face. He turns his attention to Dean, “And you get to pick the animal. The boy or the cop?”

“Okay, wait, wait—look, nobody’s comin’ for us, alright? It’s just us,” Dean answers, all humor gone from his voice. But his response doesn’t satisfy the father, “You don’t choose, I will,” he threatens as he places the hot poker on Dean’s chest, right near his shoulder. A deep piercing scream erupts from his throat. I try to lunge at the man despite my restraints, the other goon comes around to hold my shoulders. The father removes the poker. The screaming silents as Dean curses him out, “Ah, you son of a bitch!” He holds the poker hardly an inch from Dean’s eye, “Next time, I’ll take an eye.”

“Alright, the guy, the guy! The guy!” Dean yells. The goon holding his head lets go, and the father moves the poker to his side again before pulling a necklace from beneath his shirt, a key dangling from it. He pulls it from around his neck and throws it to the man behind me. He releases my shoulders as he catches it, “Lee, go do it,” the father orders, “Don’t let him out though. Shoot him in the cage.” Lee walks to the door, the key clutched as he picks up one of the many guns by the doorway. “What? I thought you said you were gonna hunt him. You were gonna give him a chance!” Dean shouts at the man. But the father ignores him, “Lee, when you’re done with the boy…shoot the bitch too.” Lee nods and leaves.

“Better clean this mess up before any more cops come runin’ out here,” the father explains. I struggle with my restraints again, I would not be useless even as my body works hard to heal the gaping hole in my thigh. But the battle against the simple ropes is fruitless, it's tied too tight and adrenaline is only bringing my energy levels so far. I don’t want to be useless, I could manage the ropes off and get up and fight.

The father spins around, eyes on me. He grabs my chin again, forcefully moving my face as he studies my eyes. “I think we’ll keep your eyes,” he remarks and it feels like a mockery of my previous threat. In a clean movement, the fire poker is shoved back in. It rips through the minute works of healing my body had managed. A scream chokes in my throat. My abilities out at once. “Lo–” a distant gunshot cuts him off. He stands away from me, his face dropping. “You hurt my brother, I’ll kill you, I swear. I’ll kill you all. I will kill you all!” Dean yells. The father ignores him as he calls out for his son, “Lee!” No answer comes. “Lee!” he calls for him again and again no answer comes. He turns to his other kids, “Jared, you come with me. Missy, you watch ‘em now.” Jared works quickly, grabbing two riffles before handing one to his father. And just as quickly they leave. Missy moves closer to Dean, knife drawn and held dangerously close to his eye.

****

I force my eyes to remain open and focused on the ceiling as I lean my head back. We heard multiple gunshots but it was impossible to know who they hit or if they hit at all. And I was growing tired. I may have my tetanus shot but I’m bleeding out…slowly.

The floorboards creak outside the room with particularly placed footsteps. Missy looks between us before scoffing and walking out of the room. Just out of sight, there's shuffling, something clinking to the floor, a door rushed closed, and the dragging of furniture. Seconds later a familiar tall figure steps into the room, “Sam!” Dean laughed. He was battered and bruised but not terribly hurt. He eyes us, our condition, but doesn’t comment on it as he moves to Dean, easily cutting off the ropes. He rises from the chair, hand pressed to his marked shoulder, hunched over just slightly.

Both boys cross over to me. Sam kneels, cutting away on the rope. Dean removes his hand from his shoulder, the burn mark looks worse up close and would undoubtedly leave a scar. I’d have to heal him. “Gonna have to pull that out, sweetheart,” he remarks. I frown, “That’ll make it worse.”

“You’re not better off this way,” he points out and I know he’s right…unfortunately. I give him a single nod, grounding my teeth as I await the pain. “It’s gonna hurt,” he warns. He wraps his hands around the poker, eyes tracing my face as he pulls it straight out. I groan, biting down on my teeth hard enough to break one. “I am going to rip his throat out and shove it up his ass,” I grumble through clenched teeth. Blood drips down the tip of the poker before he drops it to the floor, blood gushing from the wound. I take several breaths in and out, in an attempt to calm myself, and with a single thought, I make a roll of gauze, alcohol pads, and a large medical bandage form in the palm of my hand. I handed the small packets to Dean, “For your forehead,” a small cut and dried blood stained the corner of his forehead no doubt from being hit with a pan.

“You’re not gonna heal your leg?” he asks as I wrap the gauze over the hole in my thigh, blood immediately soaking the bandage. I shake my head, focused on the task and not the pain, “‘Take too long, we’ll have a healing party later.” He seems to accept the answer as he helps me out of the seat, restraints gone. Sam’s hands circle my waist as I steady myself upright, both boys aiding me in the endeavor to walk. We shuffle out of the room that could only be remembered as a part of a torture house. Something bangs on a passing door, hitting the door repeatedly. I spared the noise a glance, it was likely Missy trapped behind the door which would explain where she went and the shuffling before Sam found us.

The porch steps creak beneath our feet. Kathleen emerges from the barn, a thin layer of sweat sticking strands of her dark hair to her face. She walks over to us, meeting us in front of the cannibal house. “Where’s the girl?” she asks, eyeing our condition with careful eyes. “Locked her in a closet,” Dean answers, looking behind the cop and to the barn, “What about the dad?”

She pauses, lips parted, her expression hardening, “Shot. Trying to escape.” She doesn’t have to say anything more for us to know she’s half lying. There’s no doubt he’s dead, the blood splatter on her shirt proving that fact, but during escape was up in the air—not that it matters much to us. He’s dead. Good riddance.

****

Sam nurses a bottle of water, slowly sipping the contents. He’d gone too long without water and food, we’re lucky Kathleen had at least a bottle in the trunk of her car. Kathleen had moved away from us to call for backup, her figure lingering a couple of feet away.

I gently place a hand over the burn mark near Dean's shoulder, his hand immediately holding my wrist, “You should really work on yourself first,” he points out. I hum in recognition, warmth igniting from my hand and seeping into his skin. He takes a deep breath like his lungs are filling up with air for the first time. “It would scar and a burn mark is harder for the body to heal than just some regular wound,” I reason, the gentle hues of sunset reflecting in his eyes. “There’s a hole in your thigh. That’s not a regular wound,” he argues. I smile, knowing he’s right, “Well I wouldn’t finish by the time we left meaning the chance of the wound reopening is high.” He sighs, “And… the car’s at the police station.”

“Exactly,” I nod, lifting my hand from its place on him. The burn mark was gone, his skin clear and smooth like nothing had happened. “So, state police and the FBI are gonna be here within the hour,” Kathleen suddenly says from behind me. I move to the side of Dean, my hands clasped behind my back as if I hadn’t been touching him. “They’re gonna wanna talk to you. I suggest that you’re long gone by then,” she adds.

“Thanks,” Dean replies, “Hey, listen, I don’t mean to press our luck, but we’re kind of in the middle of nowhere. Think we could catch a ride?”

She gives him a pointed look, “Start walking. Duck if you see a squad car.”

“Sounds great to me. Thanks,” Sam says quickly, not pushing it further. “Oh, I, um, I’m sorry for acting like a jerk earlier. I know I could’ve been way nicer,” I apologize, thinking back to my harsh words. “It’s fine, I get it, I would’ve done the same,” she replies and I hope she really does accept my apology.

“Listen, uh…” Dean starts, “I’m sorry about your brother.” Kathleen swallows roughly, “Thank you,” her eyes tear up, “It was really hard not knowing what happened to him. I thought it would be easier once I knew the truth—but it isn’t really,” she pauses, her words hanging in the air, “Anyway, you should go.” The boys nod and I wish there was more we could do for her as we walk away.

****

“Never do that again,” Dean warns, breaking the silence that had enveloped us on our walk. “Do what?” Sam asks, oblivious. “Go missin’ like that,” he elaborates.

Sam laughs, “You were worried about me.”

“All I’m sayin’ is, you vanish like that again, I’m not lookin’ for ya,” Dean deflects, poorly. “Sure, you won’t,” Sam muses. We all knew it was a lie, Dean would go looking for Sam till the end of time. “I’m not,” Dean argues. Sam chuckles, “So, you got sidelined by a thirteen-year-old girl, huh?”

“Oh, shut up,” Dean shoves his brother. “Just sayin’, gettin’ rusty there, kiddo,” Sam teases, using his brother's words against him. I laugh, “He’s got a point.”

Despite himself, Dean laughs too, “Both of you, shut up.”

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saltbind · 11 days ago

Note

For 500 followers you should drop more femchesters/trans winchesters lore 👀

gladly <3

for reference here are some of my past posts on femchesters:

femchesters moodboard edit

femchesters headcanons

i love femchesters where sam is still a fuckin. behemoth of a woman. giant 6'5" book nerd at the bar who's so jacked she could crush your head between her thighs. played soccer before her growth spurt and spent the entirety of high school getting hounded by basketball and volleyball teams. the kind of body you have to work real hard for, and i absolutely headcanon her as being pretty flat chested too. only wears sports bras or crop tops and even then only on hunts, she doesn't bother when it's just them and they're driving or in the bunker. missy peregrym in stick it is my headcanon for sam, hands down.

deanna's a bit bigger in the bust and softer in terms of muscle mass - there's not any kind of abs showing on her since it's harder for ladies to get that kind of muscle tone. deanna is strong thick - she gets mistaken for a farm girl a lot, with her arms and shoulders. i live for mullet deanna. it's not intentional she's just shit at remembering to maintain it. i live for sharpie nails, no makeup except for like fifteen lipsticks rattling around in the glovebox, still the most gorgeous woman you've ever seen deanna. cutoff jean shorts and practical boots with lingerie underneath because she likes to feel pretty deanna. i don't have a perfect deanna in terms of fancasting, but juliette lewis in yellowjackets with darker hair would be close.

and on transchesters:

t4t sam and deanna

sam/deanna/benny posting

brand-new, a trans dean fic

trans dean fisting post

ok but very seriously i can see dean as trans femme or trans masc, though i lean trans femme for him because he's very...performative, with his masculinity, in a way that i very much relate to as a trans person. sam i can only see as trans masc because of many reasons that i've gone into before, but dean is a lot more flexible for me in terms of headcanons because his portrayal in the show could very easily lean either way depending on what you give weight to.

i bequeath to y'all some snippets of t4t sam and deanna because this isn't really a fic with a coherent arc or plot as such, but it is some writing!

Deanna only grows her hair out once.

Later, after she’s shorn it short again in the same style she’s had since she was a boy, she’ll tell herself it’s for tactical reasons. Better to keep it short, to give the monsters less to grab hold of, and she knows she can still pass just fine with her bone structure. Her tits might be small still but she’s always been pretty.

She doesn’t let herself think about the way Dad’s eyes had softened when they’d met up for the werewolf hunt. Doesn’t let herself think about the way he’d gotten drunk after, sloppy like he usually doesn't, and fumblingly told her how much she looked like Mary with her hair long like that. How she had always resembled her, but now that she was a woman –

Stop.

Does not let herself think about the way he’d leaned in. The way his breath had smelled like bourbon. The way he’d tried to angle her face with his hands, big and calloused, and the way she’d flinched from him, heart in her mouth. How she’d slept in the Impala that night, left him to sleep off the booze by himself in their double room while she white-knuckled her way through the worst night she’d had since Sam had left for Stanford with his new name and new pronouns in tow. She wishes he’d told her sooner so she could have learned about her own hidden self with him, so they could have shared in the strange joy of second puberties together, another secret unique to the two of them to close them off further from the world.

Yeah, actually, maybe that’s why he didn’t tell her.

The point is – Dad hadn’t said anything about it the next day, so it might as well not have happened. She doesn’t have to think about it. And if Dad had suggested hunting separately again over lunch, eyes bloodshot and hair greasy, then that was just fine. She was capable. She could handle herself. She had, hadn’t she? She’d pushed him away. Left his ass to brine in his drunk sweat.

She just – wishes she hadn’t had to.

Sam doesn’t particularly want to run any more credit card scams. He really doesn’t. It feels wrong when he’s studying for the LSATs, like he’s taking two steps forward and one back.

He doesn’t have great insurance, though, and he needs hormones. Top surgery. Gender marker changes and legal name changes, because credit cards are one thing but he’s not forging documentation. So, whatever. He gets his fake cards and he pays on an installment plan, gets cash advances and dimples at the staff who process the payments, implies the hell out of a rich sugar daddy taking care of his medical costs.

He came to California for Stanford, but the relative ease of transitioning was definitely a factor.

He’s never been more grateful for his height than his third year. Studying through the surgery recovery was hard, but Jess had been happy to help take care of him, and he’s partway through a group project when he realizes he’s passing. Not just passing, but stealth, because one of his group mates makes a comment about how it’s not like he knows how bad cramps can get and it dawns on him that they don’t know.

It’s weird. He doesn’t know how to feel about it.

Brady’s the one who takes him shopping for new clothes. It feels weird to abandon the flannels and band tees, but they’re all too small and shaped for a body he no longer has. He doesn’t have the money for the new stuff, not really, but Brady does. So he accepts the patterned button up shirts and the fashion advice gratefully and learns to be comfortable in colors.

He wants to call Dean a lot. More than he expected, which was – yeah, a lot. He’s never been ignorant of how co-dependent they are. They got more than their fair share of jokes about it. Flowers in the Attic. Are you sure you’re from Kansas? You act like you’re from Alabama. Dumb shit that still hit a little too close to home for him.

Every so often, he gets a text from a new unknown number. Usually it’s just a question mark. He used to just respond with ‘Tulsa’, their code for ‘okay’, but he’s been sending back other stuff too lately. What song he’s listening to, what he ate for lunch. Little things. Bits of his life. When he left he’d done damage to their relationship, and he knows that, but he misses Dean so badly sometimes. And it’s selfish, maybe, to get out of hunting and still want to have Dean in some way, to give him an invitation to share in Sam’s new life, but he’s never been a saint.

#ask box #Anonymous #samdean #sam winchester #dean winchester #transchesters #femchesters #headcanons #my writing #my post

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myrskytuuli · 4 months ago

Text

One of my favourite things about Helluva Boss (and this is me being 100% genuine) is how much it reminds me of a fanfic written of a much worse, early 2000s, low-key homophobic, show á la supernatural and the ilk. Like, it does really hit that very spesific nostalgia of reading slash fics instead of doing homework in 2007.

Somewhere out there is an alternate universe where Helluva Boss is a show released in 2005 by a guy who wanted to amass an audience of edgy college-bros, but is shocked and disgusted to find out that 90% of the fandom consists of embarassing teenage girls who write slash fics on FF.net about it.

In that show, Blitzø is supposed to be a tough-rough heterosexual in the model of Dean Winchester, while the entire fandom is busy writing deep-dives about why he is actually in the closet pansexual.

Moxxie fulfills the role that Sam Winchester did in Supernatural, which is the very quintessential 00s metrosexual. Blitzø keeps teasing him about how his wife clearly wears the pants in the relationship, and Moxxie constantly has to be annoyed about it: "Just because I like musicals doesn't mean I'm gay!" His heroic moment is when he gets to be a badass and rescue Millie, who swoons in his arms, and the audience is assured that just because Moxxie is a bit of dweeb, doesn't mean that he can't take care of his woman and be REAL MAN.

Blitzø is constantly flirting with Millie, while there is also a running joke about people confusing him and Moxxie for a gay couple, and instead of being normal about it, they do the spn/Sherlock routine and drag the denial on for about three minutes too long, which just makes it sound like Blitzø really wants to fuck Moxxie. It's basically an fandom-wide accepted headcanon that Blitzø wants to have a threesome with both M&Ms. The creators are disturbed, apalled, and confused as to how anyone could arrive in such a conclusion.

Stolas is the queer-coded antagonist, whose status as the big villain changes according to who happened to be writing the episode. Sometimes he's a genuine threath, seeking to get his stolen book back from Blitzø. Sometimes, for very contrived plot reasons, he needs Blitzø's help with something or another, and leverages the book to get him to do his dirty work. And sometimes he's written as basically a comic relief character, this effeminate dandy who tries so hard to be a big, bad, demon, but then immediately gets slapped around by his much more domineering wife. The fact that he can't satisfy/control his wife is always written as a joke where Stolas is the punchline. The question of: Why doesn't he just take his book back? Which the plot has danced around in more and more confusing ways, has by the fandom been solved with the simple: 'they're secretly fucking off-screen' theory.

And god help the 13-years-old who makes the mistake of mentioning Stolitz to the creators on a con-panel, because she's about to get the public humiliation of a lifetime by the writers and actors, who are not afraid to mock the "delusional tumblrinas" in front of everyone, and with open malice.

Asmodeus is always seen surrounded by busty, half-naked, women, but he did once say that he's "quite flexible" when it comes to sex, which the fandom celebrated as finally getting a confirmed, canon, queer representation on the show. Fizzarolli is his bussiness partner/employee/it's never really made entirely clear, who desperately wishes that some of Asmodeus' charm would rubb on to him out of sheer proximity, but the whole joke is that he's a desperate, unfuckable, disabled, clown, so no matter how hard he tries, women will just never want him. The fact that Asmodeus seems to genuinely enjoy his company, has made the entire fandom convinced that the aloof, horny, sex-symbol is secretly, madly, deeply in love with the clown. He just has to hide it, because of his status, the entire, delusional, fandom desperately headcanons.

Loona's relationship with Blitzø is very uncomfrotable, because while it is implied that he gave her shelter when she was younger, he also sometimes ambigiously flirts with her. The fandom refuses to engage with those scenes and instead writes Blitzø as an overprotective dad.

Half-way through the show, Millie gets fridged.

#helluva boss

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stusbunker · 1 year ago

Text

Spotless: Intro

Chapter One

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader

Word Count: 1375

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, assumed unrequited feelings, mild drug use, unbeta'd

Series Masterlist

Banner courtesy of @cafekitsune

You woke up overthinking. Like continuing a conversation with yourself from your dreams, the thoughts steamrolled you into consciousness. The band was in the studio for at least another week and you had to make sure the anticipation continued to build. You had a call scheduled at nine with the record label, Bobby and some other folks who you knew by name but not by face or voice.

It was going to be a long day.

It had already been a long year and the comeback after the last tour’s fallout had felt like your sole duty. They were still solid, still ready to rock-n-roll, you just had to make sure the press and the fans knew it. You grabbed your phone off your bedside table and got to work without actually getting vertical. You checked your email, the usual rotation of social media and then finally your text messages.

Sam had sent you a link to the podcast he had been talking about the last time you’d been over to his and Dean’s place for movies, which was probably two weeks too late to still be relevant, but you added it to your library anyway. Charlie had gone on a rant about a failed side quest on her latest D&D campaign and then started planning a fantasy getaway for after the tour that wasn’t even completely scheduled yet. You didn’t reply, because you needed more caffeine in your system to keep up with her.

Then there were some random complaints about Ash and Kevin from Dean. Amongst all that there was his usual checking in and an obnoxious picture showcasing the absurd size of Ash’s bong. You groaned because Dean’s eyes in the picture were glassy and amused, but also so, so distracting. His little stoned smile always did things to you.

At least he was having fun while he was laying down tracks.

You looked your fill and then went on to the next notification on your phone. Dean and his band, Phantom Traveler, might be your employers, but they were still your friends and fawning all over the man that a good chunk of the Western world did wasn’t going to get you anywhere.

Not in this lifetime.

Your alarm buzzed, breaking the quiet of your bedroom and the illusion of a lack of responsibility. You groaned and threw off your covers. Now or never, you told yourself, and got up to start your day.

“And with the losses from last time, we need something more than just your word that we are going to make up the difference,” Crowley tacked on at the end of his spiel.

Bobby, who apparently was stuck on the 405, looked like he was going to cuss him out at any moment and you couldn’t blame him. The Zoom call had gone about as well as you had anticipated and it wasn’t over. You had enough experience to keep your face neutral, however Bobby had neither the fucks to give or the interest in maintaining civility.

“How about three platinum albums over the past twelve years?!”

Every corporate stooge winced at Bobby’s indignation, except Crowley who seemed to be delighted about it somehow.

“We understand that Mr. Singer—- we just want our ducks in a row. Now if we can get Dean on board with some more one-on-one interviews and positive exposure. We think we can hit our pre-sale targets to ensure a longer touring schedule,” Zachariah Adler smarmed on.

“And what would that prove?” Bobby asked, protective of his boys as always.

“That you have your dog on a leash,” Crowley butt in.

“More like workhorse the way you folks are talking about him,” Bobby muttered, though you still heard him over the sound of traffic.

You had to say something. “If— we get Dean to agree, and you get your extended tour. We want more flexibility on the next album. It’s the final one in the contract and if you want Phantom Traveler to remain the face of Crossroads it would be mutually beneficial to give them some room to work.”

“That’s not really your stipulation to make Ms. Y/L/N,” Dick Roman pointed out.

Your face burned with the reprimand, but you held your chin high.

“Like hell it ain't. Anything Y/N says, I say too,” Bobby barked.

Crowley looked bored at that point. And you really didn’t want to butt in or add to your embarrassment. But no one was saying anything.

“Does that work for everyone then?” You looked at these corporate stooges in the digital eye and fought for the band, for Dean. Despite having very little in the idea of the how of it all.

Zachariah spoke first, because of course he did. “If Mr. Winchester were to agree and we see an improvement in image by the end of the year— I think that could definitely be arranged.”

Bobby huffed, but remained silent.

You watched Crowley’s eyes dance between the other record company execs and the intensity of his mischievousness grew. “I’d love to see how you handle that— get back to me when you have something solid and we’ll be in touch.”

“That works for us,” you replied firmly, not giving into his apparent doubts on your abilities. You were a nepo-hire, everyone there knew it. But it didn’t mean you weren’t very good at your job.

“Alright— I’ve got a recording session to get to. If that’s everything—” Bobby trailed off and watched as the trio from the label became even more affronted.

“I’d like a solid date for follow up,” Dick tossed out, in a clear final challenge, but everyone knew the meeting was over.

“Recording is underway, but I’d say we’d be able to touch base by the middle of December,” you added, pretending to check the calendar.

“Stellar, you see to that,” Dick replied.

“Thank you, thank you all,” you added.

“Good talk.” Dick closed his window. You waited in the open meeting as Crowley and Zachariah said their goodbyes, watching Bobby as he looked at the ceiling of his car and ended the call for good.

“Alright then,” you muttered as you closed Zoom and tried to come to grips with what you had just promised. What you had asked for, completely unprompted.

You looked at your laptop and decided you needed to step away and clear your head. You grabbed your phone off your desk and your earbuds, heading to the corner of your office and your stationary bike. Because if anything screamed escaping to a mountain trail ride, it was this moment and the month ahead of you.

You set your usual course and tapped onto one of your workout playlists, letting the music wash over you as you pedaled toward the warm up hills. Dean wasn’t going to go along with this easily, everyone knew that. But he had come so far over the last year and you hoped that included an openness to what was best for the band, even if it meant swallowing some of his pride.

Despite what he said on the call, you knew you had to get Bobby on board. You just had to have something to sell him, a hook. Something he wouldn’t think of as a threat to Dean or the band as a whole. Something he wouldn’t want to poke too hard, just because he could.

Bobby was a naturally curious old codger, but one thing that was always guaranteed to make him wash his hands of a situation was anybody’s love life. He had no fucks to give about who was fucking who. Not all of Lee and Pam’s ongoing drama, not Sam’s summer-long tryst with the little brunette from the Yellow Eyes label, not even when Cas hooked up with the reporter for Rolling Stone mid-interview.

Okay. That you could work with.

Somebody who could increase public opinion and be down to be Dean’s arm candy. And suddenly an evil idea crossed your mind, something so wrong and so right that you lost your footing and the bike safety locked on you as you said a very dejected ‘fuck’ out loud to your empty apartment.

You had your answer, now you just had to make it happen.

Tagging: @deans-spinster-witch @mrswhozeewhatsis @cosicas-cuquis @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @suckitands33

Chapter Two: Measure

#dean winchester fanfiction #rockstar au #dean/reader #dean winchester/reader #dean/you #dean x reader #slow burn #fake dating au

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queen-of-deans-booty · 7 months ago

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Brother's Keeper: Part Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst, feeling broken and utterly helpless to the point of depression

Summary: The repercussions of every bad thing you did while being soulless hit you like a freight train at full speed. There are no words that can describe how broken you feel. Sam and Dean manage to break the spell and lift the curse but what did you let out in return?

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

"So, does this mean no more adventure?"

"I think we have all the adventure we can handle right here."

"What about Dark!Charlie?"

"She's quiet. I just have to keep moving forward. We all do." She looks once more at you and Dean before walking into the library to deal with the after-effect of her almost dying at both your hands. "We are going to fix this. I'm not letting what happened to me happen to you two."

"What if I like being this way?" you ask and everyone looks at you. "Have you thought of that?"

"I refuse to accept that."

"You can't fix what already happened," Dean sighs.

"Cain found a way to live with it."

"After centuries of murder," you say.

"Yeah, well, there's one thing that you two have that he didn't. You're a Winchester. I forgive you, Dean."

"Yeah, well, I don't."

"I know. That's kind of your move." She turns to you and smiles sweetly. "I forgive you, too."

You set your drink down and stand up. Everyone is on edge just from that single move, and you walk closer to her in intimidation. It seems to work since she backs away slightly but she is a brave one. Sam goes to stop her but you hold out your hand as if to say, "Don't worry, I won't hurt her."

"Let me get one thing clear. The only reason you are still alive is because of them. Had they not been there, I would have killed you. I do not feel guilty for what I did. I actually liked it. Whatever part of me found you tolerable is gone. You better hope that you don't see me without them by my side."

You're not you. You're not this person. Charlie has to remind herself of that before she allows herself to get hurt because of you. She knows you're only saying this to hurt her so she doesn't let you know that your words do affect her.

"I'm gonna get you back."

"Let the games begin," you smirk and back away from her.

Sam and Dean look at each other before lunging at you. You see their moves coming from a mile away. While Sam and Dean are fighting to subdue you, you're fighting to kill. You have nothing to lose. They have everything to lose.

Sam swings his hand to punch you but you grab it at the last second and twist it behind him. Dean comes running at you two so you kick his ass and they go crashing into each other. Dean is the first one up and runs at you. He grabs you from behind thinking he got you but you're two steps ahead of him. You let them believe he got you so when Sam comes over, you kick off his chest and swing over Dean. You land on the floor and punch Dean to the ground, almost breaking his jaw.

The problem with the Winchesters is you're too damn flexible for them. You roundhouse kick Sam in the face, and he sprays a line of blood as he goes down. They start to think you might win this so they have to pick up their game or you will kill them. Dean ignores the pain in his jaw as he grabs one of the chairs and smacks you in the back.

You crumble to the ground in a grunt of pain. He and Sam grab you on either side and refuse to let you go. You struggle as hard as you can to get away from them but it's looking like you might lose this fight. The more you struggle, the more you get angry. The more you get angry, the more your Mark flares and burns. The metaphorical pot inside your body is bubbling over, and the only thing fueling it is the Mark.

"Let me go!" you yell.

"Admit it! You lost this one!" Dean grunts.

"Let go of me!"

"You lost, Y/N, just give it up!" Sam yells.

"I said. LET. GO!"

Bright red magic explodes out from all sides of you, causing Sam and Dean to go flying into the walls behind them. The entire war room is covered in a red hue, and you look down at your hands to see red magic flow out of them. The power you feel right now is so... exhilarating. Your Mark is burning so much but it's the good kind of pain. The kind of pain you crave. The kind of power you crave.

You look at the brothers with an evil smirk. They're too scared to do anything. They know you've fallen over the edge. There is no coming back from this. You lift the brothers with your magic and fling them so hard into the wall again that it cracks from the pressure. Both of them are too weak to do anything which is exactly what you want.

You reach up and peel off the device from your neck like it's a goddamn sticker.

"You don't control me anymore. I win. I'm leaving. If you want to try and stop me, well, you can't. No one can," you laugh.

You grab your bag and head to the metal stairs.

"This isn't you!" Sam yells loudly. You pause by the stairs but don't face him. "You're the Sapphire Witch! You help people!"

"Honey, the Sapphire Witch is dead."

"Yeah? Then what are you?"

You face the brothers with a smirk and bright red eyes.

"I'm the Scarlet Witch."

"Come on, Dean. What did you expect of me?" you chuckle.

"I don't know, Y/N. I don't know who you are anymore. In fact, I don't want you in my life until you're back to normal. What you did today was out of control. You are becoming what we hunt!"

You can't help but laugh at him. His bravery amuses you. You step closer to him so that your toes are touching, and you lose your smile to show him how serious you are.

"What are you going to do about it? What power do you have over me?"

Dean leans closer to you.

"I'm gonna find that cure and shove it down your throat."

"You do that and I'll still be soulless. I'll find those children of ours and skin them alive in front of you. Stop looking for the cure. I don't want it. It's you or them. Pick one."

"Okay, I'm going to ask one more time." Everyone but Claire looks at you. "Cas, where are my kids? I know you know where they are." Sam and Dean look at each other with fear but Cas won't back down so easily. Still, no one answers you. "No one wants to answer me? Fine." You grab Claire by her hair and yank her up to her feet. You pin her to your front and wrap your hand around her throat. The other arm is wrapped over her chest and gripping the opposite shoulder. All three men immediately move toward you but you flash your eyes red. "Take one more step and I'll snap her neck."

"Castiel," she whimpers but you tighten your grip on her throat.

"Where. Are. My. Kids."

"I don't know."

"I don't believe you. I have been looking for them for the past two weeks, and they have not shown up on any camera across the country. They are children. They go outside and play. Tell me how they are able to do that and not get picked up by a single camera. I know you had something to do with that."

"Please, just let her go and we'll talk," Cas begs.

"I gave you the chance to tell me and you lied. Now I'm forcing your hand. Tell me who is more important to you. Your wannabe fake daughter or my kids?"

"Don't tell her," Dean says. "I don't care what she does but don't tell her where they are."

"It's kind of hard to talk without a mouth, Dean, isn't it?" Immediately, Dean's mouth is gone and he panics as he touches his face. Sam watches with wide eyes, too scared to say anything. "Tick-tock, Castiel. I'm waiting."

"Please, don't do this."

"Please don't do this? That doesn't sound like a location to me."

"Castiel, please," Claire whimpers.

You pull her in tighter and put your mouth next to her ear.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. Mommy and Daddy are waiting for you in Heaven. Or is it Hell? I'm not sure where they ended up." You look at Cas. "You have three seconds to tell me or she's dead. Three."

"Please, Y/N, don't do this. Let her go and we'll talk."

"That's not a location. Two."

Castiel looks at Sam and Dean with sad and guilty eyes. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out of it. He doesn't know what to do. Guess I'll have to make the decision for him.

"One." You immediately snap Claire's neck and she falls to the ground, dead. Castiel yells out in anger and lunges for you but you blast him and the brothers backward. "I told you what would happen. Consider this a lesson learned."

The bathroom door opens and you stand there with a smile on your face.

"Hi, Charlie." You use your magic and fling her phone into the wall, shattering it and ending the call to the Winchesters. "You've been a pain in my ass, haven't you?"

"You're not going to win this one."

"Maybe not but you're sure as hell not going to be around to see it, will you?"

She grabs a knife and holds it out to you but you don't make a move against her. You walk over to the toilet and sit down while keeping an eye on her.

"It's not here, Y/N!" Eldon says.

"Keep looking for it! It's here somewhere," you lie. "Nice knife you got there. Do you know what I want you to do with it? I want you to stab yourself in the leg." Your eyes shine red as does hers. "Now."

Charlie cries but she has no choice in the matter. She turns the knife slowly on herself as she tries to resist your mind compulsion. She stabs the knife into her right thigh and cries out in pain. She falls into the shower, taking the damn curtains down with her.

"Do it again," you say and cross your legs.

She does and she cries more from the pain. "I forgive you, Y/N. Just know I don't blame you."

"That's a nice sentiment. Really. Again."

She brings the knife down on her a third time. Snot comes out of her nose this time and she tries sniffling it back up but to no avail.

"When the Winchesters find your body, I want them to know just how hard you didn't fight me. You're pathetic, Charlie. This time, I want you to stab yourself in the gut. Really go slow so you can feel every inch of the blade."

Charlie yanks the blade out of her leg and positions it at her stomach. She drives the blade in slowly, and you smile at her screams. Blood is everywhere in the bathroom, all of it Charlie's. She isn't going to last long if you continue this so you stand up and walk over to the tub.

"Now I want you to take that blade and run it across your throat. Ear to ear, and as you're dying, I want you to know how much of a failure you are. Hell's gonna be pretty hot when you get there so make sure to bundle up nice and tight. Say hi to Mommy and Daddy for me, yeah?"

Charlie looks at you dead in the eyes as she slices her neck from ear to ear. She's dead within seconds.

Charlie's screams are what cause you to shoot up in bed, panting and heart racing. You look around the room and recognize it to be the one you shared with Dean. Your head hurts, your entire body aches, and you're racked with guilt. There is such a heavy pressure on your chest that brings tears to your eyes. To say you're guilty is an understatement. To say you're sorry is beyond words. It hurts to breathe. You shouldn't be alive. You shouldn't be able to live after what you've done. How can I face Dean after what I've done to him? Sam? Castiel? How can they look at me and still love me? I don't even love me anymore. You pull your knees up and wrap your arms around them to hold them close to your chest.

"What have I done?" you mutter to yourself.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester angst #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural angst #spn #supernatural series rewrite #supernatural season 10

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lunadreamscaper · 3 months ago

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random VenturianTale oc headcanon post that no one asked for.

the oc in question being Marigold Casket. (Johnny Ghost's fraternal triplet sister)

- jimmy casket is afraid of Marigold. marigold almost always knows when Jimmy is fronting and when she does now she usually tackles him to make sure he doesnt attack anybody. So if Jimmy fronts and sees Marigold, his first instinct is to run away rather than attack anyone. especially since stabbing Marigold doesnt really do anything but make her mad.

-marigold mightve actually been a little too rough on jimmy the first time they met. (especially since in Sibling!au and Shatterverse Jimmy is more of a secretly scared feral cat who's only survival instinct is to kill and put on an act rather than a vindictive serial killer)

-Marigold was like the go too baby sitter for the Acachallas for a while bc she was the only one who never got eaten by Freddy the Dinosaur.

-Marigold and Gavin Toast like... dated for a week but broke it off on good terms bc the two of them were too socially awkward to be in a relationship <- (not a ship thing this is genuinely for the plot also i wouldnt stop having DREAMS ABOUT IT which means i have no choice lmfao)

-Marigold is the oldest of her siblings (by like a few minutes), Gregory/Johnny Ghost is the middle child, while Frank (Ghost's identical twin in this au) is the youngest.

-She's been pulled over by Officer Maloney several times but always drives off before getting the ticket and it's reached the point where Maloney just doesnt persue her. he wouldve stopped pulling her over too but she like almost has a new car that she totally didnt steal from a car rental lot like every other week so it's hard to keep track.

---also who's gonna win? a lousy cop with a squirt gun, or a self trained animalistic beast with fucking purple magic shit goin on who hates cops./hj

- Marigold has been tracking her serial killer cult leader father her whole life. and trying to locate her missing mother as well.

- She had a bad run in with said father (Timothy Casket) and got her arm lopped off permanently in the process.

-Marigold's an acalacam. (like Gavin in shatterverse,) in fact her whole family is. and Ghost and Frank would have never known if it wasnt for Marigold.

-she met Sam and Dean Winchester when she was like 13-14? (bc the Supernatural World is apart of the VT world in this au, unlike in the comic supernormal.)

-this is how Marigold Canonically met Leon S. Kennedy/hsrs (who is technically a canon VT character... technically.)

-marigold is an intersex demi girl, and maybe a demisexual lesbian im not sure but her labels are flexible

-parts of her hair has always been dual colored (like Ghost and Frank's... they take after their mother i believe) but due to experimentation she went through (similar to Gavin's except Marigold was already an acalacam to begin with) it changed some of hair purple??? somehow.

-lastly she is considered an honorary pie member. but not a full on member. since she is always on the move, tracking down and hunting down multiple people and groups while being tracked down herself. she cant stay with P.I.E. very long and become a full on member. she does visit pretty frequently though.

i sadly didnt include any headcanons from the second version of Sibling!au (sibling!au 2) where it includes some of the ocs of my friends who are apart of the second au. but maybe depending how well this post does/if people show interest, and/or if my friends think i should, ill drop a headcanon list including my friends's ocs 😏

lastly here's Marigold's toyhouse if you wanna look at her art and lore better 😌

#taleblr #venturiantale oc #venturiantale ocs #taleblr oc #taleblr ocs #venturiantale #venturiantale pie #venturiantale headcanons #sibling!au #vt sibling au #marigold casket #vt marigold casket #larrydacat #venturiantale au #crossover au #crossover #sibling ocs #sibling au

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supernaturalfreakout · 1 year ago

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Worlds Apart—The Longing

[History on Your Side—Chapter 8.] Sam Winchester x Reader

Chapter summary: As you and Sam navigate your separate lives, an invisible thread keeps tightening, inevitably pulling you back together. Warnings: Explicit/NSFW *Please see the masterlist for entire work summary and tags* Read on AO3 | Masterlist

YOU

Hours turned into days, and days turned into weeks. You'd remained in Mystic Falls longer than you'd anticipated, but as arrangements for Miranda and Grayson's funeral were well underway, you decided to stay until they had been laid to rest.

Elena had remained at Bonnie's for around two weeks before ultimately moving in with her aunt Jenna. You all checked in on her regularly, Matt especially, who seemed to be a permanent edition to the household. Between therapy sessions and funeral planning, Elena appeared to be doing okay, although she was still unable to recall any details of the accident, including how she survived without a scrape.

Despite the circumstances, you were thankful for the opportunity to be with your friends and family—a rare hollow carved out in time. You were never completely at ease, however, as a constant niggle in your brain signified that you were somehow out of balance. You tried your best to ignore it, filling every waking hour to distract yourself from the clashing tides within.

During the day, you had been able to work remotely from your parent's house and the local library. You were grateful the university allowed you this flexibility and thankful for some semblance of normality amidst the chaos. Alongside balancing work, you spent your days supporting Elena, attending to your parents, and even dodging Ric's not-so-subtle vies for your attention. It was exhausting, but worth it; anything to deter the impending numbness that threatened to consume you.

In the aftermath of your dream-induced panic, you and Sam had exchanged several messages. His words were a lifeline, reflecting genuine compassion and understanding, yet the feelings they evoked scared you as much as they reassured. You yearned for deeper connection, yet feared unveiling the depth of your feelings, trapping you both in a cycle of superficial exchanges. Guilt nagged at you relentlessly, the weight of concealing your true vulnerabilities taking a toll on your conscience, manifesting in a dissonance that left you vying for an escape. There were moments you almost called him, but refrained, burying your deepest hopes and fears.

As the day of the funeral dawned, you busied yourself alongside Bonnie and Caroline, arranging flowers and organizing food for the wake. The service itself was a somber affair, unfolding in a wave of emotions as Elena, Jeremy, and Jenna struggled through their tearful tributes. You tried to keep it together but failed. The combination of your friend's heartache and your parents silent tears became too much to bear, releasing a river that cascaded down your cheeks.

Back at Jenna's for the wake, stories of Miranda and Grayson's kindness and warmth flowed, tales of cherished moments that now felt both precious and fragile. It was heartbreaking, yet oddly comforting, a testament to the strength found in vulnerability and the support of loved ones. It was in these moments that you felt a subtle shift within yourself. Life, you realized, was way too unpredictable and fleeting to hold back on what truly mattered, leaving you with a resolve to embrace the present without reservations.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you bid lingering goodbyes, and eventually stepped back into your childhood bedroom. A rush of relief and exhaustion settled over you as you readied for bed, feeling the weight that had made its home on your shoulders lift ever so slightly. You slowly changed into your PJs, washed your face and brushed your teeth, before collapsing onto your mattress.

As you stared at the ceiling fan, a surge of clarity washed over you, as if you were now seeing clearly for the first time in weeks. Restlessness gnawed at you as you lay there, urging you to move, to do something, igniting a spark of confidence that spurred you to reach for your phone.

You crunched against the headboard, tucking your knees to your chest as you unlocked the screen and navigated to your contacts. You froze for a second, doubting yourself by habit, but before you could talk yourself out of it, your fingers moved of their own accord.

"Fuck it" you muttered, as you ultimately tapped call next to Sam's name.

The ringing echoed in your ears, each tone adding to the pounding of your heart as the seconds passed, blurring the lines between excitement and anxiety.

You nervously twirled a strand of hair around your finger as your thoughts raced, wondering whether he would answer or if the call would go to voicemail.

Then, just as you were about to give up hope, a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks.

---

SAM

Blood splattered on Sam's face as he swung his blade, the head of a vampire rolling to the floor at his feet.

With a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, he wiped the blood from his brow, the metallic scent hanging heavy in the air.

Dean stepped closer, clapping a hand on Sam’s shoulder with a grin, surveying the now still nest. "Nice one, Sammy. That’s the last of them."

Sam nodded, feeling a surge of relief mixed with the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"Right, let's hit the road!" Dean exclaimed. "If I put my foot down, we'll make it back before sundown."

Sam nodded, "sure thing."

As they settled into the Impala, Sam felt the weight of exhaustion settle in his bones. Despite the successful case, a profound weariness settled in, leaving his mind vulnerable to the thoughts he had been trying so hard to repress. Thoughts of you tugged at the edges of his mind, as they always did in moments of solitude. He wondered what you were doing, how you were, whether you thought of him as much as he thought of you. No, I doubt that… Maybe I should let go of this idea? It never ends well for me anyway…

Despite these intrusive thoughts, he yearned to reach out, but a persistent sense of restraint anchored his desires, burying them beneath the demands and harsh realities of the hunter's life.

As his mind continued to wander, the steady hum of the Impala's engine lulled him into a drowsy state, offering him an escape route from his restless mind.

Dean glanced over, concern evident in his tone as his voice broke through the haze. "Hey, you good?"

"Yeah, just… tired…" Sam mumbled, his words trailing off as he let exhaustion claim him.

Dean chuckled softly, glancing at Sam now asleep in the passenger seat. "Rest up, Sammy. We'll be home soon."

As the Impala rolled to a stop in front of the bunker, Dean turned off the engine and glanced at his brother, still slumbering in the passenger seat. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. We're back."

With a nudge, Sam stirred, blinking sleepily as he rubbed his eyes. "Mmm, we're back already?"

"Yeah, buddy. Time flies when you're catching some Z's…" Dean chuckled, patting Sam's shoulder before grabbing the takeout he'd picked up, slamming the driver's door shut.

Sam yawned and stretched, dragging himself out of the car, the weariness still evident in his movements.

As they approached the bunker's entrance, Dean nudged Sam playfully. "Bet you a burger you'll be asleep before you finish chewing your dinner."

Sam chuckled weakly, the corners of his lips curling up. "You're on, Dean. But I'm holding you to that, even in my sleep."

As they made their way inside, the routine clunk of boots against the metal stairwell announced that they were finally home, followed by a familiar voice greeting them from below.

"Sam, Dean. You're back."

"Nice observation, Sherlock," Dean quipped.

"Hey Cas," Sam acknowledged with a nod.

After dumping his bags and, to Dean's dismay, successfully devouring his share of the takeout, Sam made a beeline for the shower.

Stepping into the embracing warmth, he closed his eyes, surrendering to the steam and familiar routine. The hot water cascaded over him like a balm, washing away the remnants of dirt and dried blood, offering a momentary respite from the chaos of their recent hunt.

Now, freshly scrubbed, the scent of sandalwood lingered, mingling with the faint aroma of steamed water that clung to his skin. His hair, still damp from the towel, carried the crisp scent of mint shampoo, it's faint residue refreshing his senses as he slid into his bed.

Soft cotton sheets welcomed him, the coolness a stark contrast to the warmth of the shower. Exhaustion settled over him like a weighted blanket, but, before sleep could claim him, he was startled by a vibration on the nightstand.

He shot his hand out, instinctively reaching for his phone in the darkness, anticipating another update from one of their contacts.

Suddenly, he was wide awake, his eyes widening in surprise as your name lit up the display.

His mind raced, wondering what had brought on your call. Was it urgent? Had something happened?

He sat upright, propping himself against the headboard, the faint glow of the phone screen illuminating his face as he swiped to answer your call.

---

YOU & SAM

"Y/N?"

The room felt suffocating as your breaths grew shallow, your pulse pounding in your ears, drowning out everything but Sam's voice. You took an uneven breath, attempting to steady yourself, but your voice betrayed your anxiety.

"Hey Sam…"

Sam listened intently, sensing your unease. "Hey… Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine…" You rushed to reassure him, but unease settled in your stomach as you caught yourself in a lie. "Well, actually… it's been a long day, I just wanted…" You paused, considering your words. "Can we talk…?"

Sam's voice held a mixture of surprise and anticipation as he raked his fingers through his damp hair. "Yeah… yeah of course… It's… nice to hear from you. How are things?"

The conversation started tentatively, the initial discomfort evident in the pauses and careful choice of words, but as the minutes passed, the awkwardness melted away, replaced by effortless familiarity and understanding.

"The funeral was today?" Sympathy radiated from Sam's voice as he tucked his hair behind his ear. He sounded as genuine as you remembered him being.

You reply softly, touched by his concern. "Yeah… It was rough… but… Elena will be okay, she's strong".

Sam nodded. "She sounds it… She's lucky to have a friend like you."

"If you say so…" You smile, not fully believing his words.

"How have you been holding up?"

You thought for a second. "I've been…okay… I'm doing better now, anyway. It's been nice to spend time with my family and friends, you know? We've all helped each other."

Sam hummed in understanding.

"And, my work has been a bit of a distraction… This new project I'm working on… it's demanding, to say the least, and I'm still adjusting."

"Hmm, change is always hard… Especially with everything you're dealing with on top of it".

You sigh. "Yeah I guess so… Anyway, how are you? Any interesting cases lately?"

"Well…today it was a Vamp nest, pretty standard."

"Yeah, Vampires… standard, right…" You laugh, hearing Sam chuckle down the phone.

It's so nice to hear her laugh, Sam thought, smiling to himself.

"But uh… we've been seeing a lot of Castiel recently, which has been… interesting…"

"Castiel?" You were intrigued by the unfamiliar name.

"He's an Angel," Sam explained, noticing your curiosity. "He's been helping us out with something… biblical…"

"Oh, right… one of those Angels you mentioned… I bet that adds a whole new dimension to your hunts?"

Sam chuckled, "you could say that… It's always eventful with Cas. He's been hanging around the bunker lately, something to do with 'watching over Dean'. It's a bit off-putting, in all honesty."

Whoa. "So… you're basically living with an Angel?" You couldn't hide your astonishment.

"You could… meet him, you know… that offer still stands, about visiting the bunker…"

"That's umm… quite an offer… I… I've never been the most religious person… I might need some time to prepare…"

Sam exhaled through his nose. "Cas… doesn't judge. He may speak his mind, but he's… a goofy puppy".

"So… no need to go to confessional…?"

"Absolutely not!" Sam laughed, as he wondered what you could possibly need to confess.

You mirrored his amusement before pausing, taking a moment to steady your swirling nerves.

"So… I'm actually flying back to Kansas tomorrow…"

Sam's heart began to beat a little bit faster. "Oh? How are you feeling about that?"

There was a momentary silence, an unspoken pause filled with the weight of unsaid words as you considered your response.

Throughout your conversation, the depth of your connection had started to rekindle, bridging the gap that had widened in recent weeks. Sam's voice was a soothing balm to your troubled mind, and gradually, you found the courage to consider opening up to him completely. Your heart raced and your palms became sweaty as you considered how to approach this.

"Y/N?" Sam said your name softly, brow creased with anticipation as he sensed your nervousness through the line. "Are you alright?"

"Um, yeah, I…" you pause, anticipation coursing through your veins as those butterflies began flapping their wings frantically. You unconsciously clutched the phone tighter, your knuckles turning white.

Should I tell him? Maybe it's too soon? What if I'm misreading everything? You debated your thoughts internally, but the ache in your chest compelled you to open up, to take the risk and lay your true feelings bare.

You relented, the words tumbling out with a mixture of urgency and vulnerability. "I've been thinking a lot lately… About… everything. I've been distant… I know, but… I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, Sam… about… before I left… about you… about… us…"

The distant hum of the bunker's generator seemed insignificant compared to the rush of emotions surging through Sam with every word you spoke.

"And I know it sounds crazy… and I know we hardly know each other, so stop me if I'm completely overshooting the mark but… I've missed you… Like really missed you. And I… I can't explain it… I just…"

Your thoughts spiraled, doubts and uncertainties clouding your mind. Am I saying too much? Is this the right time? What if this ruins everything? Your heart pounded with each passing second. You bit your lip, anxious about how Sam would respond.

Sam's eyes widened, a mixture of shock and elation flashing across his face as he heard your confession and the desperation in your voice. His head spun as he clocked the implications of what you were saying, realizing that he had not been making it up at all.

Sam shifted on his bed as his thoughts flooded with memories of you… the passion in your voice as you spoke about your interests… the glint in your eyes when he caught your gaze… the way your face felt in his hands, delicate and stunningly beautiful… the taste of your lips… your body against his…

He yearned to touch you, to hold you, to reassure you that he felt it too; this magnetic attraction and burning desire that had sparked the moment he laid eyes on you. He felt it in his bones.

I need to tell her… Sam's thoughts echoed with urgency, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his bedsheet.

He cut in, a stark determination lacing his voice. "It's not crazy… At least, if it is, then I am crazy too…" He exhaled frantically. "I've missed you too, Y/N… So fucking much. Every single day. I can't get you out of my fucking head." He spoke earnestly, his words coursing through you as he breathed out a laugh of relief.

There was a heavy pause as you took in his words, the urgency in his voice.

"Really?" you tremble.

"Yes, really," Sam chuckled, feeling a knot of tension unwind as he spoke his mind.

A sigh escaped your lips, your shoulders relaxing as Sam reciprocated your feelings. A weight lifted off your chest, but your stomach was alive with nervous excitement.

You pause for a breath, gathering your thoughts. "Well… I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner…"

Sam sighed. "I am too…"

You lingered, the tension between you now sparkling with a newfound hope, connection, and…desire.

Sam breathed softly down the line, his words bringing goosebumps to your skin. "I wish I could be there with you…"

You sighed, the longing unmistakable in your voice. "I wish you were too…"

"When can I see you?" Sam's voice held a hint of desperation.

"Tomorrow too soon…?" you suggested, not even joking.

Sam chuckled. "Not soon enough."

You let out a soft laugh, a blend of joy and nervous anticipation swirling within you, making it difficult to form a coherent response.

"When does your flight land? I'll be there…"

"Sam, you don't need to—"

"—Oh, I do." Sam interjected, determination lacing his words as his voice dropped to a low, longing whisper. "I need you, Y/N. So bad."

Your breath hitched, a rush of emotions overwhelming you as you shivered at his words, and the silent sentiments that laced them.

You trembled, your voice betraying the emotions you struggled to contain. "I'll… I'll send you the details…"

"I'll be there," Sam assured firmly.

"Okay," you breathed, feeling a sudden rush of submission at the authority in his voice.

A thick pause lingered, before Sam's voice cut through the undeniable tension, carrying an unmistakable tone of arousal and longing.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then…"

You chuckled lightly, sensing the heat in his words. "Yes… yes you will…"

A breathy laugh escaped Sam down the line. His voice oozed desire, his thoughts wandering to places he knew he shouldn't dwell. "Sleep tight, Y/N…"

You breathed shakily, feeling the charged energy between you through the line. "I will now…"

You sensed his smile, his voice warm as he finally bid you "goodnight."

---

YOU

With a shaky sigh, you put your phone down and nestled back into the comfort of your bed, a faint smile gracing your lips as adrenaline coursed through your blood.

Despite your weariness, you were unable to shake this newfound energy. Anticipation bubbled within you as your mind raced with thoughts of Sam, imagining what tomorrow would bring.

You turned on your side, clutching the duvet, and squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for sleep to claim you. But it was not your time.

…'I missed you too Y/N'…

Sam's words played on repeat in your mind as you clutched the duvet to your chest.

…'So fucking much'…

Heat rose to the surface of your skin as you tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable.

…'I can't get you out of my fucking head'…

Goosebumps appeared as your sweat cooled, covering your body from head to toe, aching to be warmed away.

This is useless, you thought, as you rolled, fighting against your bedsheets.

You finally settled on your back and exhaled deeply, moving your hand from its vice grip on the duvet to rest on your abdomen.

…'Not soon enough'…

You slid your hand lower, your fingers tracing below your stomach. God help me…

…'I need you, Y/N. So bad'…

He needs me…? I need him. Right now.

Your fingers slipped below the waistband of your underwear, then further… a bit further…

You held your breath as you dipped your finger into your molten core.

You found yourself completely soaked—pure liquid.

Fucking hell… I am definitely going to have to go to that confessional, you thought, as you held your breath, trailing a finger through your slick.

You let out a shaky breath, relieving your body of tension, as you slip your fingers up and down your inner folds, coating yourself in your own juices before you begin to trace circles around your sensitive clit, humming softly—your fingers smooth and dripping.

You closed your eyes, continuing to rub circles around your now swollen clit, silently wishing your fingers were Sam's.

You imagined what it would feel like, for his strong long fingers to glide against you, slippy and silken against your aching pussy, hot, wet and desperate for his touch.

You slipped a finger inside of your hot, aching walls, kicking out of your underwear and sleep shorts in a haste.

Now unrestrained by your clothing, you spread your thighs wider, shifting your hips to reach a deeper angle as you curled your finger upwards, towards that sensitive spot. Sam wouldn't have this trouble, you thought. His fingers could reach areas that I've never been able to reach… and those lips… that tongue, so soft and skilled against your mouth, your neck… You longed to know what they could you to you elsewhere.

You slipped in another finger as you picked up the pace, the sounds emerging from you completely obscene, turning you on even more than you already were.

You palmed your clit as you fucked yourself with your fingers, the spiraling coil of pleasure inside you starting to come undone.

Your other hand reached for your breast and you pinched your hard nipple between your thumb and forefinger and rolled.

You pinched harder, imagining what it would feel like to have your nipple between Sam's teeth.

You thought back to that night, on your sofa… Sam underneath you, hardening against you…

You added a third finger to your core, wishing it was Sam's cock that was stretching you out.

You thrummed your sensitive spot rhythmically, imagining what it would feel like for Sam's cock to be fucking you into pure bliss.

Your breaths grew shallow as you turned your face into your pillow to obscure your breathy moans, trying your best to keep quiet.

Your muffled moans vibrated into the pillow as you continued to stimulate your g-spot, curling your fingers, stroking yourself closer to the edge.

You longed for Sam's hand over your mouth, around your neck, telling you to be quiet whilst he did everything in his power to make sure you weren't.

Dear fucking god, I am going to hell.

The spiral in you unwound even further, causing you to squeeze your legs together, aching for more friction.

You withdrew your fingers to focus on your clit, allowing your legs to squeeze closer together.

A wave of pleasure washed towards you and you tried to catch it, squirming against the ripple pulsing through you, desperately begging for that relief you craved.

You missed it. Shit…

Another wave of pleasure rose to meet you.

It washed away. Fuck, no, please…

…'I need you Y/N'…

Sam's voice echoed in your head.

A tide surged towards you as you assaulted your throbbing clit.

You squeezed your thighs tighter, crushing your hand between your legs.

…'So bad'…

You caught it.

You clamped your legs together completely, riding that wave of pleasure all the way into your climax.

You writhed, as your orgasm wrung you out; legs trembling, chest heaving, dopamine flooding your nervous system.

You gasped, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, and with one last strained exhale, you finally relaxed into the mattress, your crushed, wrinkled fingers falling to your side.

You finally catch your breath, coming down from your high, contemplating how Sam had managed to get you off, despite being a world away.

Jesus fucking Christ. If that's the orgasm you can have just from thinking of Sam, what the hell would it be like to actually fuck him? Fuck.

You lay there for a few minutes, feeling like jelly as you slowly recover from your post-orgasm high.

Once grounded, you rolled to your side, swinging your legs out of the bed and padded towards your bathroom to clean yourself up.

As you emerged from the bathroom, the faint buzz of your phone echoed in the quiet room. Your steps muffled against the carpet, carrying you towards your bed where your phone screen illuminated a simple message:

[Sam Winchester] "Don't forget to send me those details, will you? X"

A grin slowly tugged at the corners of your lips, a blush rising to your cheeks. Slipping under the covers, you opened the airline app to check your flight details and quickly tapped out a response to Sam, confirming your flight number and landing time. He replies almost immediately.

[Sam Winchester] "Thanks xx"

[Y/N Y/L/N] "No problem xx"

[Sam Winchester] "Why you still up?xx"

You blush.

[Y/N Y/L/N] "Can't sleep xx"

[Sam Winchester] "How come?xx"

[Y/N Y/L/N] "Thinking…of you xx"

You bit your lip as you pressed send.

[Sam Winchester] Sam is typing... ... Sam is typing... ... Sam is typing... "Same here xx" Sam is typing... "You should sleep though. You'll need all the sleep you can get for tomorrow xx"

Omg. You giggled. Can he mean…? You flush. You decided to feign innocence.

[Y/N Y/L/N] "Oh yeah? Why's that?xx"

[Sam Winchester] Sam is typing… ... Sam is typing... "Long travel day? 😉 xx"

Fuck. You see right through him. He does.

Your mind raced, trying to think of a witty reply but came up blank.

[Y/N Y/L/N] "I could say the same for you… You'll need all your energy for all that driving you'll be doing 😇 xx"

[Sam Winchester] "Touché, Dr 😉 But seriously, get some sleep, I'll see you at the arrivals gate xx"

[Y/N Y/L/N] "Yes Sir 😉 xx"

A mischievous smile crept onto your face as your thumb hovered over 'send'. You pressed it, a wave of lust overriding your logical brain. I may regret that, you thought, but your grin lingered.

[Sam Winchester] Sam is typing… ... Sam is typing… ... "Sweet dreams, Princess 👑xx"

Your brain screamed. Right call, right call!! But fuck, you were getting no sleep tonight.

Chapter 9

#sam winchester x reader #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #supernatural #history on your side #sam winchester #spn #x reader #dean winchester #ao3 writer #sam winchester x you #the vampire diaries #tvd x reader

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