#it is to save him! just like he saved Sam! and Dean stands up. and you know. if this was really the show I’d still say we don’t get to see | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

according2thelore · 5 hours ago

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YESSSSSS ADAM CONTENT!!!!! ✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

QUEENS YOU ARE FEEDING USSSSSS!!!! 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌

Me bringing ABO into the mix:

- Little pup Adam going extremely clingy/has separation anxiety towards Omega Dean because of the sudden environment/ lifestyle change with John (who is barely there as a Father/Alpha), so little Adam imprint on Dean as his new "Mommy" even though he knows his actual Mom is in Heaven.😭😭😭

- Newly presented Alpha Pre-teen Sam being SO annoyed at this walking, breathing remainder of John's hypocrisy always toddling towards Sam and trying to get his attention (when Dean isn't there) because Sam is the closest thing to a stable/constant pack Alpha and Adam just wants to be accepted by himmmmmmmmm. 😭😭😭😭😭

- Adam constantly trying to snuggle up in Dean's nest (on the rare occasions that Dean takes a break from taking suppressions) because it reminds him of his Mom and even though Deans scent is no where close, it makes him feel save 😭😭😭😭😭

- Dean feeling both pride and resentment when John praises Dean for taking care of Adam like a "good Omega" and "Mary would have been so proud"

- Sam and Dean having fights about "baby sitting" Adam because "What do you mean you can't study here?! Sam, I already told you I had a date tonight!" And Sam throwing back "I'd never agreed to that Dean! I have my own plans, and you can't just expect me to bail on my study group just to babysit Adam!" And the argument escalates until they hear quite sniffles and see Adam all red eyed and puffy cheecks.

- Bobby giving John an earful about bringing another pup on this insane revenue fueled journey, like what are two underage teenage boys going to do with a kid if John punches the ticket in a hunt?

- "Urgh, Adam I'm trying to read, can't you play outside or something?" Sam mumbles, eyes not lifting from the book his supposed to read during the summer. Dean pokes his Dean from Bobby's kitchen (John is away on a hunt with Bobby). "Sam, knock it off. It’s too hot for this, I’m almost done making lunch, and we just saw Adam touching a car door that probably predates penicillin this morning. Do I really need to remind you why Bobby keeps a stash of tetanus shots in the fridge ?".

They hear giggling from the sofa with a makeshift blanket ford, Adam says, "Yeah Sammy, it's too hot outside! And Sully wants to build Legos later!", Dean snorts and glances at Sam before disappearing into the kitchen and Sam asks "Who's Sully?"

Sorry for going off on a rant here, I just really love that Adam post!!!!!

hi, anon!!!!

EEEEEE thank you so much!!!!! i LOVE the adam-grows-up-with-them AU, and i LOVE talking about it!!!!!!

gasp PLEASE bring the omegaverse into it, lol, i clearly have a LOT to say about it!!!!!!!

let's fucking DISCUSS RAHHHHHHH!!!!

FUCK i love baby adam imprinting on omega!dean like a little duckling. the world is so much bigger than adam could even process, and a big, gruff alpha that smells like abandoned birthday parties and like the mean men standing outside at the gas station takes him away from his toys and friends and house.

there are two boys that feels like grown-ups to a six-year-old adam, one seventeen and the other thirteen, both smelling like each other and not like the angry man a whole lot. the thirteen-year-old doesn't talk to adam much, seems to be mad at him, but adam doesn't know why.

the older boy, dean, kneels on the ground and gives adam a tin of green plastic soldiers, makes little machine gun noises with his mouth that make adam giggle.

he smells like playgrounds and sunshine, and adam finds that he wants to be around this omega...a lot. he wakes up crying his first night, seeing blood all over the floor and his hands and crying for a mommy that won't ever come to get him. dean gets up from his shared bed with sammy and crawls into adam's bed, pulling the little pup to his chest and cooing softly at him.

he talks with adam quietly, nuzzling in his hair gently, and stays with him all night. the second night, adam tugs gently on dean's shirt hem and asks him if he could sleep in his bed again.

they quickly become a bit inseparable, much to sam's chagrin. when dean goes to school in the next town, adam has a meltdown that lasts hours, until john goes to pull dean out of fourth-period math. adam keeps apologizing, shaking so hard that his teeth chatter. dean just soothes a hand over his hair, letting the pup scent him, looking up at his dad with big, confused eyes.

dean smells safe. nothing else in the entire world feels safe. adam's bed doesn't smell like home, anymore, it smells like cigarettes and bleach. but dean, dean smells like home.

adam draws pictures for dean with crayons dean swipes for him, and dean has a folded envelope in his duffle with all of adam's drawings. adam remembers his mommy being really excited and happy when he gave her his drawings, and he wants dean to be happy with him, so, so bad. dean always oohs and ahhs over adam's firetrucks and drawings of their sad, little pack.

one night, after dean helps him take his bath, he says, thank you mama, and then gasps, horrified, and cries all night. he knows dean's not his mommy. he doesn't want dean to be his mommy, he knows his mommy is in heaven, but...dean's warm. and nice. and listens to adam talk about bugs for hours. dean just soothes the pup, chest so tight that it aches, and tells him that it's alright.

~~~

sam presents as an alpha, and is a bit furious that this only makes adam more annoying. he was already pretty furious that this walking-talking proof of their dad's bastard-hood lives with them full-time.

for one, he takes up all of dean's time. he toddles after dean like dean hung the sun, and dean--fuck him--tolerates it. whenever sam wants to do something, dean tells him that dad won't be there to watch adam, so they can't leave. the kid's six, okay? he can fucking deal. sam was left alone when he was six. dean was left alone with sam when he was six, and he turned out okay.

for another thing, he won't leave sam alone. even before sam presented, adam would slide little pictures across the motel dining room table at him, of buildings and animals and clouds. dean snarls at sam to say 'thank you,' but sam's not going to fucking do that.

but now that sam's actually presented, and dean leaves to help on a hunt or bend some college girl over, adam is attached to his side like a limpet. he asks sam a million questions, maneuvers himself onto sam's lap when they sit on the couch, hauls himself into the dining room chair across from sam and solemnly doodles while sam does his homework. they both work in silence, and even that irks sam, as he watches as adam has to use both hands to pick up his glass of hard-earned milk.

it all changes, though, one night. dean's out hustling, after john left them for a couple weeks with not enough money to stretch between. sam's doing his homework at the table, and adam pulls gently on sam's shirt sleeve. sam's about to tell him to go away, when adam changes his entire fucking world in a second.

"alpha," adam asks, and sam's breath gets punched out of him. adam looks up at him with big, blue eyes. sam coughs. adam's asking him. alpha.

adam doesn't say another word, waits to be addressed like they're an actual fucking pack and not four broken boys stapled together in something that looks vaguely human.

"yeah?" sam croaks. alpha. dad's never been a pack alpha. he'd have to be around to do that. sam realizes, with a lurch, that this kid sees dean as the pack omega. which makes sam...the pack alpha. sam's probably the closest thing to a pack alpha that this twerp has ever had--an omega mom, a deadbeat alpha dad, an omega older brother.

"can i have a popsicle?"

adam still just blinks up at him. waiting.

with their last few dollars, dean had brought home a pack of popsicles that were sloshy liquid in their plastic little tubes, wrapped in orange netting. it was getting hotter every day, and dean had shrugged when sam criticized his choice in nutrition.

"did you eat all your dinner?" sam asks, mouth dry. he's still absolutely baffled, but with an acuity that is almost blinding, he resolves to be a better example of an alpha than his dad ever was.

adam nods, seriously, little feet padding around the table so he can tilt his empty mac-and-cheese bowl forward for sam's inspection. orange smears are the only things left.

"then yes." sam says, standing and crossing over to the freezer. at the last second, he looks down and asks adam, who is standing at his hip with big, excited eyes, "what colour?"

"green," adam blurts, quick. he squirms. sam, in spite of himself, snorts. he roots around for a green one, and cuts the top off with a bowie knife left on the nightstand.

"thank you, alpha," adam says, little mouth wrapping around the plastic sleeve of the popsicle. he slides a piece of purple construction paper across the kitchen table when they've both sat back down, shyly.

sam takes it. turns it around. it's a stick figure standing tall, at least two sizes bigger than the other stick figure at his feet. there's a big black blob in the corner of the drawing, the big figure between it and the smaller stick figure.

"it's you," adam says, "keeping the bad guys away."

sam thanks him. he excuses himself to the bathroom, and he sits on the cool tile for a long time, too confused and overwhelmed to even cry.

the next week, when adam asks sam with a small voice if he did an okay job shucking corn for their dinner, sam ruffles his hair for the first time, and adam is still smiling when he goes to bed hours later.

~~~

dean hates going into heat. if it were up to him, he'd be on supps until he died.

dad hits the fucking bricks as soon as dean starts his heat, and has starting pulling sam out with him by the hair, since he presented. sam snarls and fights--and one time, bites--john, but he never lets him stay, anymore.

they, and dean's not sure who "they" are, only that they're fucking bastards, say that an omega can be on supps for six months, then has to take a month off. dean's not sure why, don't ask him. something about bone fragility or hypertension or calcium in his heart, who fucking cares.

what it means for dean is that he's now alone for a week, sweating bullets and writhing in bed by himself, with dad and sam staying a few doors down.

it's lonely. it's hollow.

before sam presented, he was allowed to stay with dean and make sure he ate, and crawl into dean's nest, letting dean scent his little pup-smell, cold fingers pressed to dean's overheated forehead.

it was the only sane thing in dean's entire world for a week.

but now, unbelievably, he has adam.

speak of the devil, dean's nose twitches. adam smells like lemons and baby powder--pure pup, all the way through--and dean can feel the bed dip.

he's between waves right now, but knows soon he's going to be inconsolable again, body begging for a knot that he's never going to get.

his nest is a fucking mess. dean's eyes burn. no wonder no alpha could ever want him. it's mostly sam's clothes, his smelly socks and second-hand flannels and a jean jacket he managed to sneak out of a goodwill. dean's useless. can't even build a proper nest. can't keep his pups safe and warm in here, no way. adam's going to freeze to death in his stupid, ugly nest, and dean is going to die unloved and grieving. dean sniffles. fucking hormones.

adam wiggles over the edge of the nest, and makes a little noise.

dean opens his arms, and adam collapses into his arms, question answered. dean rubs his head against adam's hair, and dean's a stupid omega because he's the one that's going to have to wash his sweat off of his pup's hair, now. stupid, useless, alone omega.

"don't be sad," adam whispers, tiny little pup fingers on dean's cheeks.

"'m not sad," dean sobs, "dumb pup."

adam reaches up and pinches dean's nose closed. and holds it. and holds it. and holds it.

dean snorts, dissolving into exhausted laughter as he has to open his mouth to breathe.

"you're a little twerp, anybody tell you that?" dean sighs, and adam presses himself up into dean's arms, rubbing his head all over dean's terrible, stupid nest. when he comes back to dean, he smells like pack, like he and sam.

adam's eyes droop, mouth pulling up in an exhausted, far-away smile.

"you're gonna have to get out in a second, bud." dean tells him, the squirming, serpentine pull under his skin making him nauseous. adam's eyes snap open, and he looks, for a second, very scared.

"can i come back?" he asks. dean snorts, and bumps adam's forehead with his chin.

"you can always come back." he says, honestly, and adam's fist curls into dean's sweat-soaked shirt, eyes drooping closed. dean lets him sleep, then gently nudges him awake and away when the next wave of his heat hits.

the first thing dean feels when he's sane again, is the dip of the bed as adam crawls over the edge of his nest, and makes a small, questioning noise.

dean lets his arms drop open.

~~~

dean doesn't know how to feel when dad tells him he reminds him of his momma.

you're such a good omega, john says. like that's all dean is. maybe it is. maybe that's all dean'll ever be.

on one hand, it satisfies something deep inside him when dad looks at dean bouncing adam up and down on his knee, adam screaming and giggling, and tells him that his momma would have been proud.

he wants his momma to be proud. he wants to be an omega that his momma would be happy to have raised.

but on the other hand...it makes dean want to shove adam off his lap. the pup doesn't deserve it. he didn't too a damn thing except be born, but dean doesn't want to be an omega. he doesn't want to be a...a coddled thing. a domestic thing. a perfect, shiny little thing. because he's not.

he's too big to be a pretty omega, too angry to be a nice omega, too mean to be a good omega.

he's a hunter. he's damn good at his job.

you're a good omega, dad says, patting dean on the head as he moves towards the door. it's supposed to be a thank you, dean thinks, for staying behind with adam, but...his stomach is all wrung tight.

i'm not. he wants to scream. i'm not a good omega. i'm not your omega.

he feels condescended to. overlooked. he feels...plastic, maybe. wrong. john looks at him and doesn't see an equal. or maybe he does, and maybe that makes it worse.

adam can always tell--damn him--and tries to scent dean. dean always pushes him away, goes outside for some air, sam always comes after him.

they sit in silence. dean's an omega. maybe that's all he'll ever be.

~~~

"it's just for tonight!" dean yells, "what's your damn problem?"

"my problem is that i told you i have plans!" sam shoves dean, hard. "i told you a week ago that i was going out with friends!"

"what friends?" dean barks a cruel laugh. "they're not your friends. they're temporary, sam!"

"yeah like that skirt you're chasing?" sam spits.

"fuck off."

"no, dean! i don't see why i have to give up on my plans so you can bend dinergirl over. she's 'temporary,'" sam mocks.

sam smells like firewood, like whiskey, like dad. he smells angry. dean knows he doesn't smell much better, the rotten-egg smell of his anger making his own nose wrinkle.

"i've got to get out of this goddamn cabin." dean snarls, tearing at his hair. "i've played fucking nursemaid since deluth and i need to get out of here. i'm sick of it."

they've been fighting all week, it feels like. dad's fucked off to who-knows-where, a phone call the only thing connecting him to his three sons, four states away.

they're in the kitchen of a cabin, lit only by the microwave light, dean pacing on dusty tile, sam with his arms crossed and dean in his socks.

dean wants to scream. he thinks he might.

he's exhausted. he's fucking exhausted. he wants, nonsensically, to go home. he's staring his home in the eyes as he screams. he's sure his home is asleep a few rooms over, in the cabin dad managed to rent out for the month. his home is four states away, hunting monsters. his home is buried six feet under, more ash than woman. his home is dead. his home doesn't want him back. his home is gone.

his home is yelling at him, and dean wants to punch him square across his stupid jaw.

"you don't think i'm sick of it?" sam retorts. "i never agreed to bail on my plans to babysit, dean!"

dean rounds on him, gets in sam's face, sam's set jaw, dean's shaking fists, a chest so hollow it feels like it'll crack open.

"i never agreed to bail on my fucking life to babysit, but here we are!" it's louder than dean means, a bellow, and he loves it. it fills up his chest in the way nothing else will. he opens his mouth to scream again, but--

a gasp, a sniffle, a sob. sam and dean freeze, and adam shoves past their waists as he barrels out the front door, tearstreaked face and wide eyes and mouth open on a sob.

dean catches a flash of blond hair and firetruck pajamas.

the fight leaves him immediately, dean slouching as the screen door screeches, bangs, tiny feet on a wooden deck, on crunching leaves as he pounds down the steps.

"fuck." dean says, right as sam says, "shit."

they share a look, guilty and exhausted and strung-out. sam pulls out his phone, using the antenna to scratch at his eyebrow as he closes his eyes tightly.

they move quick, dean crossing over to the front door to shove his feet into the boots he left there earlier that afternoon.

"i'll cancel." sam says, "you go after him."

"nah, man," dean sighs, taking a quick break from lacing his boots to rub a hand down his face. "it's...it's whatever. bring some popcorn back."

sam's going to the movies, or something, right? dean forgot. he fumbles with the laces, and has to do them again.

"it's study group." dean can hear the laugh in sam's voice.

"then bring back a fucking calculator."

sam does laugh, then, but his voice still has a little bite when he says, "you're an idiot."

"well you're a..." dean stands, his feet aching in his boots. he scratches at the back of his head, looking at his alpha little brother, all bravado and authority and self-righteousness. "seriously, man, head on out. i'll call stacey later and cancel."

sam crosses the room but doesn't touch dean, just lets dean get a whiff of him, close enough to scent but dean doesn't dare. he shoves his feet into his beat-up converse, and dean almost reaches a hand out to stop him--they can't afford new ones if these crap out--but doesn't trust himself yet.

sam snags dean's abandoned hoodie hanging off of one of the dining chairs, and pulls it over his head.

when his face emerges from the pooling fabric, his hair is messy, and he smells more like dean, like pack, like home.

he shoves his fists into the front pocket, and shoulders the screen door open.

"shuddup." sammy grumbles, and they trudge out into the dark woods, trailing after their lost pup, sniffling in the darkness.

~~~

adam's feet dangle off of bobby's porch, swinging and banging against the old latticework underneath his porch. it's hot and stifling outside, and adam can already tell that he's going to have a sunburn when he goes back inside, the tops of his exposed knees a shiny, pink colour.

he's watching sam and dean throw knives in the dust lot behind uncle bobby's house, trying to hit a board already so full of score-marks that he can barely make out the painted-on target.

his pack omega left him a tin of toy soldiers to play with, and adam arranges them on the bottom rung of the porch railing, sun-lazy.

"they're fighitng about us, y'know." alpha's voice. adam sits up a little straighter. he thinks they've forgotten about him, since he's not facing them head-on. he's facing the tool shed instead of the dustlot, but he can hear them well.

he can pick their voices out in a crowd of people.

inside the house, he can hear dad yelling, screaming. uncle bobby yells back. the house smells like a car on fire. gasoline and melting plastic and danger.

"huh?" thunk. dean's voice, distracted.

"dad. and uncle bobby." sam says. thunk. something inside the house crashes to the floor.

"yeah, well. you really suck at this. i'd fight dad about it, too." dean says. thunk. adam moves three soldiers away from the rest.

"jerk. no, they're fighting about us and adam."

thunk. a clang, and adam looks up. sam and dean aren't looking at each other, eyes trained on the target. one of the knives must have hit another off the board.

"bitch." dean says, but after a long pause, his voice is quieter, defeated. "yeah. i know."

adam shifts closer, bringing his three soliders with him. one has a machine gun, the other a radio, the third a medic kit.

--you dumb motherfucker-- uncle bobby's voice, distant.

"uncle bobby's gotta point, dean." sam says. he winds up, throws the knife, it hits the ring outside of the centermost. "what the hell are we gonna do if dad..."

dean steps up, throws, misses. the knife spirals, hits the dirt with barely a noise at all.

"we're not gonna do anything, 'cause that's never gonna happen." dean throws again, barely hits the board, gets mostly white paint in the top right corner. "dad's the best hunter. ever."

"he's not immortal. you remember des moines?"

dean moves to collect the knives, and sam joins him. they count them, and split them in half. ten for dean, ten for sam.

"i don't know what you want me to say, sam." dean says, finally. he squares up to the board.

"we can't raise him." sam says, and dean's shot goes entirely wide, landing a few inches deep in a rusted car door a few feet left of the target with a deafening clang.

--is that what you want, john?--

dean whirls on sam, eyes blazing, and adam--even this far away--recoils.

"we ain't giving him up if that's what you fuckin' mean." dean spits. a hot breeze wafts his scent over to adam. protective. possessive. furious. "i can't believe you'd even suggest that. he's ours, sam."

sam takes a step back, then a step forward, bumping into dean's chest, a palm on his sternum, over the necklace dean's worn as long as adam's been alive.

"fuck you. i'd never say that. but..." sam flips a knife in his palm, throws it, point down into the dirt. "i don't know. wouldn't he be safer in a real home? wouldn't we all be safer in a real home?"

adam, slowly, separates the medic from the other two soldiers.

dean's face twists, and he stalks a few paces away. he hefts a knife in his hands, and throws it at the board. it hits.

--my boys, Bobby. They're my boys to--

"we gotta real home." dean says. he doesn't look at sam, voice and body tense. "you'd rather live in a picket fence? if dad died, you want me to give you up to the system, go to school, live with another two-point-five kids and a dog? is that what you're sayin'?"

thunk. closer to bullseye. dean picks up another knife. throws it. thunk. closer still.

"no," sam says, fiercely. "no. i'd never leave you. you know that."

--just kids. Children that'll--

"do i?" thunk. the ring away from dead center. "i'm seventeen, sammy. they wouldn't put me in the system, they'd give me a slap on the ass and twenty bucks and i'd never see you or adam again. i'm an unmated omega. they'd never let me keep either of you."

thunk. bullseye. dean's outta knives. he steps away from the target, still not taking his eyes away from the target. his hands are shaking. there's a triangle of sweat soaking through his shirt between his shoulder blades.

adam moves the solider with the machine gun away. the three face away from each other, now. alone.

alpha stalks up to dean, grabbing him by the shoulder and turning him to face him, getting close. in his face. he's almost tall enough that they're eye-to-eye.

"i'm not gonna let that happen. no matter what, you hear me?" sam's voice is firm, uncompromising, loud. "i'd rather..."

sam trails into silence. dean doesn't look like he's breathing. his head dips, and for a second, adam thinks they're kissing, like in the movies, but he can hear his pack omega's voice a second later.

"you'd rather what?" he says, lowly.

a screech so loud that adam jumps, all three soldiers falling off the porch and scattering into the dirt.

boots on the porch, shaking the floor. dad must've run out the front door, away from the three of them in the dust lot.

"--gonna kill those boys, john, you hear me?" uncle bobby yells, closer than ever before. when adam turns back around, sam is throwing knives at the target, and dean is approaching adam on the porch, palms wiping off on his torn jeans.

when he sees adam look up, dean smiles. adam, hesitantly, smiles back.

~~~

EEP i'm not even going to touch the last few paragraphs with sully--it's literally PERFECT!!!! GRAHHH adam's little giggles and sam's confusion and dean's fondness...i'm punching a wall...

thank you SO SO SO much for sending this in, anon! and thank you so much for being patient!! <333 it's been a hectic month, but i am in love with this. omegaverse adam i'm gonna SCREAMMMM

i hope you enjoyed, and that your day is lovely, anon! <3

-lizzy

[adam AU masterlist]

#ask box #lizzy answers #adam AU #4K WORDS???#i'm actually super happy with this omg #anon <3 #omegaverse #i kinda tore this one up?

23 notes · View notes

wendichester · 4 months ago

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Can I request cute Dean fluff of him realising he’s in love with you when you take care or save Sam from something bc we all know that man would know he’s found the one when she cares just as much for Sam as he does

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆ 🩹｡˚ aftercare,

summary. taking care of sam is also taking care of dean ‹𝟹

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 782

notes. the softest boy sigh

You’re kneeling next to Sam, your hands moving quickly as you press a clean rag against the gash on his arm. The hunt had gone sideways—too many moving parts, too many variables—but you’d managed to keep it from going completely off the rails. Now, the three of you are holed up in a shabby motel room, the faint smell of antiseptic mixing with the metallic tang of blood.

Dean stands a few feet away, his hands gripping the back of a chair, watching as you work. He should be helping, should be doing something, but all he can do is stare. There’s a look of determination on your face, tempered by the kind of gentle care that makes his chest ache.

“Hold still, Sam,” you murmur, your voice soft but firm. “I know it hurts, but this needs to be cleaned.”

Sam winces but doesn’t argue. “I’m fine. It’s not that bad.”

You glance up at him, arching an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Because you’re bleeding all over my jeans.”

Sam chuckles weakly, the sound turning into a hiss of pain as you dab at the wound. “Okay, maybe it’s a little bad.”

Dean’s lips twitch at the corners, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s too busy trying to process the strange, overwhelming warmth blooming in his chest. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you take care of someone before—you’ve patched him up more times than he can count—but this feels different. Watching you with Sam, seeing the way you’re willing to get your hands dirty to keep his brother safe... it does something to him.

“You’re gonna need stitches,” you say, your tone matter-of-fact as you reach for the first aid kit. “Dean, can you grab me the thread and needle?”

He snaps out of his daze, nodding quickly. “Yeah, yeah. Got it.” He rummages through the kit, pulling out the supplies and handing them to you. His fingers brush yours, and for a second, he forgets how to breathe.

You don’t notice—or maybe you do, but you don’t say anything. Instead, you focus on threading the needle, your hands steady despite the tension in the room. “This is gonna sting,” you warn Sam, your voice gentle.

“Just do it,” Sam mutters, bracing himself.

Dean watches as you work, your movements precise but careful. You talk to Sam the whole time, distracting him with small jokes and reassurances, and Dean can see the way his brother relaxes under your touch. It’s like you’ve got this magic about you, this ability to make even the worst situations feel manageable.

When you finally finish, tying off the last stitch, you sit back on your heels and let out a sigh. “There. You’re all patched up. Try not to rip it open again, okay?”

Sam gives you a small smile. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do all that.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course I did. What kind of person would I be if I let you bleed out in a crappy motel room?”

Dean’s heart stumbles in his chest. He can’t remember the last time someone cared about Sam like that—someone who wasn’t him. And it’s not just the act of taking care of him; it’s the way you do it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like Sam’s life is just as important to you as it is to him.

You stand up, brushing off your hands, and glance at Dean. “He’ll be fine, but he needs rest. And food. I’m guessing you haven’t eaten since this morning?”

Dean blinks, caught off guard. “Uh... no. Not really.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Alright, I’ll order something. You two sit tight.”

As you step into the adjoining room to make the call, Dean looks over at Sam. His brother’s eyes are already closing, exhaustion pulling him under, but there’s a faint smile on his face.

When you come back, carrying your phone and rattling off a list of takeout options, Dean feels it hit him like a freight train. This is it. This is love. It’s not just about how he feels when you’re around—it’s about how you make everything better. How you make him better. How you’d do anything for Sam, the way he would.

You catch him staring and raise an eyebrow. “What?”

Dean shakes his head, a slow, disbelieving smile spreading across his face. “Nothing,” he says, his voice warm. “Just... thanks. For everything.”

Your expression softens, and you give him a small smile in return. “Always.”

Dean watches you for a moment longer, the realization settling deep in his bones. He’s in love with you. And if he’s honest, he doesn’t think he ever stood a chance.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #supernatural #.docx #.req

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sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth · 3 months ago

Text

I dreamed of the places I’ve been with you

(Sam Winchester x female reader)

Summary You have a dirty dream about Sam while the two of you are stuck in the Impala, and Sam has a… reaction to it. CWs Stuck in the Impala. Wet dreams. Inappropriate boners. Dirty talk. Mutual masturbation. Sammy being the sweetest dork. 18+. 4.1k words.

Sam Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

“How does he keep doing that?” you sigh, a touch of admiration in your voice.

Sam chuckles. “I don’t think he can help it, honestly.”

You cross your arms over the back of the Impala’s front seat, put your chin on your hands. “They just keep throwing themselves at him,” you say.

Sam nods. “Yup,” he says. “Welcome to my life.”

Both of you keep watching as Dean talks to the single mom you just saved from a ghoul a few hours earlier. She's hot, there's no denying it, and Dean has been flirting shamelessly with her from second one. Now that she's out of immediate danger, she's flirting back.

Sam sits in the passenger seat of Dean’s car, the Impala, you in the back while you marvel at them, watching them like zoo animals where they are standing a few feet away from the car.

Just then, the hot mom’s hand lands on Dean’s arm in an oh-so-casual gesture.

“Look, look,” you say, slapping Sam’s shoulder to make sure he pays attention. “She’s about to do the horny giggle.”

A second later, the mom leans forward, cocking one of her hips as she laughs at something Dean said, then bites her lower lip.

“Wow,” Sam replies, “lip bite, too, huh?” You nod. “I guess we’ll be here a while.”

But a few seconds later, Dean turns away from her and walks towards the car, leaning into the window on Sam’s side. “Allison wants to show me her record collection.”

Sam scoffs, and you say: “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Dean rolls his eyes.

“Okay, virgins,” he replies. “I’ll just hop in and you guys wait here, okay? Won’t take long.” Sam makes a face.

“Dude,” he says, “that’s not something to brag about.” You lean forward to see Dean better.

“We’re not gonna sit out here while you’re in there getting laid, Dean,” you say, your tone irritated. “We can just drive back to the motel and pick you up when you’re done disappointing her.” Sam chuckles, but Dean shakes his head.

“The motel’s an hour away,” he says. “I’m not waiting an hour to have Mom and Dad pick me up. I’m not fifteen.”

You are just opening your mouth to complain, when Dean says: “My car, my rules. You’re waiting here.”

Then he walks off back to the hot mom and the two walk into her house. Sam shakes his head.

“This is…” he says, but doesn't finish saying what it is.

“I feel like a pimp,” you offer instead. You stare at the house Dean and the woman just vanished into.

“Well,” you sigh, resigned, pushing your backpack you have on the backseat with you towards the far end of the bench, moving to lay your head down on it. “Nothing to do but wait and hope Allison’s a fast one.”

Sam chuckles and turning back to you, seeing you laid out on the bench, asks: “You wanna take a nap?” You shake your head.

“Just getting comfortable,” you say. “I’m not even tired.” You're asleep five minutes later.

You're feeling warm and your body is tense and you wake with an intense shudder.

You notice your mouth is open and your fists clenched, your chest heaving, desperately trying to suck in oxygen.

Nightmare, you think immediately, but then, noticing the intense pressure in your core as your brain iss moving further towards consciousness, nope, definitely not a nightmare.

You blink your eyes open, disoriented by the darkness in front of you and a weird rushing sound. For a moment, you have no idea where you are until you angle your head up and recognize the roof of the Impala. A few seconds later, you realize that the roaring is rain coming down on the roof of the car.

You feel shaky, but also weirdly grounded. Warm and comfortable. Pushing yourself up on your elbow, you look around.

The car is still standing in front of hot mom’s house, the memory of which is slowly coming back to you. Sam is in the front seat, his back leaned into the angle of the door and the front bench. He's looking down and when you press yourself up higher, you see that he has a huge leather bound tome on his lap, one hand slightly angling it so he can read it by the soft light of his flashlight he is holding with his other hand.

The reason the flashlight is on is not just because it's raining, but because it has gone dark, the only other light a street lamp somewhere nearby.

You run your hand over your face, trying to rub some of the sleep from it.

“Dean not back yet?” you ask.

You half expect Sam to flinch, considering how deep he is usually absorbed in his reading, but he doesn't.

“Uh, nope,” he says, only throwing you a very quick look, immediately looking back at his book. Your breathing has slowed down but when you touch your face you feel that it's hot.

“Oh,” you say, then swallow, hoping you sound normal. “Good for you, Allison.”

Sam chuckles, but it's forced. Maybe you would notice earlier that he's acting weird if you didn't look at him then, at his profile, bringing the details of your dream back to you.

It's only splinters, but it's enough to make your face feel even hotter immediately.

You dreamed about Sam. His mouth, and his hands, sucking against your throat and gripping your hair. His broad back over you, and his narrow hips moving, pushing…

You have to move your legs when you realize you're pushing your thighs together, the remnants of what you're pretty sure was the orgasm you had in your sleep coming alive immediately.

You push yourself up further to a sitting position, throwing another look at Sam quickly. He isn't looking back at you, but his jaw is clenched, the hands holding the book gripping the edges hard. Oh no. Oh no no no.

Did you make noises that told him what you were dreaming about? Did you say anything that might have given away that you were dreaming about him? Does he know that you…?

“Shit,” you mutter, involuntarily.

“Hmm?” Sam says, still not looking up.

“Nothing,” you say way too quickly. You move your legs and suddenly in abject horror wonder if Sam might be able to tell that you were still aroused, smell your sweat or your wetness, so you quickly pull your legs up, tugging your arms over your knees.

Silence, then, horrible awkward silence that makes your head spin and then makes you think of your dream-Sam again, the noises he made, like the ones the real-Sam makes when he's hurt or angry, and you wonder if that was how he sounded.

You take a sharp breath to dispel the thoughts. You are making this a lot worse for yourself, you think.

The silence continues, the only sound the rain and your breathing and your heartbeat in your ears. It's deafening. Looking back at Sam, you see that his tongue is going over his lower lip, his brow knotted in concentration.

“What are you reading?” you ask finally, unable to stand it anymore. This time Sam does flinch.

“Uhm, uh,” he stutters and then he actually slightly turns over the front cover of the book because he has to look at it to see what he's reading. Weird, you think. He looked so concentrated.

“It’s, uh,” he continues, “a history of this underground society that basically, uhm,” he looks at the page again, seemingly completely forgetting what this underground society did. While he's still looking for the answer, you chuckle a little.

“Sounds like it’s real engaging,” you can't help but tease him. Sam grins.

“It is,” he says. “I mean it was.” You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't.

“Let me see?” you say, holding your hand out to him. Sam usually loves it when you show interest in whatever he's obsessing over that week, but he looks up and then at you with shock on his face.

“No,” he says. You wrinkle your brow.

“What?” you ask.

“It’s just,” Sam says, “I don’t think you’d like it.”

"What are you talking about?” you ask. “I love cults, or societies or whatever, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam says, “I just don’t think you’d like this one.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, then, forgetting your worries about your body, lean forward, over the bench and pull the book from his hands. Sam doesn't fight you, but fidgets in his seat when you sit back, leaning forward a little. You look at the book, keeping it open at the page Sam was on.

“This even has illustrations,” you say, then look up at Sam. “Sam, I’m a sucker for illustrations, what do you mean I wouldn’t like this?” Sam doesn't reply immediately, just clears his throat.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice a little more quiet. “I know.”

He isn't making any sense, so you lean forward and pass the book back to him. He's just grabbing for it when you look down.

There's a considerable bulge in Sam’s pants.

You immediately lean back, but Sam knows you’ve seen it. He lays the book back over his lap, his lips in a tight line, looking anywhere but at you.

The brothers and you live so closely together that this shouldn’t be a big deal. You’ve seen Dean in several states of undress and walked in on him and a hook-up more times than you can count.

But Sam has always been more private, more considerate, you might say. He changes his clothes where you can't see, even though, if you're being really honest, you want to see. It has gotten to the point where seeing him in a t-shirt sometimes gets you flustered, so starved are you for seeing more of him.

So this, while it shouldn’t be, feels like a big deal. A big deal. You chew the inside of your lip and that awful silence is back.

“Sam,” you say, and he immediately says: “Don’t, okay?” His tone is gentle, though. “This is really embarrassing, I feel like a damn teen.”

“It’s not embarrassing,” you reply, because it really isn't, thinking of your own little excitement mishap. To tell the truth, the thought that Sam is sitting there, hard, is not helping you calm down any.

Hoping to make things less awkward for him, you say: “I mean, illustrations get me going, too.” Sam looks up, and then understands a second later. He looks away, grimaces, and some of the discomfort seems to dissipate from him.

“Wasn’t the illustrations that did this,” he says, a small bashful smile on his lips.

“Oooh,” you say, nodding. “Hot mom Allison and her record collection?” Sam actually chuckles, and you feel proud of yourself. Crisis averted. Now you can just go back to pining for Sam without the chance that anything is ever going to come of it.

But then he shakes his head, and his expression turns serious.

“Wasn’t her either,” he replies, his voice quiet. Then he looks at you, his head slightly turned to the side. “What did you dream about?”

A wave of heat goes through you. So you did make some noises. Goddamn it. A flash of dreaming about Sam kissing you roughly goes through your head, his lips bruising yours. But maybe you just made general noises, dream noises. Maybe you can convince him it was a nightmare.

“Uh, not sure,” you say, and it's your turn to stutter now. “Why, did I, like, say anything?” Sam licks his lip, still looking at you. You se him swallow, his throat moving.

“Uhm, you were kind of sighing? And, and,” Sam clears his throat, then continues. “And your body was really tensing up, and I thought maybe it was a nightmare but then you… moaned?” Sam looks down at his lap where the book is. So much for your amazing plan.

“Oh,” you say, pretending this is surprising you. “Sounds like a fun dream.” Like you don't remember the warm waves going through you when you woke up, the lightness and then the delicious heaviness. Sam nods.

“You were also kind of, uhm,” he continues, and you're not sure why he is telling you all this, why he can't just downplay this like you did his stupid boner. “You were also kind of…writhing. And moving your hips a lot. And your face was…” Sam swallows again. “You had this expression that was really sexy.”

Your mouth drops open. Sexy?

Sam keeps going: “It looked like you were in pain for a second and then it was gone and it just looked…sexy.” He’s said it twice now and you feel heat go through you. What is he even saying?

Sam licks his lips again, the short view of the muscle making you press your lips together, and then he looks back at you. “And I guess I was maybe watching you and listening to you and that’s what lead to this whole situation.”

Your breathing is going heavy and you wondered if Sam notices. What is going on with you might generally be easier to hide than what Sam has going on, but you're pretty sure that right then it is clear as daylight. Sam is hard because he listened to you having your sexy little dream. The dream that was about him. Jesus H. Christ on a popsicle stick. How are you going to ever deal with that?

“I’m—I’m flattered,” you say quietly. Sam smiles a little.

“It doesn’t weird you out?” he asks carefully. You shake your head.

“No, it’s actually kind of appropriate,” you reply. Sam frowns.

“Appropriate?” he asks. You can't help but grin, suddenly feeling a little mischievous. “Yeah, cause the dream I had was about you.”

Well, it's out there now, that's for certain. You watch Sam’s reaction, wondering if he's about to be the one who's weirded out. But he isn't. He keeps looking at you and you notice that his breathing has gotten heavier too. Something twitches in his jaw and he leans one arm on the back of the front bench. Just lying there, not doing anything, but its closeness, seeing his hand splayed there causes a reaction in you that you did not anticipate.

You press your legs together where you still hold them against you, and Sam’s eyes shoot down for just a moment, tracking the movement. Then he looks up at your face again.

“What was I doing,” he asks, voice low, “in the dream?” Your teeth find your lip at his words, the need to press down on something strong in you suddenly. This is happening. This is really happening.

“You… were touching me,” you say.

“Where?” Sam asks. His voice isn't shaky at all, it's steady, confident suddenly, which is not something you would have expected from him. You try to remember the dream, thinking for a second.

“Everywhere,” you say. “But you started with my face.”

Sam’s eyes meet yours then and both of you look at each other for a moment. You feel your eyelids flutter at your renewed arousal, the heat between your legs becoming uncomfortable. Sam nods.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asks, voice still steady but breathing harder. You move your shoulders.

“I do,” you say, “but it’s making me, uhm, it’s making me a little…”

Sam nods again. “Me too.”

There's silence for a moment again, and then Sam and you notice at the same time that you're rocking yourself against the bench beneath you. You stop immediately, but Sam says in the same moment: “Keep going.”

Fuck. You really want to. You really want to but this is so…

Shouldn’t you kiss first? Go on a date? Hold hands? You're not sure about any of this, only that Sam is looking at you and that you want to touch yourself.

“Are you gonna...?” you ask, too nervous to say more.

Sam nods. “If that’s okay with you?” Oh wow, is it ever okay with you. You nod.

Sam’s arm over the back of the bench doesn't move, but you can see the shoulder of his other arm does. He turns the flashlight off, the light from the street light still letting you see him, then you hear the it fall to the floor, and his arm keeps moving.

So you push your ass further down on the bench, meaning your legs are angled away from you a little, then let your hand slip between them, pushed into your jeans. It's a tight fit and there's another layer of clothing in-between but when you press down your lower body twitches in response.

Sam is still watching you, not saying anything, but you see his shoulder moving.

“Tell me,” he finally says, his voice so quiet as to be difficult to hear over the rain outside.

“We were,” you start, “in bed. It was a huge bed, not some dingy motel room. Nice white linen and sheets and, and we were both naked.”

Sam breathes in through his nose, and you press down on yourself again, another shudder going through you. Jesus, you're sensitive right now.

“It was, uhm, it was like snippets, cause it was a dream,” you explain, and Sam nods, his eyes not leaving your face. “But in one of them, you were over me. And you were kissing my neck, sort of rough and gentle at the same time.”

“What were you doing?” Sam asks.

“I was… My head was leaned back and my eyes were closed and my hands were in your hair, holding on to you.”

“And?” Sam asks.

“And,” you reply, your fingers having found a rhythm while you're still rocking yourself against the seat. “And you were fucking me.”

Sam closes his eyes for a few seconds, a low moan escaping him.

“Did you like it?” he asks, his voice sounding a little cracked now. Holy shit, it's the most erotic thing you've ever heard in your life. Sam, the master of self-control and decency, losing it at the wet dream you had about him.

“I loved it,” you say, your own voice a little breathy. “You were big and solid and fucking me hard and making me come.”

Sam’s shoulder starts moving faster.

“I want to do that,” he says, almost panting. “I want to make you come.”

Your own rhythm is picking up, your fingers pressing hard against you, and you can feel an almost violent knot of pleasure building in you.

“Do it, Sam,” you say, and your other hand going to your breast, finding the nipple and pinching it through the fabric.

“I want to see that face you made,” Sam pants. “Really hear you, hear you say my name when you come.”

He looks into your eyes then and your vision almost becomes blurry. “I want to feel you come while I’m inside of you.”

Then your body is tensing, everything pulling inwards, your eyes squeezing shut and a pained sounding noise leaves you, and a second later your head falls back on the bench, a sob of "oh God" leaving you as wave after wave of intense pleasure rolls through you.

You're breathing hard, eyelids heavy but then your eyes fly open when your hear Sam curse under his breath.

“Fuck,” he says, and you look at him just in time to see him also squeeze his eyes shut, his shoulders drawing up and his face making the most beautiful expression you have ever seen. He groans once and then lays his head back, panting, features full of bliss, all tension gone from him.

You're both quiet for a while, letting your bodies calm down, your breathing adjust.

After a few minutes, you see Sam move out of your half-closed eyes, and he's looking at you again.

“Holy shit,” he says, his face unbelieving. You can't help but laugh.

“Holy shit indeed,” you respond. He grins at you, lopsided. Then his attention is drawn away, and he opens the glove box, rummaging around for a second. He pulls something from it and holds it up for a second, a shy smile on his face. It's a box of tissues.

“Gotta clean up,” he mumbles, pulling a few tissues out and then throwing the box back into the glove box. You see him move his arms, a concentrated look on his face as you study at his features, watch at him move.

“I think I’ll skip the cleaning process,” you say after a while, “and go straight for new underwear.” Sam grins again.

“I know I didn’t do anything,” he says and seems to be finished with what he's been doing. “But why does that feel like such a compliment?” Now it's your turn to grin.

“Believe me, Sam,” you say, “it is a compliment.”

He looks back up at you, his boyish grin slowly dropping from his face.

“Do you,” he says, suddenly seeming nervous again, “want to maybe, uhm, have dinner with me some time? I mean I know we have dinner together all the time, but I mean, like a….”

He falters for a second, so you finish his sentence. “A date?”

Sam nods. “A date.”

“I think we did this the wrong way around,” you say, instead of answering. “I think you’re supposed to have dinner first and then come at the same time.”

Sam’s laugh surprises and thrills you.

“I guess it’s a little untraditional,” he says, nodding.

“I would love to go on a date with you, Sam,” you reply, and he beams at you, making you want to kiss him. So you do. Despite what you had just done, it still makes you nervous.

You lean forward, pushing yourself up until you're up to the front bench. Sam moves forward as well when he realizes what you're doing and then your lips met.

The angle is awkward, the bench pressing against your boobs and when Sam tries to get his hand up to cup your face he has to first turn his upper body, break the kiss and then lean in again.

It's perfect. It's just awkward and uncoordinated as a first kiss should be, no matter what else you have done.

When you stop kissing, you faces still close, you grin at each other like idiots. You kiss Sam's cheek, just because you felt like it.

Suddenly the light outside changes and you both turn to look. It's hot mom’s porch light and a second later you see Dean come outside and jog down towards the car, collar up to stop the rain from getting in.

You lean back on the bench, and Sam turns again, pretending he's sitting normally in his seat.

Dean makes it to the driver’s side, quickly opens the door and sits inside, making a few drops of rain spray everywhere.

“Now,” he says, closing the door behind him. “That little bit of waiting wasn’t so bad, was it? You kids have fun?”

There's silence for a moment, then Sam picks up the book from where it has apparently fallen into the foot well on his side.

“Yeah,” he says. “We entertained ourselves.”

Dean opens his mouth, probably to make fun of his brother’s nerdiness, but then closes it again. He sniffs. Your body tenses and you see Sam’s do the same.

“Did you guys screw in here?” Dean asks, eyebrows high and eyes narrowed.

“No!” you and Sam say at the same time. It's technically true, depending on your definition of screwing. Dean looks back at you and then at Sam, suspicion on his face.

“Mmh hmm,” he says, then looks forward, starting the car. Sam throws a quick look back at you and you have to suppress your grin.

Once you've been driving down the dark roads for a few minutes, Sam puts his arm back over the back of the front bench. Instead of laying it on top, however, he lets his arm dangle over it, letting it swing until his hand finds your leg. When he does, he squeezes it.

You bring your hand forward as much as you can without moving, hoping not to draw any attention to yourself. Finding Sam's big, warm hand, you lay yours over it, gently stroking it with your thumb.

You look up, and Sam is grinning in the dark.

#sorry's fics #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #spn smut #smut #sam winchester #fanfic #fanfiction

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anundyingfidelity · 10 months ago

Text

FREE PASS — Sam Winchester

Summary: Two men appear at your office to inspect a body from a lady who died under mysterious conditions. As a forensic, you are not letting strangers inside the morgue, but one of them is going too far to get your permission.

Pairing: Undercover!Sam Winchester x female reader.

Word count: 1.6k.

Warnings: smut, office sex, against the wall sex lol, sexual tension, p in v, unprotected sex, the dirty stuff, Dean being a dick (i love him he's a jerk).

GEN MASTERLIST!

taglist is here!

“I said no.”

“If you could just give a call to our boss he’ll–”

“Sorry, I need proper documentation so you can check that up,” you repeated yourself for the tenth time as you took some piles of documents from your desk to save them into the archive.

Dean, undercover along with Sam for this new case, sighed, trying not to lose it right there. You were so insistent on getting those damn documents signed before they could inspect the dead woman’s body, who got reported as having all her blood drained with no trace. Why wasn’t this working? They’ve done it hundreds of times already, and not even his personal charms were enough to let them get inside.

“So, my partner and I really need to see this. We know there’s another woman that died, same conditions, in less than twenty-four hours after this one was found,” Sam intervened and interrupted Dean’s thoughts.

You looked surprised as to why they knew about the other body as well.

“I don’t recall mentioning the next one they’re bringing in for an autopsy,” you replied, eyes falling on Sam as you crossed your arms on your chest.

Dean observed your gaze attentively falling on his brother, your demeanor seemed to change abruptly every time Sam talked. Even your voice sounded different.

“How do you know that?” you asked, ignoring Dean’s presence.

“We know because we’re authority,” Sam sternly said.

“Well, I am the authority here. So you can either leave or bring the document from your boss.”

“Of course, doctor,” Dean interrupted your stare contest, smiling as best as he could given the irritating feeling you just caused him. “We’re bringing that up soon, thank you for your time.”

With that, both of them left your office.

“Damn, she was annoying,” Dean said, saving up his badge on his jacket.

“Yeah, but I think I have an idea,” Sam agreed as they made their way to the car.

“So what? You’re gonna sleep with her until she agrees?” Dean chuckled, but when he noticed Sam’s eyes illuminating, he stopped grinning. “Oh…”

Sam went back to the morgue late at night. He hoped you were gone to inspect the bodies and get the reports, meanwhile Dean stayed back at the motel room to do some more research.

‘She’s a bitch’ Dean had said before his brother left, you really had hurted the charm in him. Sam found it kind of funny, though. Dean was so used to ladies swooning for him, and there were a couple of times those cheesy lines and non-chalant flirting had worked in tough times like this, but you weren’t buying it. So sneaking in was by far the best option he had.

Before starting the inspection on the bodies and making sure there was no one at the place, Sam made his way to your office to check on the autopsy files. The lights were still on but it was empty. He searched the last files, skimming and scanning information before taking pictures with his phone. He was almost done, saving them up in place when the door opened.

“Agent?”

God, he was so screwed.

Sam finished closing the drawer and turned back to get a look at you, standing at the door frame clearly mad at him.

“I hope you have the document I clearly asked for earlier today.”

“Uhm, this is very-”

“There’s nothing funny going on here, agent Harrison. Is that your real name anyway?” you asked as you approached him, until you were just mere inches away from each other.

He smiled as best as he could, ignoring your last question. Dean was right, you were a bitch. A bold one.

“You don’t understand, doctor. We can’t keep waiting for a piece of paper to make an inspection,” Sam replied as politely as he could.

“Probably, but it is protocol. I ain’t letting that slip away and risk my job just because two assholes are trying to hit on me to get access to the morgue.”

“We’re risking getting more people killed under this same pattern. Tell me, do you even care about them dying? We need to do something now, doctor, before it’s too late,” Sam started to raise his voice, but not to the point where he could sound angry. He was just being authoritative, exactly like you were with both of them before.

You flinched slightly when he raised his voice. He has started to think of the way you would react differently with him than with Dean. You clearly didn’t like his brother, but Sam was another story. Dean had obviously noticed that, and now Sam was seeing it too. Whatever you were feeling right now, could be cut by a sharp knife. Dean’s not so subtle idea was suddenly good, not that he didn’t think you were hot being all bossy and bitchy with them. He decided to give it a try.

Sam pulled you quickly for a desperate kiss. He swallowed a sweet moan of yours against his mouth, and towered you with his broad figure until you stepped back and you hit the cold wall behind you.

“What are you doing?” you asked between breaths when the kiss was over.

“Convincing you.”

He waited for an answer, but he got everything he needed to continue when you began to take off his jacket desperately, as if anyone could catch you inside the office in the middle of the night. Sam attacked your lips again, the kiss growing hot and wet as both explored your bodies, tracing patterns over your clothes you both were desiring to get rid of.

Sam barely could get your blouse unbuttoned and discharged your trousers after his shirt was gone. Your hand stroking his cock under his pants after unbuckling them, his lips sucking on the skin of your neck and long fingers finding your wet slit over your panties. You moaned, feeling one of his digits curling inside your walls, his breath hitching once your palm stroked him faster. You pulled him for a kiss, tangling your free hand on his long, soft hair as he grunted against your mouth. Both tasting each other’s sweet noises and savoring the heat building up in between.

He lifted you, your legs around his waist, feeling his hard cock pressing against your cunt. He just pulled your panties aside, bare chest pressing against your own still covered by your bra. He lined up with your entrance and you gasped, feeling the tip of his cock splitting you. He became so eager, so needy, he didn’t give a shit to undress you properly, he got what he needed between your legs. You looked so hot like this, squirming and moaning as he filled you up completely.

“God, you’re so big- oh, fuck!” you breathed out.

Sam grinned. “So fucking tight… And cockdrunk already.”

He slammed his hips and quickly found the perfect pace to fuck you right through it.

He held you tightly against the wall, your pussy taking him so perfectly he would just cum right there. The quietness of the office dissipated. Moans, grunts and the obscene noises of skin against skin filled the place. Your hand buried on his scalp, pulling his hair just a little, feeling embarrassedly close to your orgasm. You couldn’t help yourself. Ever since the moment they walked in, he caught your attention, and you spent the whole afternoon daydreaming of a good fuck either way.

Sam pounded harshly, hips stuttering and giving harsh thrusts as he felt his climax building up, his cock twitching when your walls began to spasm around his length, fucking you over and over, until he spilled inside you. Soon, you followed and came hard as his finger rubbed your clit slowly. You pulled his hair harshly once you reached heaven, and he nipped your neck, grunting on your skin. You milked him completely until his thrusts were slower, and eventually stopped, still buried balls deep inside your pussy, pulsing and sensitive from the best orgasm you had in a very long time.

You remained there, legs tangled around his waist as you softened on his arms. His hot cum dripped down your thighs, and you wanted nothing more than to stay there forever.

When Sam cooled down from his high, he pulled out and helped you remain on your feet, your legs were still wobbly and he took some pride in your state. You shared an accomplice stare, and you knew you got yourself into some trouble.

“So… you still need my reports and check the bodies, right?”

Sam slammed an envelope on the table with a thud. Dean, looking away from the laptop, noticed a proud smirk on his brother’s face.

“Really? You banged the forensic?” he asked with a teasing voice and laughed. “Wow.”

“What?” Sam said, getting annoyed by his childish behavior.

“I knew she was eye-fucking you since we entered that office. Guess I wasn’t her type,” Dean got on his feet, taking the envelope. “Anyway, that is a pretty reasonable answer as to why she was acting so hostile with me, specifically. Good job, Sammy.”

Dean patted Sam’s shoulder proudly, like a father congratulating his son for winning a high school baseball game, and then walked away to lie on his bed, taking out the copy of the reports.

Sam would’ve liked for Dean to actually ask questions about the case, instead he spent the next hour or so teasing him for fucking his way to get access to a morgue. He took out his phone when a text came, ignoring Dean’s disgusting question of how sex was.

We have a new one. What the hell is going on?

He might have found a new ally on you for this.

Sam Winchester taglist:

@onlyangel-444 @feyresqueen @drasticemotions @stoneyggirl2 @whothefvckami

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester smut #sam winchester imagines #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester fanfiction #sam x reader #supernatural

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jenanigans1207 · 3 months ago

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Okay but the thing is that Cas cradled Dean’s soul when he saved it from hell, not his physical body. So while there was a brand on Dean’s shoulder that didn’t end up being permanent, there was a permanent brand of Cas’s grace on Dean’s actual soul. And as they got closer and grew together, it became less of a brand. Dean’s soul fully integrated Cas’s grace and made it a part of his soul instead of a separate thing.

And so Cas confesses and the empty comes and takes him but something is wrong. Because it has Cas, wrapped up nice and tight, but there’s— there’s something missing, something askew. The empty can’t put Cas fully to sleep the way it wants and it’s left with him awake and annoying, just like before. And it tries, god does it try. But because a small piece of Cas’s grace remains outside of the empty, embedded in Dean’s soul, it’s unable to gain full control over him like it wants.

And while it seems like Dean had been unaware of this the last time Cas had made a trip to the empty, he may have figured it out this time. Or he’s just clinging that desperately to his memories of and feelings for Cas, because both Cas and the empty feel continuous tugs on the grace, starting at the part that has made itself a protective shield around Dean’s heart.

And sure, the empty would be thrilled to just swallow Dean and the remaining piece of grace up, too. But it can’t, because Dean’s soul can’t exist in the empty, and Cas’s grace can’t be extracted from Dean’s soul. And with every tug, Cas seems to grow bolder, more confident. Because Dean isn’t letting their bond weaken, despite everything. Dean isn’t giving up hope, they can both feel that, so Cas won’t either.

So at some point the empty has to choose: put up with Cas forever or give up on Cas forever. Because it will never be able to fully own Cas, even after Dean is dead. As long as Dean’s soul continues to cling to Cas, he will never belong to anyone but Dean. So the empty throws in the towel, gives up, and tells Cas to never come near it again. Go the hell away and never come back. And Cas is all too happy to oblige.

The empty doesn’t even bother keeping Cas’s grace and returning him human because that small part inside Dean is more powerful than expected and there’s no saying if Cas would even be truly human anyway.

Dean’s sitting in the war room of the bunker, eyes closed with a hand pressed over his chest, when Cas pops back in. The empty spits him out much in the same way it ate him up and suddenly he’s just standing there, staring at Dean and a wide-eyed Sam.

“Holy shit.” Sam mumbles, staring at Cas as if he’s a ghost.

But Dean doesn’t look surprised at all. “I knew it.” He says, then he repeats it with more feeling. “I fucking knew it! I could feel you.” He taps his chest. “Here. I knew you weren’t gone.”

“I can’t believe you were right.” Sam says, but his disbelief has turned into a smile.

“I told you.” Dean says smugly as he rises from his chair. “I told you that he was going to come back.”

Sam stands too, beating Dean to Cas and wrapping him up in a hug. “He wouldn’t let go of you.” Sam murmurs into Cas’s ear. “He refused to budge even an inch.”

“I could feel it.” Cas answers, and then he taps his own chest as Sam pulls away. “Here.”

“Goddamn right you could.” Dean shoves Sam out of the way unceremoniously before reaching out to grab Cas by the face and pull him into a searing kiss. “Don’t ever pull that shit again.”

Later, after some twenty more kisses, Sam manages to ask what the hell actually happened. He asks how Dean knew, what they could both feel. And Cas explains— talking about his grace and Dean’s soul and how the bond they shared deepened into something entirely different. And he’s warmed from the inside out the whole time because Dean stands firmly at his side, a soft smile on his face as he rubs his chest and if he’s intentionally infusing warmth into Cas’s grace.

#just thoughts I couldn’t shake #like what if that’s how cas gets out of the empty #because some of his grace is still in Dean #supernatural #spn #destiel #deancas

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wncestnoir · 1 month ago

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i just read this line in a fic that said 'he doesn't think beyond sam' and bro. bro. that line—that’s literally the thesis statement of the entire damn show. like forget all the lore, forget heaven and hell and purgatory and god's weird little power trips. at the end of the day, it's just dean winchester with one (1) brain cell and it's shaped like sam.

like dean wakes up? thinks about sam. makes a decision? sam. goes to sleep? probably dreaming about sam dying and him failing to save him again. it’s always sam. his reason to fight, his reason to fall apart, his entire worldview is just sam-shaped.

he really built his whole identity around protecting sam. like you remove sam from the equation and dean is just standing there like a sims character whose last command got deleted. nothing else computes. he doesn’t know how to want things for himself, or think about the future unless it’s “me and sam in the Impala forever.”

sam is his purpose, his burden, his anchor, his cross to bear, his moral compass, his everything. it’s so much. he’s wrapped up in this constant loop of sam-worship and self-destruction and honestly? it’s tragic. and also insane. and also a little bit beautiful in a twisted soulmate-core way.

dean winchester does not have thoughts. he has sam. and that’s the show. that’s it. that’s supernatural.

#this man is canonically obsessed with his brother #and it's great #i love that for him #wincest #samdean #weirdcest #dean winchester #sam winchester #the epic love story of sam and dean

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melissa-kenobi · 7 months ago

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🎃 Kinktober 2024 🎃 Dean Winchester + Mirrors

Hii, to kick off Kinktober 2024, we've got Dean Winchester first.

Under 18s, DNI.

Warnings: Mirror Sex, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Size Kink, Breeding, Dean Winchester himself.

Word Count: 2.1K Words

🎃 Kinktober 2024 MasterList 🎃

***

Now, you weren't a huge fan of carnivals or circus' or theme parks or that whole gig, but Dean was beyond excited to go, and how could you say no to his cute face?

He had pleaded with you for days on end, begging you, cooking for you, taking care of you every single time.

Almost as if he was trying to bribe you.

And he was.

"Dean, honey?" You sidle up to him, kissing his cheek whilst he prepared a grilled cheese sandwich and some soup for you. Something he only ever did when you were sick, and you most definitely was not sick.

"Mmhh, yeah sweetheart?" Dean replied, quickly turning his head to capture your lips before he gave you a cheeky smirk.

You pat his bottom playfully before taking a seat on the countertop, "You know bribery isn't usually your strong suit."

"Isn't it?" Dean gives you a playful grin whilst plating up your food and sliding it over to you. You watch with bated eyes as he stands in between your legs and picks up the sandwich to feed you, "Take a bite princess."

You narrow your eyes at him before indulging in his request and leaning forwards to take a bite of the grilled sandwich. You had to hold back a moan as the cheese stretched apart from the sandwich and your mouth. Before you even had the chance to lick your lips, Dean was already kissing you and licking them for you.

"Good?" He asks smirking softly, knowing you enjoyed that.

"Meh, I've had better." You shrug nonchalantly, noticing his playful glare at you. You'd purposely made it a double meaning talking about other things, too. You hope down from the counter kissing his cheek and taking the plate of food with you, "Thanks honey."

"Wait- I thought you didn't like it?" He looks at you curiously.

"I don't." You smirk, making your way to the couch with a cheeky sway to your walk.

Dean lets out a little growl, which goes unheard by you, "I'll show you better, sweetheart, I'm the best you've ever had."

***

A week later, you had succumbed and got dragged with Dean to the circus/theme park he had given you those cute puppy dog eyes with his dimples, and you'd agreed.

Dean was beyond happy as he drove you, Sam, and Jess to the Circus. Sam sat in the back and leaned over to you, whispering, "Hey, what's got him so happy?"

You rolled your eyes and looked at Dean, who was singing along loudly to Highway to Hell, "He's happy because he dragged me along to the Circus even though he knows I don't like them."

Sam chucked as he patted your shoulder, "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll be fine."

Jess leaned over and whispered, "Don't worry, us girls will stick together."

You smiled as Jess patted your arm in a comforting gesture before moving back, only then to feel a hand on your thigh. You looked up at noticed Dean still singing along, but this time, he glanced over at you with a smirk on those sinful lips.

"And we're going doooownnn, all the waaayy...."

***

You and Jess did not stick together.

Dean had pulled you away from Sam and Jess and was constantly making you go on scary rides so you'd hold onto him and beg him for forgiveness. You were starting to think he liked the way you'd hold onto him for support and pray that he'd save you.

"I fucking hate you Dean!" You screamed as you squeezed his hand just as you saw the huge drop on the rollercoaster.

After 45 minutes of torture, Dean had bought you some food and had won a stuffed squirrel, which funnily enough reminded you of him.

"Look at him, he's so cute! He even has dimples like you and the little freckles!" You gushed over the plushie.

"Alright, give it here." Dean grumbles as he reached for it only for you to spin away from him.

"Hey! No! He's mine." You frowned, protecting your squirrel Dean.

"Sweetheart- give me the damn stuffed toy." Dean said in his deep voice.

You rolled your eyes, he knew that wouldn't work on you, not anymore, "You want it? Come and get me."

You giggled before running into a tent along with plushie Dean. What you hadn't realised was that it was closed and that it was a hall of mirrors. You know those creepy ones where if you take the wrong move, you bang your head into a mirror?

Yep. It was one of them ones.

"Y/N!" Dean called out your name before running in after you.

You ran around, surprisingly not bumping into any mirrors so far, but in one of the reflections, you saw a glimpse of Dean. You cursed under your breath, turning left only to bump straight something. You let out a yelp rubbing your forehead only to look and notice it wasn't a mirror you'd bumped into, it was Dean.

"Fuck!" You screamed as Dean tilted his down at you with a smirk.

You took a step back but everytime you took one back, Dean would follow through with one closer to you. Until you found yourself backed up against a mirror, Dean's chest pressed against your as he placed his hands by your head.

"Where are you going sweetheart? I've already found you." Dean smirks, reaching over to caress your cheek.

You stay quiet.

"Ah ah, you weren't so quiet earlier. Or even this past week." Dean says pressing his lower body against you, "You know, I think you enjoyed me being at your beck and call."

"Dean.." You mumble out, still holding onto plushie Dean.

"What baby?" Dean leans forward and presses a kiss to your neck, slowly moving his way down to your clavicle as his other hand unbuttons your shirt. "Tell me to stop-

"No!" You moan out a little too loudly- "Don't stop..."

Your words make Dean grin sinfully he bites your neck, leaving a mark "Hmm, what was that sweetheart? You want me to stop?"

"Dean.. no! Don't stop, fuck-" You moan out softly, dropping plushie Dean and wrapping your arms around Dean neck to pull him closer. "Fuck- I want you..."

The moment the plushie drops from your hands, Dean instantly smirks and thinks, 'I'm the only Dean in her life' and flips you around, pressing you against the mirror, "Look at how ready you are for me.."

Dean rips your shirt off your body and slings it away, making you let out a quiet gasp, "Dean my-

"Shush. No talking, princess. This is my reward for being at your beck and call for the past week. This is me showing you I'm the best you'll ever have."

His words ring a bell in your mind, but you're too distracted with the way his hands caress your breasts and push them together. Dean continues sucking at your neck before sliding a hand down your stomach and into your jeans and cupping your bare pussy.

"Fuck." He curses, feeling his cock strain against his own jeans, "Naughty fucking girl, no panties?"

You shudder as he slides a finger through your bare pussy, gently circling your clit. You can't help but grind your pussy against his finger, needing that friction, needing him, "I can feel how wet you are princess." Dean moans out, hips rutting against your ass.

"Dean-

He ignores you and slides his hand out of your jeans, and brings it to your lips, "Clean."

You immediately take his fingers into your mouth, closing your eyes as you taste yourself on his fingers, "Look at my dirty girl- tasting herself on my fingers."

He grips your chin with his free hand and makes you face the mirror, "Eyes open, baby. I want you to watch as I wreck your pussy. I want you to know I'm the only one who'll ever have your pussy, it's mine."

"But- Dean there's people-

"Ah- no. I don't care. You need a reminder of who you belong to and who looks after you." Dean growls, pulling your jeans down and slapping your cheeks. You jump forward, letting out a gasp, not expecting Dean to do that.

"Eyes open princess." Dean reminds you before sinking down to his knees and burying his face in your pussy. You scream out his name, eyes immediately closing, hands going to his hair to tug on it before Dean bites your thigh making your glance at the mirror where Dean sat between your legs.

"Don't make me ask again." He growls out in another warning.

You nod, keeping your eyes open this time, watching Dean through the mirror as he ate your pussy out. Constantly changing from sucking on your clit, to dipping his tongue in and out of your hole whilst moaning loudly. You watch as he swings one of your legs onto his shoulder, burying his face further into your pussy making you moan his name louder.

"Dean- ah I can't- I'm gonna-" You barely get to finish your sentence when Dean sucks harshly on your clit. His actions make your mind break, and your body softens in his grip as you reach your high, eyes rolling back into your head as you grip his hair tightly.

"Fuck you taste so good baby, best pussy I've ever had. Mine." Dean mumbles against your lower lips, eyes closed in pleasure as he gently laps up your juices and release.

You can't help but tug on his hair, wanting to see his face, his lips and mouth soaked on your juices, eyes filled with lust as he gazes at you in the mirror.

"So pretty." He moans as he looks at you through the mirror. He gives one last kiss to your pussy before standing up behind you. His jeans were at the bottom of his ankles, cock in hand whilst he pulled your hair back to kiss you.

You moaned wantonly into the kiss, tasting you on his lips, in his mouth everywhere.

"Sweet. My sweet princess, do you know how sweet you taste? Fuck I could stay here for days." He moans against your lips, tapping the tip of his cock against your pussy, gently hitting your clit. "God, I wanna stay here for days."

You gasp as he slides his cock between your thighs, rubbing it between them, eyes flicking to yours in the mirror as you watch his tip peak out between your thighs in the mirror. You purposely squeeze your thighs around his cock making Dean growl and bite your neck.

"Don't-" He warns just before pulling your hair making your head lean on his shoulder, "Don't test me."

"I want your eyes on my cock, watching how I pound your tight little cunt. My princess' tight little cunt." He orders you before pushing his cock in with a low growl.

You keep your eyes on his cock, watching and enjoying the way his cock fills your pussy so well. He pumps in and out slowly, almost torturing you. A ring of white lays around the base of his cock, making you moan at the sight. The way you cream around his cock makes you unintentionally squeeze him, wanting him to feel your walls tighten around his cock.

"Shit-" Dean moans your name before placing a hand on your lower stomach, "Fuck- don't do that-"

Dean presses down on your lower stomach, feeling a bump causing you to moan Dean's name lowly, "Ah, you're so deep..."

"Fuck fuck- I can feel my cock here-" Dean says softly, pushing against the slight bump making you squeeze him. Your eyes fall upon his hand, where his cock bulges your stomach out. You place a hand over his and moan.

"Dean..-"

"I know baby- eyes on me- I'm gonna-" He says when you squeeze around him again. He bites down on your neck and pumps his cock in and out of you in a torturously slow pace, wanting to make you break. He growls when you tremble around him.

"Dean- I'm gonna-" You're cut of by Dean growling your name and shoving you against the mirror and thrusting faster. A moan of Dean's name spills from your lips as you reach your high, Dean swiftly following after. His cock stilling as he fills your pussy with his cum.

Through the mirror, you meet Dean eyes, a smirk etched on his lips as he watches his cum leak out from the sides of your pussy.

"Mine." Dean finishes, kissing your neck, holding you possessively before kicking away the Dean plushie.

***

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural #kinktober #kinktober 2024

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shanastoryteller · 6 months ago

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Sam seems convinced this is going to work, but Dean’s pretty sure it’s just a load of crap. Bobby’s even more convinced that it’s a whole lot of nothing, although he had admitted that he couldn’t read every symbol that Sam had added to this mess up devil’s trap. That didn’t mean it would work. It just meant that Sam had thrown everything he could think into it.

The real reason that Dean is going along with this, and probably Bobby is too, is because it means that Sam wouldn’t be alone after Dean is dragged to hell. Although standing in the middle of Bobby’s junkyard in a mess of spray paint isn’t exactly how he’d wanted to spend the last hour of his life.

“You really think Lilith is going to show?” he asks. He doesn’t know why she would. She just has to send the hellhounds, who’s howls and yips Dean has been hearing for days. And those things have never been stopped by any sort of devil’s trap.

“Yes,” Sam says, tense, not looking at him.

That’s another thing. For weeks Sam has barely looked at him, barely talked to him. Which sucks, because he’d really wanted to spend the last weeks of his life just looking and talking to and spending time with his brother, but Sam hadn’t been interested in that. At all.

He shares a look with Bobby, who just shrugs, hands tight on his shotgun.

Then the hellhounds come, just like he knew they would, no Lilith in sight. “Sammy,” he says, reaching out for his brother. Not because he thinks he can do anything, but because he wants to touch Sam one last time, one last memory to sustain him through hell.

Sam snaps out his hand and the hellhounds go skittering back, letting out pained yowls.

Dean stares, not understanding. “What did you – wait. You can see them?”

Only he should be able to see them. He’s the one that made the deal.

Sam still won’t look at him, damnit, even as Dean fists his hand in the back of his shirt. Sam's voice is low and pained when he says, “I’m sorry.”

Fear clenches in his gut. But before he do anything, there are demons surrounding the devil’s trap, appearing one by one in Bobby’s junkyard. They’d needed to take down his protections so Lilith could get in, but they hadn’t expected this. Of course she brought a freaking audience.

“Which one of you is Lilith?” he barks out, dragging Sam behind him. He refuses to let the last thing he sees be his brother hurt, or worse.

Dozens of demons stand there, human vessels with pitch black eyes. The hellhounds whimper and slink around them, but don’t seem interested in getting any closer. Dean can’t blame them.

Sam pries his hand off of him, stepping away before Dean can grab onto him again. He leaves the safety of the devil’s trap, which is fucking stupid. Dean’s lunging forward to stop him, but then there’s Bobby’s arm holding him back, face pale with a horror Dean doesn’t understand. He hadn’t looked like that even at Cold Oak, when they’d seen the gates open to hell.

The demons bow.

He blinks, not understanding what he’s seeing.

Sam is standing there in front of them, no protections, and they’re all bowing to him.

Except one.

Ruby is there, stupid red leather jacket and blonde hair and the smirk he hates so much. She walks around the demons up to Sam, who’s face is cold and expressionless. “She’s coming.”

“I know,” he says. “If this doesn’t work, I’m going to kill you.”

“Promise?” she returns. “If this doesn’t work, death will be a mercy.”

Dean tries to push Bobby off of him, to get in between Sam and this bitch, but he doesn’t let go.

Then there’s a little girl in a white dress, head tilted to the side. “Something here belongs to me.”

Ruby flinches, stepping just slightly behind Sam.

“Not you,” she sneers. “You haven’t belonged to me in a long time, I fear. You really think that this boy can save you?”

“Sam,” Ruby says.

He sighs, like this is a trial, and raises his hand.

Lilith’s sneer drops from her face. Her upper body yanks forward, but her legs won't move. “You bastard,” she snarls, raising her hand in return, but nothing happens.

For the first time, fear flickers across her face.

Ruby steps forward, her own terror swallowed up by arrogance, by delight.

Dean tries to move, but finds he’s just as frozen as Lilith, even more so. He can’t twitch a single muscle. Going by Bobby’s unnatural stillness next to him, he assumes he’s in the same boat.

“Samuel is the heir of the light bringer,” Ruby says. “He has taken his birthright. You can’t touch him.”

What’s she talking about? What birthright?

What has Sam done?

“No,” Lilith snarls. “He’s nothing more than one of Azazel’s experiments.”

“A night, a full day, and then morning,” Ruby says. “That’s what he was. Then he rose on the third day.” She shoots a mocking look his way. “If it weren’t for his brother, he would have died nothing more than a failed experiment. But he has risen.”

No. What does that mean? What’s she saying? He had just wanted Sammy back.

Did he do this? Is this his fault?

“Ruby,” Sam says, a note of warning in his voice.

“Right, right,” she sighs. Then, back to gleeful, “Her eyes.”

Sam’s finger twitches and Lilith’s eyes bleed black tears.

She screams, the sound even worse because her vessel is a child.

Ruby lists thing after thing, pulling out her fingernails, peeling her skin. Her blood is black, none of it red, and the injuries shouldn’t really be hurting her but they clearly are. Dean watches helplessly as Sam tortures Lilith at Ruby’s command, enacting one terrible thing against her after another.

Lilith lies there, moaning, limbs broken, body in pieces.

“That’s enough,” Sam says.

“Enough?” Ruby hisses, turning to face him. “You know what she did to me! She – she–”

Sam’s stoic mask breaks, creasing in sympathy. Dean would prefer it wasn’t for a demon, for Ruby, but at least he now recognizes his brother. He raises his free hand to her head, his touch an oddly gentle counterpoint to everything he’s done to Lilith. “I know. But it’s enough.”

Tears glint in her eyes, just for a second, then she swallows and nods, stepping away from Sam’s hand.

He steps forward, crouching in front of Lilith. “You shouldn’t have come after my brother. Now we both have to live with the consequences.” His mouth twists. "So to speak."

Whatever she would have said in response is lost in her screams. Black smoke pours from her, then lights up, like a spark in steel wool, the fire moving through her reminding him almost of the Colt.

Lilith dies. Sam kills her, no Colt, no devil’s trap. Nothing but his own terrifying powers.

“Will you bow to me now?” he asks.

Ruby tears her eyes from Lilith’s corpse and her irritating fucking smirk slides back into place. “Now?” She steps closer, tilting her head back almost like she’s about to kiss him, then falls gracefully to her knees in front of him. It looks more like she’s about to give him a blowjob than a form of subservience, but he thinks that for a moment Sam almost seems amused. “I bowed to you first.”

“So you did,” he says softly. He raises his voice. “Move out. Casey. You know your job.”

“Yes, sire,” says one of the demons, voice almost familiar.

Then Sam’s walking away, Ruby just a step behind him. The other demons follow suit, the hellhounds not even glancing at Dean as they get caught up in the procession.

Sam still won’t look at him. He only sees the back of his brother’s head as he leaves him behind

The only demon left is Casey. He knows her, he recognizes her, the demon he’d been trapped with in that city full of sin, the one that Sam had shot and killed. He’d seen him kill her.

She gets to her feet, offering him a smile as she draws closer. “Hello, Dean. I bet you never thought you’d see me again.”

She steps right into the devil’s trap and presses a hand to him and Bobby each. As soon as she touches them, they’re able to move, darting away from her and leaving her stuck in the devil’s trap.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, wishing his voice wasn’t shaking, but he has more important things to worry about.

She turns to face them. “Samuel does not want you to die. He did what he had to do to ensure you wouldn’t.”

“The fuck you talking about?” Bobby asks gruffly.

“I told you back then I was ready to follow Sam,” she says, stepping out of the devil’s trap like it’s nothing, which she definitely shouldn’t be able to do. Bobby hadn't thought that this thing would be able to contain Lilith, but Casey’s nowhere near Lilith’s level. It should work on her just fine.

Bobby’s hand darts out, throwing holy water over her, but it doesn’t so much as steam.

She just looks amused. “That won’t work on me now. Neither will an exorcism, or any of the usual tricks. I have been purified.” She holds out her hand to Dean and it’s the Colt, the one that they’d lost when Bela sold it. “This is the only thing that will kill me now.”

“And you’re just handing it over?” Dean asks.

“I have my orders,” she says steadily. “Samuel wants you to have it.”

His entire body goes gold.

“What do you mean purified?” Bobby asks, shooting Dean a concerned look. “You’re a demon. Purifying you should kill you.”

“And was Lucifer a demon?” she asks. “I have taken the sacrament.”

Dean doesn’t know what that means, but Bobby’s expression shifts from disgust to shock to a horror filled curiosity. “You drank Sam’s blood?”

She did what?

“I have taken the sacrament,” she repeats, lifting her chin. “Samuel purified me.”

How the hell would Sam’s blood do that? Why had she drank it in the first place? She’s a demon, not a damn vampire. Dean pushes those questions aside and instead asks, “How are you even alive?”

“Samuel resurrected me,” she says. First he can kill demons, and now he can bring them back? “He knows we had a rapport and he thought it would be easier if it was me.”

“What would be easier?” he asks. His head is spinning and his heart hurts and he doesn’t understand anything that just happened. At least being dragged to hell would have been simpler.

She presses the Colt into his hands. “Samuel doesn’t want you to die. He knows this will be difficult for you, that you’ll make poor choices. I have my orders. I am to stay with you and keep you alive. We’re going to get to know each other very well, Dean.”

“Like hell,” he says gruffly, hand tightening as he takes the Colt and raises it to her head. “What’s to stop me from killing you?”

“The same thing that will stop you from killing Samuel,” she says and he flinches. “Nothing.”

He stares at her. He can’t bring himself to speak.

“You’ll have to hunt him down the old fashioned way,” she says casually. “But if you can find him, you can kill him. We’re all under orders not to touch you. Samuel won’t stop you if you want kill him. The same way I won’t stop you if you want to kill me.”

“Why?” he asks.

She shrugs. “It’s always been up to you, Dean. He trusts you. If you decide that he must die, then he’s willing to die.”

Dean sold his soul for him. He’s not going to fucking kill him.

But the Sam he sold his soul for wasn’t capable of doing that to Lilith. He wouldn’t have even wanted to be.

“What about your demon lover?” Dean asks, thinking of the priest that Casey had embraced and kissed, the demon she’d begged to spare Dean’s life before Sam had killed them both. “Sam bring him back too?”

Grief chases across her face before she smooths it away. “He will. If I am good, and obedient, and loyal, then Samuel will bring him back for me.”

Dean’s stomach rolls to hear Sam described like that, like some sort of tyrant or king. Like Dad. “You really believe that?”

Casey meets his gaze steadily as she echoes the words she’d said to him in that basement as she spoke of Lucifer, except now she’s talking about his brother. “I have faith.”

#children yearn for the original S3 ending #supernatural

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lila-lou · 8 months ago

Text

✨Taking her in - Pt. 1✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Underage Reader, Language

Word Count: 4536

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

Living with the Winchesters had been a strange yet oddly comforting experience. A few years ago, you were just a scared kid, barely surviving on your own after your mom passed away. The world was a cruel place, and you had learned that the hard way. But that night—when those men had cornered you, when you thought it was all over—Dean appeared out of nowhere like a guardian angel, though with a lot more anger and fire in his eyes.

You still remembered the way he looked after it was all over, standing over the bodies of those men, his breath heavy, his knuckles bruised. Dean Winchester was no stranger to killing, but that night had been different. These weren’t monsters. They were people. And yet, he had done what he had to do, without hesitation, to save you.

When he brought you to the bunker, you were too shocked to argue much. The bunker was unlike any place you’d ever known—safe, hidden from the world, and full of secrets you could never have imagined. Dean had said it was just until you got back on your feet, just until he was sure you were okay. But somehow, days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and now, years had passed.

You never talked about that night, not in detail. Sam had tried a couple of times, but you always shut him down. Dean never brought it up either. Maybe it was because you all knew there was nothing left to say. Or maybe it was because none of you wanted to face what it meant—that Dean had killed for you, that he had saved you in a way you couldn’t quite repay.

But despite the horrors you had faced before meeting the Winchesters, the bunker had become a home. It wasn’t like the life you had before, where survival meant scrapping by on whatever you could find, sleeping with one eye open. Here, you had a family. Dean and Sam—despite all their mess and chaos—had become the brothers you never had. They taught you everything you needed to know to protect yourself from the supernatural, but more than that, they showed you what it meant to have someone’s back, to care about someone even when the world was falling apart.

Now, your 18th birthday was coming up, and you couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions. Part of you felt like you should leave, like you should go out and start your own life. But another part of you—the part that had grown accustomed to the safety of the bunker, the warmth of the Winchesters—didn’t want to let go.

Even after all this time, the question still lingered in the back of your mind: why had Dean been so insistent on bringing you back to the bunker that night? It wasn’t like him to make such impulsive decisions, especially when it came to something as personal as taking in a stranger. Dean was a protector, sure, but he didn’t make a habit of dragging people into his life, especially not into the heart of the Winchesters’ world.

But with you, something had been different. Something had driven him to take that extra step, to bring you home, and even now, none of you could quite figure out why.

Dean had always been guarded, keeping his thoughts and emotions close to his chest. But from the moment he had found you, something had shifted in him. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. The way he watched over you, more protective than usual, always making sure you were okay, even when you didn’t want to admit that you needed it. Sam noticed it too, the way Dean would check in on you late at night when he thought no one was watching, or how he would get that distant look in his eyes whenever the topic of your past came up.

It wasn’t that he pitied you—Dean Winchester wasn’t the type to pity anyone. It was something else, something deeper. And yet, no matter how many times you tried to puzzle it out, you never came any closer to understanding what had driven him to act that night.

Dean never took you with them on a hunt, no matter how much you argued or tried to convince him that you were ready. It was frustrating, especially after all the training they’d put you through, drilling you on everything from how to banish a ghost to the proper way to handle a silver blade. The supernatural world had terrified you at first—so much so that, in the beginning, you’d freaked out so badly that Sam and Dean had to tie you down until you could calm yourself. But you’d learned, adapted, and eventually, you stopped being scared. At least, you stopped showing it.

Still, no matter how much you insisted that you were ready, Dean refused to let you join them on hunts. He was firm about it, more so than usual, and it always left you feeling like you were still that scared kid they’d found all those years ago.

Today, the frustration had reached a boiling point. You’d spent the day in the bunker, alone, while they were out doing what they did best. By the time you heard the familiar rumble of the Impala pulling into the garage, you were practically seething.

As soon as the garage door creaked open, you saw them—Dean, covered in blood, and Sam, looking equally worn out but less battered. You stood in the doorway, arms crossed, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice but failing miserably as you grumbled, “How was it?”.

Dean didn’t even look at you as he brushed past, his expression dark, a sure sign that things hadn’t gone smoothly. His usual easygoing demeanor was replaced by something sharper, more on edge, and that only made your frustration spike.

“Still a bit fucked up since I had to stay behind. Again”, you added, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Dean froze in his tracks, his back stiffening. He slowly turned to face you, and for a moment, you saw something flash in his eyes—something between anger and fear, though you couldn’t quite pin it down. His voice was low, almost a growl, when he finally spoke. “You think I want you out there? You think I’m keeping you here just for fun?”.

Sam, sensing the tension, glanced between the two of you, clearly torn between stepping in and giving you space to work it out. But he stayed silent, letting Dean handle it.

Your irritation flared. “I’ve been here for years, Dean. I know what’s out there, and I’m not some helpless kid anymore. I can handle myself”.

Dean’s jaw clenched, and he took a step closer, his voice dropping even lower. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not keeping you here because I don’t think you can handle yourself. I’m keeping you here because I don’t want you out there, getting hurt, or worse”.

You didn’t back down, meeting his glare head-on. “That’s not your decision to make, Dean. I’ve been through enough. I deserve to be out there, helping, not sitting around like some… liability”.

Dean’s face twisted into something almost pained, and for a second, you thought he might actually tell you what was really going on, why he was so adamant about keeping you out of the field. But then, just as quickly, the mask was back, and he shook his head, frustration radiating off him.

“Enough, Y/N”, he snapped, turning away from you again, as if the conversation was over. But you weren’t ready to let it drop.

“Yes, Dean, it’s enough!”, you shot back, stepping into his path. “You keep treating me like a kid, but I’m not. Why can’t you see that?”.

Dean’s eyes blazed as he glared at you, his face a mixture of anger something deeper, more desperate. His voice came out like a whip, sharp and cutting. “Go to your fucking room, Y/N!”.

For a moment, you were too stunned to respond. Dean had been angry before, sure, but this? This was different. The raw intensity in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, but instead of backing down, you found yourself standing your ground, defiance burning in your chest.

You raised your brows, trying to decide if you wanted to laugh at the absurdity of him ordering you around like a child, or scream at him for treating you like one. The corner of your mouth twitched upward despite the tension, and you could see the effect it had on him immediately. If Dean was pissed before, now he looked like he was barely holding himself together as he saw the hint of a smirk on your face. It was as if your defiance was the last thing holding him together, but also the thing threatening to tear him apart. His fists clenched at his sides, the knuckles still raw from whatever fight he and Sam had just returned from, and for a moment, you thought he might actually lose it.

But instead of yelling again, instead of pushing further, he just closed his eyes for a brief second, taking a deep breath as if trying to regain control. When he opened them again, his expression had shifted—still intense, but with an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite place. Pain? Fear? It was hard to tell.

The air in the room seemed to crackle with tension as Dean’s voice, low and dangerously calm, filled the space. “I fucking swear, Y/N, if you won’t go to your fucking room now, I’m gonna lose my shit”. The words were delivered with such a raw, barely contained fury that it made your breath hitch in your throat. You’d never seen him like this before, not even during the worst of hunts or the most heated arguments. Even Sam, who had seen Dean at his worst, looked shocked—his eyes widening in surprise and concern as he watched his brother teeter on the edge.

For a moment, you stood frozen, unsure of how to respond. Part of you wanted to push back, to keep fighting, but the other part—the part that had spent the last few years learning to read Dean, understanding the depths of his pain and the limits of his patience—knew that this wasn’t the time. The way his chest heaved, the tightness in his jaw, the wild look in his eyes… He was hanging by a thread, and if you pushed him any further, you weren’t sure what would happen.

Your smirk faded as the seriousness of the situation sank in. You weren’t just in the middle of an argument anymore; you were standing at the edge of something far more dangerous. The fight left your body all at once, replaced by a heavy, sinking feeling in your gut.

“Okay”, you said, the defiance in your voice replaced with something calmer, more measured. You held your hands up in a gesture of surrender, trying to show him that you understood, that you were backing down. “I’ll go”.

Dean didn’t say anything, just watched you with those burning eyes, his fists still clenched so tight you could see the muscles straining in his forearms. He looked like as if the smallest thing might set him off.

You walked away without another word, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly down the hallway as you left Dean and Sam alone in the heavy silence of the bunker. The tension you left behind was palpable, thick enough that it seemed to hang in the air, making it difficult to breathe.

Sam watched you go, his brow furrowed with concern, before turning his attention back to Dean. His brother was still standing in the same spot, fists clenched at his sides, his entire body taut as if he was ready to snap at any moment. Sam knew Dean well enough to recognize when he was dangerously close to the edge, and right now, he was teetering on it.

“Dean”, Sam started cautiously, his voice low and calm, trying to diffuse the tension. “You need to take a breath, man. You’re too worked up”.

Dean didn’t respond immediately. His eyes were still locked on the spot where you had just stood, his mind clearly racing with thoughts he couldn’t quite articulate. It wasn’t until Sam took a step closer, placing a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder, that Dean seemed to snap out of whatever dark place his mind had gone.

“Dean, talk to me”, Sam urged, his voice soft but insistent. “What’s really going on?”.

Dean’s eyes finally met Sam’s, and for a moment, it looked like he might shut down entirely. But then, as if the weight of everything he was holding inside became too much to bear, his shoulders slumped, and he let out a long, shaky breath.

“I’m losing it, Sam”, Dean admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, raw and stripped of all its usual bravado. “I’m losing it with her”.

Sam tightened his grip on Dean’s shoulder, his concern deepening. “What do you mean?".

Dean shook his head, his gaze dropping to the floor. “She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand how dangerous this life is. I can’t… I can’t let her go out there, Sam. Not her”.

Sam sighed, understanding more clearly now what was eating away at his brother. “Dean, I get it. You’re scared. But Y/N’s not a kid anymore. She’s strong, and she’s been through a lot. You can’t keep her locked up here forever”.

But that was exactly the point, and it gnawed at Dean in a way he couldn’t fully comprehend—or maybe just didn’t want to. He didn’t want to accept the fact that you weren’t a kid anymore, that you were growing up right in front of him. Every day that brought you closer to your 18th birthday was like a ticking clock in the back of his mind, counting down to a moment he wasn’t ready to face.

No one knew how Dean really felt about you. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he understood it himself. From the moment he had saved you years ago, something had shifted inside him. He could still remember the look in your eyes that night, the way your fear had melted into a kind of cautious trust as you looked up at him, and how, in that instant, his heart had clenched in a way it hadn’t in years.

He’d buried those feelings deep, refusing to acknowledge them, convincing himself it was nothing more than a protective instinct. You were just a kid, after all, someone who needed looking after, someone who had no one else in the world. And Dean was good at protecting people—that was what he did, what he had always done. But as the years passed, that simple instinct grew into something more complicated, something that twisted inside him, especially as you grew older.

Dean knew he was teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t afford to explore. You were still so young, and he had no business feeling anything for you beyond what a protector should feel. But now, with your 18th birthday looming, the reality was hitting him harder than he ever anticipated. Soon, you’d be legally grown up, able to make your own choices, live your own life. And the thought of losing you to that, of not being able to keep you safe the way he had for the past years, was driving him crazy.

Sam’s words echoed in his mind—You can’t keep her locked up here forever. He knew Sam was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept. Deep down, he was terrified. Not just of the dangers you’d face out there, but of what it would mean if he had to face the truth of his own feelings. Feelings that he had buried so deep that even he couldn’t fully acknowledge them, but that were starting to claw their way to the surface.

“Dean”, Sam’s voice broke through his thoughts, grounding him. “You have to let her grow up. She’s strong enough to handle this, and you know it. What are you so afraid of?”.

Dean swallowed hard, his throat tight. He could feel the storm of emotions churning inside him, but he couldn’t let them out. Not to Sam, not to anyone. He forced himself to meet Sam’s gaze, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was an edge of desperation he couldn’t quite hide.

“I just… I can’t let anything happen to her, Sam”.

“I get that, Dean. But she’s got a right to make her own choices. You can’t keep treating her like she’s still that scared kid you found years ago”.

Dean didn’t want to think about it any longer. The more he let his mind wander down that dangerous path, the more tangled and twisted his thoughts became, until it felt like he was drowning in them. The knot in his chest tightened, and the walls of the bunker suddenly felt too close, too confining.

“I’m gonna take a shower”, he muttered, the words coming out gruff and clipped, as if speaking them was a chore. Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and headed for the bathroom, his footsteps heavy and deliberate as if each step required more effort than it should.

Sam watched him go, concern etched into every line of his face. He wanted to follow, to press Dean further, but he knew his brother well enough to recognize when he needed space. This was something Dean had to work through on his own, at least for now.

Dean’s mind was still racing as he reached the bathroom. He closed the door behind him with a little more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the small space. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The man looking back at him was a mess—bloodstains on his shirt, smudges of dirt and grime on his face, and eyes that looked far more exhausted than they should.

He tore his gaze away from the mirror, not wanting to face the reality of what he saw there. Instead, he focused on the mundane task of stripping off his clothes, each movement deliberate and methodical, trying to find some semblance of control in the routine.

The hot water hit his skin like a scalding wave, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he welcomed the burning sensation, hoping it might somehow wash away the thoughts that were eating him alive. But no matter how hard he tried to focus on the physical sensation of the water, his mind kept drifting back to you—how you had looked at him with defiance and hurt in your eyes, how you had walked away without another word.

Dean leaned his head against the cool tiles of the shower, letting the water cascade over him, trying to drown out the thoughts that wouldn’t leave him alone.

He rubbed his face hard. The tension in his body only seemed to tighten with every second. Frustration bubbled up inside him as he blindly reached for the nearest bottle of shower gel, squeezing a generous amount into his hand. But the moment the sweet scent of vanilla hit his nose, his body reacted instantly, and not in the way he intended.

His breath hitched, and he cursed under his breath as blood rushed down to his crotch, his body betraying him in a way that made his skin crawl with shame. It was your scent—soft, warm, and undeniably you. The same scent that clung to the spaces you frequented in the bunker, that lingered faintly in the air whenever you passed by. He’d never let himself acknowledge how much that scent affected him before, how it seemed to wrap around his senses and pull him into thoughts he had no business having.

Dean’s hand tightened around the bottle, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to control the unwanted arousal that surged through him. He didn’t want this—didn’t want to feel this way, didn’t want to be the kind of man who thought about someone he was supposed to protect like this. But the scent was inescapable now, filling his lungs, invading his mind, and dragging him down a path he had tried so hard to avoid.

“Damn it!", he muttered, slamming the bottle back down on the ledge with more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the steamy space. His free hand pressed against the tile wall. He closed his eyes, trying to force himself to think of anything else—anything but the way your scent clung to him now, making him think of how close you were, just a few rooms away.

But his mind wasn’t cooperating. Images of you kept flashing in his mind—your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you were teasing him or Sam, the way your body moved with a confidence that had grown over the past years. He could see the way you looked at him, the mix of frustration and something else in your eyes, something that made his heart stutter in his chest. And no matter how much he tried to push it away, those thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut tighter, the guilt and shame mixing with the undeniable need that was pulsing through him. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were someone he cared about, someone he was supposed to look after, not someone he was supposed to feel like this about. But the more he tried to deny it, the stronger the pull became, the harder it was to ignore the way his body responded to you.

“Get it together”, he growled to himself, trying to will his body to calm down, to stop reacting to something that should have never been an issue in the first place. But it was no use. The scent of vanilla was too strong, too intertwined with the image of you, and the more he tried to fight it, the more he felt like he was losing control.

Desperation clawed at him as he turned the shower knob, the water suddenly turning ice-cold. The shock of it hit him like a punch to the gut, but he welcomed it, hoping the frigid temperature would snap him out of whatever trance he had fallen into. The cold water rushed over his skin, causing goosebumps to rise and his muscles to tense.

His hand still pressed against the wall, Dean leaned his forehead against the cold tiles, letting the water beat down on him as he tried to focus on anything but the ache that was building in his body. He needed to get control, needed to shove these feelings back into the box he had locked them. But it was harder than he had expected—so much harder than it should have been.

Minutes passed, the cold water numbing his skin. Eventually, his breathing slowed, and the intensity of the arousal began to fade, leaving behind a cold, hollow feeling that settled in his chest. He felt like he’d crossed a line, even if only in his mind, and the shame of it was almost unbearable.

Finally, when Dean couldn’t stand the cold water anymore, he shut it off and leaned back against the shower wall, his breath coming in slow, steadying gasps. The biting chill had done its job, numbing his skin and, to some extent, dulling the raw edge of his thoughts, though the shame lingered like a bad taste in his mouth.

For a moment, he just stood there, eyes closed, trying to push everything out of his mind. He knew he needed to get a grip on himself, to regain some semblance of control before he faced you or Sam again. The last thing he wanted was to let them see just how close to the edge he was, how badly he was fighting to keep everything in check.

With a deep breath, Dean grabbed his own bottle of shower gel and squeezed a small amount into his hand, the familiar scent of cedar and spice grounding him. He lathered it up quickly, scrubbing his skin with a kind of urgency, as if he could wash away not just the grime from the hunt, but the thoughts that had crept into his mind uninvited. He repeated the process with his shampoo, letting the suds rinse away the last remnants of the day, trying to focus on the simple, repetitive motions.

Dean finished rinsing off and turned the water off with a sense of finality. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, then stood in the small, steamy bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror once more. His face was flushed from the hot and cold water, his hair damp and tousled, but it was the look in his eyes that bothered him the most.

He looked… haunted. Like a man fighting a battle he knew he couldn’t win. And maybe that was exactly what was happening. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, to push it down, the feelings he had for you were there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for a moment of weakness to break free.

But he couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t. You deserved better than that—better than him. You were young, strong, full of potential, and you had a life ahead of you that didn’t need to be weighed down by his baggage. By his feelings.

Dean clenched his jaw, forcing those thoughts back down, locking them away in that box inside his mind where he kept everything that threatened to break him. He couldn’t afford to dwell on it, couldn’t afford to let himself slip. He had a job to do, and that was protecting you, keeping you safe.

With that final, resolute thought, Dean wrapped the towel tighter around his waist and opened the bathroom door. His mind was still racing, but he forced himself to focus on the immediate task—getting dressed, getting his head on straight, and burying these unwanted feelings deep where they couldn’t hurt anyone.

———————————

A/N: After I already started a damn long story for Jensen and Soldier Boy, here's one for Dean.

Please let me know what you think.🥰

Part 2

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @ladykitana90 @fullbelieverheart @chainsawsangel @zaratahir @rebecca-hvnstn @maackiimoo

#jensen ackles #dean and sam #dean winchester fic #dean winchester #dean x y/n #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #taking her in

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happy74827 · 1 year ago

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The Demon With A Heart

[Crowley x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When Crowley saves your life, you can't help but think it was a little more than self-interest.

WC: 1858

Category: 99.9% Sexual Tension (lmfao), 0.01% Fluff + Angst? {TW: Mentions of Demons (obvi), Murder}

Crowley is too iconic not to have fics. I said what I said.

『••✎••』

You didn’t know how to react. It was as if your tongue was taken away, and you couldn’t talk, no matter how much you wanted to thank the man.

No, the demon.

You stood there with wide eyes, staring at the King of Hell, Crowley. He looked the same as before: a clean suit, a snarky comment, and a look of disgust on his face. But, instead of being on the opposite side, he was wiping the blood off of the angel blade he used to kill the angel that jumped you.

He just saved you—The King of Hell.

The very man who told Sam and Dean countless times that he doesn't do anything for free and doesn’t help people without getting something out of it. Yet, here he was, standing in front of you, not asking for a single thing.

The thought was a bit unsettling.

"Purely out of self-interest, darling," He says, breaking the silence and putting the stolen blade into his jacket. "Call it a favor that I plan to collect in the future."

He was about to leave, but you couldn’t let him go. Not without a thank you, at least. You didn't want him to think you didn’t appreciate what he did.

"Crowley."

The man turns back around, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

"Thank you."

The corner of his mouth turned upward, forming a small smirk. He didn’t say anything but rather kept his eyes on you for a second longer. He then disappeared, leaving you in the dark.

And it did leave you in the dark. For days, weeks, months. He never came for that favor, and he never brought up what happened. In fact, he barely talked to you at all. It was always towards the Winchesters.

You began to believe it was nothing but a dream. That Crowley somehow didn't save you. The angel was a fake, and this was all some sick joke. It felt like gaslighting.

But you knew what happened was real. You remembered the blood splatter and the dead corpse. The way his face contorted when he pierced the angel's heart.

It was all too real.

So, why was he ignoring you? Why did he pretend that it never happened? Was he going to hold it over your head? Or was it just the fact that the King of Hell did something nice for a human?

Was it because he… cared?

One night, you got your answer. It was a quiet night filled with books, tea, and soft music. At least, it was before those idiotic brothers decided to tear down the bunker in search of some book.

You couldn’t remember the exact reason they needed it, but you were too tired to argue. So, you stayed in your room and tried to fall asleep.

That is until the lights went out and the emergency lights kicked on. Okay, now you were annoyed. You got up, slipped on your shoes and a coat, and walked out of your room.

"Alright, what did you two-"

You paused mid-sentence, eyes falling onto the figure in the library. The man was facing the opposite way, but you knew exactly who it was. The familiar black suit and hair gave it away.

"Crowley…"

"Hello, Darling,” he replied, turning around and smiling at you. It was almost unnerving. He didn’t have a malicious aura or even an evil one. Just... a smile.

You looked behind him and noticed… well, nothing. You were expecting the Winchesters to be with him, and yet, it was just him.

"Where are the boys?"

"Moose and Squirrel? Ah, they're off somewhere, doing... well, you know. Something heroic, I suppose. Figured I’d stick around… enjoy the scenery."

That’s when you looked up and understood what he meant. He was stuck, quite literally. Those devil traps they put everywhere finally did something good.

You half-expected him to bring up that 'favor' he was talking about or maybe even just demand to get out of there, but he did neither. Instead, he looked at the ground and sighed.

At the moment, the King of Hell looked just like a caged puppy, sad and alone. If he wasn’t such a… demon, you might have even felt bad for him.

But, you left him in there, strolling along to the kitchen to find some kind of light. You were not giving up your two hours of reading due to power loss.

As you shuffled through the cabinets, looking for any form of match or lighter, the lights flickered back on.

So that’s where the Winchesters were.

You shrugged and turned back to your room but stopped at the entrance to the library. Crowley was still there, but this time, his face was twisted. He was clearly pissed.

"Why did you do it?" The burning question you wanted answered for months finally came out. Crowley stopped his little fit and turned towards you, a confused expression on his face.

He looked like he had no idea what you were talking about.

"I do a lot of things, Chipmunk. You'll have to be more specific."

You walked towards him, resting down the candles and book on a nearby table. You didn’t know why, but the need to confront him was growing.

"Save me all those months ago."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

You were getting closer, now only a few feet from him. Crowley, however, didn’t back away. Instead, he watched as you moved, his expression unchanging.

"That angel could’ve killed me, yet you came out of nowhere and stabbed him. I know you don't do anything out of kindness, so why did you do it? What do I offer that no one else does?"

Crowley stayed silent for a while, not giving any indication of answering your questions.

You thought it was just a lost cause until his expression changed. It was subtle, but you caught it. The corner of his mouth turned down, and his eyes widened, then narrowed.

He almost looked ashamed.

"It's just like I said. Self-interest." He spat out, his voice sounding like venom. You almost took a step back. It still sounded like the same old Crowley, but his tone was different.

You decided to call his bluff.

"I don't believe you."

Crowley raised an eyebrow, a smirk coming across his face. He was amused by the sudden attitude, but it didn’t last long.

"And what makes you say that?"

"I saw the way you looked at me after you saved me. Hesitancy, almost. Like you were unsure. As if..."

The King of Hell stared at you, waiting for the last part of your statement. He was eager but not for the answer. No, he knew what you were going to say.

He was just waiting to hear it come out of your mouth.

"You care."

Those words hung in the air, both of you processing it. Crowley continued to stare at you, the smirk disappearing, leaving his face neutral. He had a blank expression.

A silence grew, the atmosphere turning awkward. It wasn't until the demon let out a loud sigh and looked to the side that it was broken.

"You’re really pulling on the heartstrings, Chipmunk,” he muttered, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "If I had one, I'd say it was aching."

"Do you?"

You knew what you were implying. Crowley was the King of Hell, the ruler of the damned. He was the furthest thing from human, yet he could walk among them and, sometimes, be mistaken for one.

Was it possible for him to be human or even have emotions?

Crowley looked at you and frowned, clearly not liking the topic. But he didn't deny it. It was a strange sight—the King of Hell, frowning and silent.

It was almost adorable.

"I'm not asking for anything. I just… want an honest answer."

"Well, I am a demon, love,” He stated, his tone changing to a more playful one. “Honesty isn’t quite in the job description."

"Crowley."

You were starting to get impatient, and it showed. Your voice was firm, and your posture was tense. You wanted an answer, and you were determined to get it.

The demon in question let out another sigh and looked at the ceiling as if praying for a quick escape.

"You're a pain, you know that? It's exhausting." He grumbled, rolling his eyes. "But, I suppose, since you asked nicely..."

The man looked at you, his lips pursed. He was still hesitating, which only made you more curious.

"Yes, I care. About you. Happy?"

You blinked a few times, processing the information. Did the King of Hell, the person known for not giving a shit, just admit he cares?

"I-" You started, not knowing what to say. It was a surprise but not an unwelcome one. Crowley wasn't exactly a bad guy, well, a demon.

"Do you actually mean that?"

"Now that…" Crowley started, his voice low and deep. He leaned towards you, making you back up, but the wall soon prevented you from going any further.

He was inches away, his breath hitting your face. You could see his eyes staring into yours—a pretty brown, like a mocha latte.

"…Is the kind of question that will get you in trouble, love."

You weren’t sure what he was planning, but you didn't care. The way his eyes were looking at you, the smirk on his face, the closeness...

He was probably expecting you to back away, but he was wrong. You were an avid reader, obsessive even. This scene wasn't new, nor was it shocking.

The only shocking part was the fact that you were the one in it. And, well, the fact that you didn’t mind it.

"Unlike you,” you whispered, a small smirk on your face. "I don’t care."

Your response made him pause for a moment, squinting his eyes and giving you a confused look. It only lasted a few seconds, though. Soon, he understood, and a chuckle escaped his lips.

"Touché"

You truly believed you were about to lose your chance with the man upstairs, but loud footsteps interrupted you.

"Crowley, you slimy son of a bitch! If you’re not here, we are going to-"

Dean stopped talking as he rounded the corner, seeing you and Crowley close. His expression was shocked, almost comical.

"The hell is going on here?"

You and Crowley both turned to look at Dean, a look of annoyance on the King of Hell's face. Sam came around the corner as well, sharing the same look of confusion.

Crowley gave you one last glance, a bit of disappointment in his eyes, before taking a step back. His attention moved on to the two hunters, his usual smile returning.

And despite the annoyance in the air and the confusion, the only thing that came across your mind was another question that you were sure would take control of your sleep schedule once again.

"Hello, boys," He purred, his arms moving to his side. He was back to his old self, not showing a single sign of what happened moments ago.

Had the beauty thawed the beast?

1K notes · View notes

fatecantstopme · 1 year ago

Text

What I'd Give

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus size!reader

Summary: When Dean is gravely injured on a hunt, (Y/N) makes a deal to save him--a deal that might just cost her everything.

Warnings: canon violence, swearing, mentions of death/dying. SMUT, dom/sub vibes, choking kink, overstimulation, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V)

You screamed helplessly as you watched your best friend and fellow hunter be thrown from the window across the room. You'd just managed to stab the demon you were fighting a mere second before you heard the breaking of glass.

You yanked the angel blade out of the demon's chest and ran straight towards the demon who'd just tossed your friend out the window. You stabbed the demon in the back, bringing an end to the fight.

You looked out the window and saw the horrific scene three stories down. Your heart clenched in your chest as you raced to the stairs, making it outside in record time.

"Dean!" you cried as you reached his broken body. "No, no, no, no..."

You were almost afraid to touch him--afraid to search for a pulse and not find one. You exhaled sharply and pulled yourself together, placing a firm hand against his neck. You could feel a very weak pulse beneath your fingertips and you knew he was in trouble.

The fall had certainly broken some bones and he likely had internal injuries of some kind. The glass from the window had sliced his skin in a million places, and you were worried he would have severe head trauma as well.

Normally, you would call out to Castiel and he would come running to save Dean, but this wasn't a normal day. Cas had been missing in action for weeks, and neither you nor the Winchesters knew where he was.

Dean's safety--his survival--depended solely on you. The two of you had been hunting alone, while Sam was out helping Garth on a different hunt. You'd hunted together countless times, but neither of you had ever been this seriously injured.

You knew he was dying--as surely as if there was a neon sign screaming "death!" above his head. You couldn't stand the thought of losing him, so you made a decision that would change your life.

"Anyone who's listening, I need your help," you called out. "Please...I will do anything...just save him."

You waited in silence for a few moments, hoping against hope someone would hear your call and take pity on you. You weren't exactly on good terms with most angels, but you couldn't help but hope at least one of them would care.

You heard the soft flap of wings that always signaled the arrival of an angel and you looked up hopefully. You inhaled sharply when your eyes met the glowing red eyes of the man who had come to rescue you--or should you say, archangel.

"Well hello, (Y/N). It's nice to see you again."

"Lucifer," you hissed lowly.

"In the flesh!"

"What are you doing here?"

"I heard your call," he said simply. "And well, let's be honest, no one else is coming to help you."

"Did you come here to gloat?"

"Of course not. Even I'm not cruel enough to find joy in the death of Dean Winchester."

"Then why did you come?"

"To save him, obviously."

Surprise lit up your face. Out of all the responses you'd expected, that hadn't been on the list. "Pardon?"

Lucifer smiled darkly. "For a small fee, of course."

"Ahh," you acknowledged. "That sounds more like it. What do you want?"

"Nothing too extravagant."

"Lucifer..." you growled.

"As you can see, this vessel isn't doing so well." He gestured to himself and you had to admit, he looked like absolute shit. "In fact, it's dying...which means I'm in need of a new one."

"Absolutely not," you said instantly. "He would never say yes to you."

Lucifer smirked. "I wasn't referring to him."

Your eyes widened. "I'm not an archangel vessel," you whispered.

"No, but you are a vessel. And I think you're strong enough to contain me long enough to find me a better one."

You swallowed thickly. There was no way you were going to agree to this...you knew what being an archangel's vessel would do to you and you weren't exactly interested in being strapped to a nuclear bomb.

"No," you said firmly.

"Suit yourself," he said with a shrug. "But just remember, Dean's death will be on your hands now."

You exhaled in defeat as you looked down at the man in your arms. You knew he was close to death--no hospital would be able to save him. Lucifer was your only option.

"Save him first," you whispered.

Lucifer smirked, knowing he'd won. "I would, (Y/N), but this vessel is simply too weak. I would need your body in order to save him."

You looked up into his dark eyes and considered his words. "I don't trust you."

"You would be a fool to trust me after all we've been through. However, I need you...and I need Dean alive and well to help me find an archangel vessel. Possessing you is a good motivator for him."

You clenched your jaw as you thought about your options. It took you mere moments to realize you didn't have any. You would rather die than allow Dean to...so your decision was made in an instant.

"Fine," you murmured softly. You looked up at the monster standing before you and exhaled slowly. "Yes," you breathed.

Lucifer wasted no time--immediately exiting his vessel and entering your body, taking over in an instant.

It was painful, feeling his energy within you, and you knew with absolute certainty you wouldn't be surviving this--no way in hell.

To your surprise, you were fully aware of everything happening around you. You could still see and hear--but you had no control over your body in any way.

Lucifer--you--reached out to Dean and touched him. Your palms began to glow and you watched the various wounds on his body heal quickly. His bright green eyes slowly blinked open and he looked up at you in surprise and confusion.

"What happened?" he groaned.

"You got tossed out a window," your voice said, though it was not you speaking.

Dean sat up and rubbed at his head. He looked down at himself, clearly surprised by his lack of serious injuries. "I fell three stories down..."

You nodded.

"How am I not dead?"

You felt your lips curl into a smile--a slightly cruel smile you knew was not your own. "You're welcome."

Dean's eyes narrowed in confusion. "What?"

Unbeknownst to you, your eyes began to glow red, alerting Dean to the presence of someone else in your body--and there was only one creature you knew whose eyes glowed red.

"Lucifer?" Dean yelled angrily.

"The one and only," he replied.

"How the hell...why are you...where's (Y/N)?"

"Oh she's right here," he said with a smile, tapping the side of your head. "Watching and listening like a little creep."

"Well it is my head, you asshole," you mumbled.

"Doesn't mean it's not creepy," Lucifer's voice hissed inside your mind.

You didn't like the idea that Lucifer could hear your thoughts and speak to you like that...and it made you wonder what else he could see within your mind.

"Everything," he teased darkly.

"Fuck."

"Get the hell out of her body," Dean growled.

"Not a chance, buck-o. (Y/N) was kind enough to invite me in, so I think I'll stay a while."

Dean pulled an angel blade out of his back pocket and pointed it at you. You knew he would never use it if it meant killing you too. It was an idle threat and Lucifer knew it.

Lucifer simply laughed. "You're not going to use that, so put it away."

"Get out of her and I won't have to."

"Oh please, you won't kill her."

Dean's expression remained impassive, but you could see his resolve waning. You knew him too well to miss the small tells. Unfortunately, that meant Lucifer knew him just as well.

"Let's make this easy on ourselves," he began. "Everything (Y/N) knows, I know. Every memory, every thought, every feeling, everything. So put the damn blade down before I have to break your arm."

You could see the anger on Dean's face, but he lowered the blade and slipped it back inside his jacket. "Why the hell did she invite you in?"

"You were about 5 minutes from death and she couldn't save you."

"So what, she called out to you?" Dean asked in disbelief.

"She called out to everyone...I'm just the only one who responded." You felt your eyes glance around in slight concern. "Speaking of, we should probably get out of here, just in case."

Dean nodded and lead the way to the Impala, which was parked a short distance away. You got into the passenger seat like usual and you saw Dean tense up at your proximity. He clearly didn't like the idea of the Devil riding shotgun.

"So why did you heal me?"

"I need your help," Lucifer admitted.

"What makes you think I'd ever help you?"

"I knew you wouldn't, which is why I convinced (Y/N) to let me have her body for a little while."

"Convinced?"

"I may have told her a little white lie--that my old vessel was too weak for me to save you. She didn't exactly offer herself up, but she didn't fight very hard when she realized I was her only option."

"You slimy son of a bitch," you growled.

"I'm the devil, (Y/N). What did you expect?"

"You son of a bitch," Dean mumbled, echoing your sentiments. "What exactly do you want from me?"

"I need to find an actual archangel vessel. I'm getting tired of jumping from vessel to vessel...they keep burning out. It's rather tiresome."

"Well you're not touching Sam, or me for that matter."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he insisted. "I know there are others out there, but I need someone with your connections to help me locate one."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "My connections?"

"Well, Bobby Singer's connections, really...but the best way to him is through you, and the best way to you is through her."

Dean exhaled angrily. You knew he was mad at you just as much as he was mad at Lucifer. You were surprised he hadn't given you an earful yet, even with Lucifer listening in.

"Fine," Dean grumbled. "But the moment we find you a vessel, I want you out of her body. Do you understand me?"

"Perfectly," Lucifer answered.

"Now just sit there quietly until we get to Bobby's, understand? I want absolute silence."

"Well that's boring--"

"I can't stand hearing you speak with her voice, okay? So shut up."

Lucifer smirked, but fell silent, deciding instead to annoy you.

"He's mad at you, isn't he?"

"I said yes to you...of course he's mad."

"Does he know?"

"Know what?"

"How you feel about him?"

"I would really like you to shut the hell up now, Lucifer," you hissed.

"But I'm so bored," he whined.

"I don't give a damn and neither does Dean. It's about 2 hours to Bobby's place...can you be silent for 2 hours?"

"Fine," he grumbled. "It'll give me more time to dig around in your brain anyway..."

"Shit--no!"

You tried to shut him out of your mind as best as you could, but you could still feel him rooting around in your head...making himself at home and digging into memories and thoughts and feelings that were never meant to be shared with another soul.

**********

"What an unsightly place," Lucifer grumbled as he--you--followed Dean up the stairs to Bobby's door.

Dean shot an annoyed glare in your direction, but didn't comment.

"Bobby!" he called as he entered the house.

Bobby came into view and offered you both a tired smile. "Hey you two. What brings you to Sioux Falls?"

"We were close by on a hunt and now we need your help," Dean answered.

"Sure. Come on in."

Neither you, nor Lucifer, had said a word of greeting to Bobby, which struck the older man as odd.

"You alright, (Y/N)?"

"Oh I'm just peachy," your voice answered.

Bobby's eyes narrowed at you, immediately noticing your voice was off. Besides, you didn't tend to talk to Bobby like that.

Before Bobby could question you, Dean spoke up. "We need to find an archangel vessel...as fast as possible."

Bobby stared at him for a moment. "Dean, you are an archangel vessel."

"Yeah, well I need one to house the devil--and it ain't gonna be me or Sam."

"Why the hell do you need a vessel for Lucifer?"

Your hand reached out and tapped Bobby on the shoulder. Judging by Bobby's shocked expression, you assumed your eyes were once again glowing red. Bobby quickly took a step back, looking between you and Dean in confusion.

"It's a long story," Dean muttered. "But I don't want him riding shotgun in (Y/N)'s head any longer than necessary, so we need to find him another vessel."

"Preferably before this current one starts to rot from the inside out," Lucifer added.

"Seriously, Lucifer?"

"Well that is essentially what happens, you know. I wouldn't want to damage such a pretty face."

"Oh fuck off," you grumbled.

"Why in god's name would she say yes to you?" Bobby asked angrily.

"To save my life, okay?" Dean snapped. "Look--we don't have time for this. I need your help to find another vessel. Please."

Bobby sighed and crossed the room to his desk, which was covered in books and papers--an organizational system only Bobby understood. He eyed you warily, but he didn't comment on the situation further.

"I assume you know how to find an archangel vessel," Lucifer commented.

"Perhaps you could enlighten me," Bobby responded.

Lucifer sighed and began to tell Bobby what he needed to look for. You ignored the words coming from our own mouth, instead focusing on Dean. You could see how upset he was and it made you feel incredibly foolish. You hated seeing him like this, but you didn't regret your decision. The mere fact he was alive to be angry made this whole thing worth it.

"How long do you think it'll take?" Dean asked, interrupting your thoughts.

"A week or two--maybe a little more," Bobby answered.

Dean looked in your direction, eyeing you with concern. "Will (Y/N) last that long?"

"Might wanna keep it closer to two weeks," Lucifer replied.

"You're lying, aren't you?" you asked quietly.

"Do you want me to tell them the truth?"

You sighed internally. "I think Dean deserves to know."

"A week would be even better," Lucifer said aloud.

Dean stared at you, worry deepening the lines on his face. His gaze traced your face, searching for any signs of deception--or maybe signs of damage.

"Well then," Bobby muttered. "Better get started."

**********

You sat in the corner, feet up on another chair as you watched Dean and Bobby. You could tell both of them were extremely worried, but their focus was on finding another vessel. They didn't have time to dive into their fears for your life.

Lucifer, on the other hand, seemed to think he had all the time in the world. He was quite happy to torture you instead of providing the two hunters with any assistance.

"Why haven't you told Dean?" he asked for what had to be the 1,000th time.

"There's nothing to tell, Lucifer. Would you just back off?"

"You're really no fun, you know that?"

"Good. This isn't supposed to be fun for you."

"I can make it fun."

"I'd really rather you not."

"Too late!" he said gleefully.

You could feel him poking around inside your head again, searching for something he could use to hurt you with--or hurt Dean with. You tried to keep him away from your darkest secrets, from the things you'd never shared with another soul, not even Dean. But you noticed it was getting harder and harder to resist him. You weren't sure if it was because he was so strong or if you were becoming weaker. Either way, it was only a matter of time before Lucifer found something he shouldn't.

Unfortunately for you, that moment came much sooner than you'd anticipated.

"(Y/N)--fuck, I mean Lucifer...can I talk to you outside for a moment?" Dean asked suddenly, rising from his chair and heading outside without waiting for a reply.

"Well this should be fun," you mumbled internally.

"I assure you," Lucifer mocked. "It will be."

You felt your body moving, feet heading after Dean whether you wanted to or not.

Once outside, Dean turned to face you, eyes filled with a multitude of emotions you couldn't stand to see. "I want to talk to (Y/N)."

"Oh come now," Lucifer said. "You know that's not how it works."

"I know you can shut up and take a backseat. So that's what I want."

"Hmm..." Lucifer hummed thoughtfully. "You know, I'd rather not. Besides, (Y/N) doesn't really feel like talking to you right now."

"Fuck you, Lucifer. Let me talk to him!"

"Sorry, sweetheart. Ain't happening."

"Somehow I doubt that," Dean grumbled angrily.

"You can doubt it all you want, but I'm the one physically inside her head. I know what she's thinking and let me tell you, it's not very complimentary of you."

"What?" Dean asked in surprised confusion.

"You have no idea what she really thinks of you, do you?"

"Lucifer, what the hell are you doing?" you growled.

He ignored you, instead focusing on his conversation with Dean.

"She's my best friend," Dean responded. "What more do I need to know?"

Lucifer laughed cruelly. "I'm sorry, that's just too funny. You think she's your best friend?"

You could see the look of hurt cross Dean's face for a moment, but he quickly covered it up.

"Sorry," Lucifer said, laughter subsiding. "It's just hilarious that you think she cares about you that much."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"She's tired of you, Dean. She's tired of your stubbornness, your self-loathing, your reckless behavior. She's tired of everything to do with you. She doesn't care about you--not really, anyway. You annoy the shit out of her, but she puts up with you because she feels like she has to."

You fought with everything you had to overpower Lucifer and take control of your mind and body. Not a single word Lucifer was uttering was true and you desperately wanted to tell Dean the truth.

"Stop fighting, (Y/N). You can't win," Lucifer whispered.

"Stop lying to him and I'll stop fighting," you insisted.

"No. I'm simply having too much fun."

Dean's face was impassive to the average person, but you saw through the mask on his face, and so did Lucifer. "I don't believe you," Dean said softly.

"You don't have to believe me. They're not my words. I'm simply relaying (Y/N)'s thoughts," Lucifer said with a shrug. "Haven't you ever wondered how she puts up with all your shit? You're not exactly walking sunshine, Dean. You're one of the most damaged humans I've ever met."

Dean inhaled deeply. "If she hates me so much, why does she stay?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Neither you nor Dean knew what Lucifer was going to say next...and his words cut deeper than you'd expected them to.

"She's in love with your brother," Lucifer sneered.

"Lucifer, no!" you screamed.

Dean's eyes widened and shock settled onto his face. He turned around, his back to you in an attempt to collect himself.

You fought even harder...you needed to get this son of a bitch out of your body. It felt like you were locked inside your own mind with no way out. Lucifer was too strong and the harder you fought, the weaker you became. You quickly realized the more energy you expended, the stronger he became...there was no use in fighting him.

"You're a monster," you whispered.

"They call me the devil for a reason.'"

You didn't bother responding to him. Your heart was aching for Dean and all you wanted was to comfort him. You knew exactly where his head would be at right now and it was killing you.

He'd always compared himself to Sam--at least as long as you'd known him. He seemed to think Sam was better than him in a lot of ways and certainly more lovable. The mere idea that you agreed with that sentiment...that you loved Sam...it would break him and you knew it.

"Sam is better than you in every way," Lucifer added, stoking the fire. "Why would anyone love you when they could have Sam? He's everything you're not...sure of himself, confident, open and honest. Sam is better for (Y/N) than you could ever be."

Dean turned back around, face a mask of impassiveness once again. "Let's find you a vessel so you can get the hell out of our lives," he said in a low voice. "Besides, I wouldn't want to get in the way of Sam and (Y/N)'s love."

If you'd been capable of crying, you knew the tears would be streaming down your face in that moment. Your heart ached in a way you were unfamiliar with and you hoped Lucifer could feel the pain the same way you did.

"Why?" you whispered.

"Why what?"

"Why'd you say that to him?"

Lucifer laughed. "Simple...I knew it would hurt both of you. You're in love with him and if his reaction was anything to go by, it looks like he feels the same."

"We're both helping you right now. Why can't you just be grateful for 10 fucking minutes?" you hissed.

"Where's the fun in that?"

You knew the question was rhetorical, so you didn't bother responding. Instead, you quietly watched Dean walk away and you knew he was going to lose his shit. You could feel it as clearly as your own emotions.

"Let's follow him," Lucifer said happily.

"Let him take his anger out without an audience," you snapped.

Lucifer ignored you and quietly followed after Dean, keeping a distance to avoid being noticed.

Once Dean was farther away from the house and seemingly alone, he grabbed a crowbar from a nearby bench and began to beat the ever-loving-shit out of a junker car.

If you'd wondered about Dean's feelings for you before (and you had), you didn't wonder anymore. It was clear he cared about you in the same way you cared about him and you hated seeing him in such pain.

You wanted nothing more than to go to him, but Lucifer was much happier standing to the side and watching Dean suffer alone.

"Please," you whispered.

"You can tell him I'm a lying bastard if you manage to survive this."

"You and I both know that's not likely," you sighed quietly. "I don't want him to suffer and I don't want to die with him thinking I hate him."

"Pity. Guess you should have told him sooner..."

"Oh fuck off, Lucifer," you growled.

Lucifer's laughter echoed in your head and you hated him in that moment more than you could even begin to express.

**********

"You alright kid?" Bobby asked Dean when he returned to the house an hour or so later.

Lucifer, and therefore you, had returned shortly after watching Dean fall apart. When he'd dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face, Lucifer had gotten bored and left.

"I'm fine," Dean lied. "Do you have any leads?"

"I've put out my feelers to every person I could think of. I'm sure someone will have something for me soon."

"Did you call Sam?"

Bobby shook his head. "I assumed you did."

"Call him and let him know what's going on. I'm going out."

"Where are you going?"

"Yeah, Dean," Lucifer chimed in, "where are you going?"

"The nearest bar. Don't wait up."

You tried to say his name, but your mouth refused to form the word.

As soon as Dean was out of earshot, Bobby turned his attention to you. "What the hell did you say to him?"

"Me?" Lucifer asked, feigning innocence. "Why would you think I did something?"

"Maybe because you're the devil?" Bobby answered sarcastically.

Lucifer smirked darkly. "I may have poked at all of his insecurities."

Bobby groaned. "You're a son of a bitch, you know that?"

"That's not a nice thing to say about my Father."

Bobby just glared at you and rolled his eyes. He got up and left the room and you assumed he was going to call Sam.

"I second Bobby's comment."

"I wear it like a badge of honor."

You knew exactly what Dean was going to do and it was killing you. He was going to drink until he couldn't feel a thing, pick up some random girl, and fuck her senseless--anything to feel something other than the ache in his chest. You knew him better than he knew himself...but in this moment, you desperately wished you didn't. You would give anything to not know what he was going to do.

**********

Three days later, one of Bobby's sources had a lead on a potential archangel vessel.

Dean hadn't spoken to you or Lucifer unless he absolutely had to. It was too hard to even look at your face and hearing your voice was a thousand times worse.

Sam was still out on a hunt with Garth, but he promised to be there to help as soon as he could.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Bobby asked Dean as the two of you were preparing to leave.

"The less people involved, the better. Stay here in case we need more intel," Dean responded.

"I don't like the idea of you traveling alone with Lucifer."

"I'll be fine."

Bobby didn't believe him anymore than you did, but neither of you commented on it--not that you could have if you'd wanted to.

As you/Lucifer and Dean climbed into the Impala, Dean didn't spare a glance in your direction.

"Isn't this fun?" Lucifer asked. "I've always wanted to go on a roadtrip."

Dean groaned. "What are the chances you'll be quiet during this drive?"

"Slim to none," Lucifer said with a smirk.

The response almost made Dean smile. It sounded like something you would say and technically it was your voice. He had to remind himself you weren't really talking to him--every word out of your mouth was Lucifer.

Dean took off without another word and you silently prayed this lead would pan out. You were extremely tired and it had only been about four days since Lucifer had possessed you.

By this point, you were having a hard time focusing on what was happening in the real world. You were in pain and you could feel your body weakening...you were dying and you knew it. You just hoped Dean didn't notice.

**********

By the time the three of you arrived at your destination, you were feeling terrible. You weren't even sure how much time had passed since you'd left Bobby's. In fact, you were pretty sure you'd fallen asleep very early on.

"It's been about 12 hours," Lucifer told you.

"I slept for 12 hours?"

"You're dying," he said nonchalantly. "So you're going to have a harder time staying awake."

"Great," you whispered sarcastically.

"Lucifer!" Dean growled. "You coming?"

"Of course."

Lucifer followed Dean into a building you assumed was an apartment complex. Sometime during the elevator ride, you must have fallen unconscious again, because when you opened your eyes again, you found yourself standing in a nice apartment.

Dean was talking calmly to a young man who looked moderately terrified.

"Is he the vessel?" you mumbled.

"Yes. I can feel it," Lucifer responded.

"Thank god..."

"I'm sorry, you want me to allow the literal devil to possess me?" the young man practically yelled at Dean. "That's assuming I even believe in the devil."

"Look man," Dean said with surprising calmness. "I know I sound insane, but it's all real. We need an archangel vessel and like it or not, that's you."

"What if I don't want to say yes?"

Dean grabbed him by his collar. "Then the woman he's currently wearing will die...and I will do anything to prevent that." His voice was low, barely above a growl.

The young man looked terrified, eyes wide with fear. "Are you threatening me?" he whispered.

Dean straightened out the guy's shirt and gave him a dark smile. "Of course not."

"So I have a choice?"

Lucifer chuckled. "Don't think for a moment he'll give you an option, kid."

The guy looked at you and you felt terrible for him. You understood his fear and apprehension...and it felt wrong to force Lucifer onto him. This kid didn't deserve it.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you mumbled.

"Too late, (Y/N). Dean knows he's an archangel vessel. There's no way he's going to leave without getting him to say yes."

You wanted to respond--to fight, but you couldn't. You were too weak...too tired. Everything hurt too much.

"What's it like?" the guy asked softly.

"Like being strapped to a rocket," Lucifer said snidely.

Dean shot him an annoyed glance. "You'll be fine. You were meant for this."

The guy's gaze remained fixated on you. "She looks like shit...am I going to look like that?"

Dean finally focused his gaze on your face and you saw the fear flash in his eyes. He could see you were dying. Your skin was pale, your eyes bloodshot, dark circles adorning them...your lips were cracked and there were slight lacerations appearing around your forehead and jawline.

"She wasn't meant to house the power of an archangel," Lucifer responded. "She's dying, but the same won't happen to you."

"Will she be okay if I say yes?"

"Yes," Lucifer lied smoothly.

The guy looked like he was contemplating what to do, so Dean spoke up again.

"Look, kid. She's important to me...more important to me than pretty much anyone else in this fucked up world. I would do anything to save her...she's--she's my brother's girl."

You wanted to tell him that wasn't true, but you knew it was fruitless to even try. Even still, your heart ached at his words.

"How long?" the guy asked, directing his question at Lucifer.

"As long as I want. You'll never age, never die, as long as I'm with you."

The guy nodded. "Alright. I'll do it." He stood up. "What do I need to do?"

"Just say 'yes'," Lucifer answered.

"Yes."

A bright white light filled the room and Dean had to shield his eyes. When the light faded, you were lying on the floor and Lucifer was now clearly possessing the young man they'd come to find.

"(Y/N)!" Dean yelled as he raced to your side.

Your pulse was faint and you looked even worse than you had moments before.

"Heal her," Dean demanded.

Lucifer's lips curled up in a cruel smile. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"I said no," he repeated. "I'm not interested in saving her."

"You wouldn't have a vessel without us. You owe her!"

"I'm the devil, Dean. What makes you think I give a damn about debts?"

Dean stared at him, anger and terror fighting for control in equal measure. He stood up and went to lunge at Lucifer, but the archangel simply disappeared, leaving you and Dean completely helpless and alone.

**********

Dean had rushed you to the hospital and was currently sitting in the waiting room, hoping to hear something about your condition.

Sam rushed into the room, eyes scanning for his brother. When he saw him, Sam crossed the distance and wrapped Dean in a tight hug.

"How is she?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Dean said quietly. "But it doesn't look good."

"She's strong, Dean."

"I don't think that matters...her body was never meant to house an archangel and she managed to do it for almost a week. She's dying, Sammy."

Sam's eyes filled with tears, but he blinked rapidly to keep them from falling.

Dean's heart ached, seeing his brother look so upset. He would be lying if he said he didn't feel a broken emptiness in his soul--a space you used to occupy. But he needed to push past his own pain for his brother's sake. After all...you weren't his.

"For (Y/N)?" a doctor called into the waiting room.

Dean and Sam practically ran in her direction. Dean's heart clenched in his chest as he took in the doctor's sad expression.

"Are you (Y/N)'s family?"

Both men nodded.

"Come with me, please," the doctor said quietly.

They followed her to a private waiting area and Dean's dread increased significantly. "What's going on?" he asked worriedly.

"Please have a seat," the doctor asked, gesturing toward the chairs against the wall. She closed the door before taking her seat across from them.

"My name's Dr. Murphy. I'm (Y/N)'s treating physician."

"I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean."

"There's no easy way to say this," Dr. Murphy said gently. "(Y/N)'s injuries are quite severe and she's in critical condition."

"But she's going to be okay, right?" Dean asked hopefully.

Dr. Murphy frowned and shook her head. "Her organs have begun to shut down...it's only a matter of time now. The best I can do is try to keep her comfortable."

"No," Dean whispered. "No, she can't--"

Sam placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, trying to comfort his brother.

"I'm very sorry," Dr. Murphy murmured.

Dean suddenly stood up. "I can't do this. I need--I need air."

He practically ran from the room and Sam got up to follow him, but Dr. Murphy placed a gentle hand on his arm. "I think it's best to give him a moment."

Sam nodded as he desperately tried to push his own emotions away. He adored you, but he knew exactly how much Dean loved you...so he knew how much pain his brother was in right now. It hurt him almost as much as losing you.

***********

Once Dean was outside, he ran around to the side of the building, desperate to be alone for a moment. He collapsed onto the ground, back against the hard stone of the hospital exterior. All of the tears he'd been pushing back for days finally poured out.

He found himself falling apart in public--something he couldn't recall doing before. He couldn't bring himself to care. You were dying and it was killing him. It was all his fault. If he hadn't been so careless, he wouldn't have gotten injured and you never would have had to beg Lucifer to save him.

He knew it wasn't a rational way of thinking, but in that moment, it didn't matter. You were about to become just another name on a never ending list of people who died because of him. He couldn't take it--it was too much.

"I know I'm not exactly on good terms with any of you and I probably don't deserve your help, but I'm not asking for myself. (Y/N) is dying and I can't save her. I'm not normally the kind of man to beg, but I'm on my knees right now...begging for just one of you to find it in yourself to give a damn. She doesn't deserve this. She's the best person I've ever known...so please. Please someone answer me. Please..." His voice was broken by the end of his short speech.

He was desperate and there was nothing he wouldn't do to save her. If no angel would help him...he wasn't above making a deal with a demon. He'd been to hell once before, and he'd do it again in a heartbeat if it meant you could live.

"Hello, Dean Winchester," a soft female voice said from beside him.

He jumped up quickly, ready to fight if need be. He hadn't even heard the woman arrive, which meant she likely wasn't human.

"Don't worry," she said gently. "I'm not here to hurt you. My name is Aliraphael."

"Aliraphael?" Dean repeated. "I've never heard of you."

She smiled. "You don't need to know my name to know what I am."

Dean swallowed thickly. "Why did you come?"

"You prayed for help. I answered."

"But why? We don't know you...what would make you wanna help us?"

Aliraphael smiled. "You, your brother, and (Y/N) have sacrificed much for this world and all of the people in it. I think you deserve a miracle."

Normally Dean wouldn't believe her, but there was something in her eyes that made him feel safe. He was inclined to trust her, but he had to be sure. "What do you want in return?"

"Nothing. This is my gift to you."

"Nothing is free."

"I understand why you may be jaded, but sometimes a gift is simply a gift. This is one of those times."

Dean nodded. "I'm choosing to trust you, but just know if you betray me, I will kill you."

She smiled. "I would expect nothing less of the great Dean Winchester."

Dean led Aliraphael into the hospital and his eyes scanned the waiting area for Sam. He wasn't there, so Dean assumed he'd gone to your room.

"Excuse me. Can you tell me what room (Y/N) (Y/L/N) is in?" Dean asked the receptionist.

The woman typed on her computer without looking up and muttered, "Room 212."

"Thanks," Dean replied. He tried to walk slowly--normally--to room 212, but every instinct in his body was screaming for him to get to you as quickly as possible.

When Dean entered the room, he saw Sam standing beside your bed, his hand wrapped tightly around yours. He was speaking softly to you and Dean felt that ache in his chest intensify.

"Sam," Dean said softly.

Sam turned towards the door, eyes red from his tears. He looked between Dean and Aliraphael in confusion. "Who's she?"

"I am Aliraphael," the angel responded. "I am here to heal (Y/N)."

Sam cut Dean a look. "What did you do?"

Dean shrugged. "I prayed. She came."

"Okay, but what did you promise her in exchange?"

"Your brother has promised me nothing. I am doing this because I wish to. I have no ulterior motive."

Sam still looked worried, but he stepped back to allow Aliraphael access to your bed. Aliraphael gently placed her hand against your forehead and closed her eyes. A soft white glow began to envelop your body and your skin began to return to normal.

After several moments, Aliraphael dropped her hand from your head and turned to Sam and Dean. "It is finished."

You started to stir in the bed and Dean's heart beat faster.

"She will awaken in a moment," Aliraphael assured them.

"Thank you," Dean whispered, unable to take his eyes off your face.

Sam echoed his brother's statement and Aliraphael smiled.

"You are all very welcome." With that, the angel disappeared as if she had never been there.

You groaned softly and your eyes slowly opened. You blinked rapidly trying to clear them and focus on the room around you.

"I have to go," Dean muttered.

"What?" Sam asked in surprise, but Dean had already exited the room.

"Sam?" you asked softly, hearing the younger Winchester's voice.

"Hey, (Y/N/N)," he murmured. "I'm here."

Your bright (y/e/c) eyes focused on his face. "What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

You thought about it for a moment and the memories of the past few days came flooding back. "Lucifer..." you whispered.

Sam sighed and nodded. "Yeah."

"I was dying, Sam--I felt it. Why am I not dead?"

"Dean prayed...and some angel we'd never met before came to save you."

Your eyes widened. "Dean...where is he? I need to talk to him."

"He was just here, but when you started to wake up, he bolted."

"Shit," you murmured. "We need to go after him."

You started to sit up and tug at the IV in your arm, but Sam stopped you.

"Woah! Woah! Slow down, (Y/N). You were almost dead not even five minutes ago."

"And now I'm not, so we need to get the hell out of here Sam," you insisted.

Sam sighed. He knew better than to fight you, so he simply helped you remove your IV and untangle you from the web of other tubes and wires. He handed you your clothes and turned around so you could get dressed in privacy.

"Alright, let's go," you said as soon as you were dressed.

*********

When Dean left the hospital, he'd taken the Impala and started the long drive back to Lawrence. He just wanted to get home before you and figure out what his next move was. If you and Sam were going to be together...he didn't want to be there to witness it. He couldn't.

Dean's phone had rang several times, but he hadn't answered. Most of the calls were from you and a few were from Sam, but he couldn't handle hearing your voice right now. Especially if you were going to tell him everything Lucifer had said was true.

"He's still not answering his damn phone," you muttered, throwing the phone onto the dash angrily.

"I just don't get why he'd leave like that," Sam said for the fifth time.

You sighed and ran your fingers through your hair. "Lucifer said some things to him, Sam...things that hurt him deeply. None of it was true, but Dean doesn't know that."

"What kind of things?"

"Things about me...about how I feel. And about you," you admitted quietly.

"(Y/N), just tell me."

"Lucifer told Dean I couldn't stand him and the only reason I hung around was because I'm in love with you."

Sam scoffed. "And Dean believed him?"

"You didn't see his face, Sam...he believed every word. I wanted to tell him the truth, but I couldn't overpower Lucifer."

"Shit," Sam mumbled. "He's a goddamn idiot if he thinks you love me more than him."

You laughed dryly. "Lucifer played on Dean's insecurities and unfortunately, it worked."

Sam sighed. "Where do you think he'd go?"

"I have to hope he went home."

"Then let's get there before he does." Sam sped up, flooring the stolen car like he'd--well, like he'd stolen it.

You were about five hours from Lawrence and Dean had a head start. You knew it was unlikely you'd get there first, but you had to hope you could get there before he left.

**********

When Sam pulled into the Bunker's garage four and a half hours later, you were relieved to see the Impala parked where it should be. Dean would never leave without his beloved car, which meant he was still there.

Both you and Sam practically ran into the Bunker, calling Dean's name.

The green eyed hunter heard your voices, but he ignored both you and Sam. He couldn't face you...he just couldn't.

"Dean? Where are you?" you called again.

"Come on, Dean. We know you're here," Sam said in annoyance.

You headed into the kitchen and Sam went down towards Dean's bedroom. Both of you hoped to find him before he managed to sneak his way out.

Sam entered his brother's room without knocking and sighed in relief. "Dean. There you are."

"Sam," he said curtly.

"Why the hell did you leave? And why didn't you answer our calls?"

"I just needed to get out of there."

"What, before (Y/N) woke up?" Sam's tone made it clear exactly how stupid he thought his brother's actions were.

"Look man, I'm glad she's okay, but I can't face her. I don't want to have that conversation."

Sam decided to play dumb. "What conversation, Dean? The one where she thanks you for saving her life? Or where you yell at her for saying yes to Lucifer in the first place? Cuz trust me, we had that conversation already."

"That's not what I'm talking about, Sam," Dean said quietly as he started to pack his duffle. "But it doesn't matter. I'm leaving."

"Why the hell are you leaving?"

"I can't stay here. I can't--I can't see the two of you together," he whispered.

"Together?" Sam asked incredulously. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's fine, Sam. I know."

"There's nothing to know!"

Dean glared at his brother and shook his head. "I saw you at the hospital...you clearly feel the same as she does."

"Yeah I do!" Sam yelled. "She's my friend--she's family!"

Dean was about to snap back another retort, but Sam cut him off.

"Just talk to (Y/N), Dean. Let her explain...you owe her that much."

"I don't want to talk to her."

"I'm not going to give you a choice," you said from the bedroom doorway.

Both men turned to look at you in surprise. You crossed your arms and stood firm.

"I don't want to talk," Dean said quietly.

"Good. I don't want you to talk, Dean. I want you to listen." You turned your gaze to Sam and gestured with your head for him to leave the room.

He gladly exited, not wanting to be a part of this particular conversation.

You closed the door behind him and continued to stand in front of it, afraid Dean would try to leave if you moved.

"Lucifer is a liar, Dean. I shouldn't even have to say that. He's the devil, for crying out loud. He's kinda known for his lies."

"But he's also been honest with us before," Dean countered.

"Only when it benefited him. Just like he lies when it benefits him. Hurting you? Hurting me? That shit brought him joy."

"Really? Did it hurt you to hear him tell me how you really feel about me?"

"No," you said angrily. "It hurt me to hear him lie to you about how I feel! The things he said were cruel and terrible, but more importantly, they weren't true!"

Dean stared at you silently, clearly not believing a word you said.

"Do you really think I'm capable of lying to you for years? Think of every moment we've spent together, Dean...do you really think I pretended to care about you? Pretended to enjoy spending time with you? Think about all the times we've laughed together, the times we've had each other's backs, the small glances, the whispers in the dark when one of us had a nightmare. Think about all of those moments and then look me in the eye and tell me it was all a lie."

Tears filled his beautiful green eyes and you knew the same expression was reflected in your own. You took a step towards him, desperately wanting to touch him, but afraid it be unwelcome.

"You're my favorite person in the world, Dean Winchester. You. Not Sam, not Bobby, not Jodi...you. You hold my whole heart in your hands...you always have. If you don't want it, then I understand, but don't for a second think I love anyone but you."

His lips parted in surprise. "But what about Sam?" he whispered.

You sighed loudly. "Weren't you listening? Sam is my friend, Dean, but nothing more than that. I love him like a brother." You took another step towards him. "He doesn't compare to you--he couldn't compare to you. I love you, Dean...and I don't mean like a brother."

Dean inhaled deeply. "I want to believe you, (Y/N/N)..."

"Then believe me," you begged him. "I love you."

Dean thought about what Lucifer had said and he realized why he'd believed it so easily. They were all things Dean was afraid of...he knew he wasn't good enough for you and he was terrified you knew it too.

"Talk to me, Dean," you whispered, taking a final step towards him.

He looked deep into your eyes and found nothing but love there. The same love he held in his soul for you. "I've always been afraid to tell you how I feel because I know I'm not good enough for you," he admitted. "That's why it was so easy for me to believe Lucifer's lies...it was almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy. I couldn't believe you'd ever want me, so it was easier to believe you wanted Sam. He's better for you in every way."

"Stop," you whispered, pressing a finger to his lips. "I decide who is best for me and I choose you. I will always choose you."

"(Y/N)," he whispered.

You pressed your lips against his, trying to infuse it with all of the love in your soul. Dean's arms wrapped around your thick waist, pulling you closer to him. He deepened the kiss, lips hungrily devouring yours.

You stayed locked in each other's embrace for what felt like an eternity. Your tongues fought for dominance and your hands caressed any part of each other they could reach.

When the kiss inevitably broke so the two of you could breathe, Dean laid his forehead against yours. "This might go without saying, but I love you too, (Y/N). So goddamn much."

You chuckled breathlessly. "After a kiss like that, I'd sure as hell hope so."

He grinned and tugged you even closer to him. His lips pressed against yours again and he found himself wanting to feel every part of your soft body. He needed it, just as much as needed air to breathe.

"Let me show you how much, baby," he whispered against your lips.

"Please," you moaned softly.

“Strip for me, pretty girl,” he commanded.

You gently pushed against his chest, forcing him back against the bed. He dropped down onto the mattress, eyes never leaving your body.

You slowly began to remove your clothing, taking much longer than you needed to. You were teasing him and he was eating it up.

You finally got down to just your bra and panties, nothing fancy as you obviously weren’t planning on this happening, but Dean didn’t seem to care. In fact, you were about to be very glad you didn’t wear anything nice.

“You are so damn beautiful, baby,” he whispered.

You offered him a warm smile, appreciative of the affection in his gaze. He thought you were a goddess among humans, a treasure to behold.

“I think you’re a bit overdressed, Dean,” you teased softly.

“You know, babe, I think you’re right.” He stood up and shed his layers significantly faster than you had. He was extremely impatient, as he was dying to get his hands on you.

You admired his broad chest, thick arms, and sculpted form. He looked incredible, scars and all. You felt the strong urge to kiss every single one of them, if he would allow you.

He now stood before you in nothing but his boxers, his large erection straining against the thin fabric.

“Let’s get this off you,” he muttered, reaching behind your back to unhook your bra.

The moment your breasts were exposed to his gaze, he let out a low groan. “Fuck, baby. These are even better than I’d imagined.”

“You imagined my—“ your question was cut off by the feeling of his lips wrapped around your nipple and his hands caressing your breasts gently.

The gentle movements quickly turned more intense, and he began to truly knead and nip at your flesh. You moaned softly and gently ran your fingers through his soft hair.

You pressed yourself even closer to him, feeling his bulge press against your abdomen. He lifted his head with a small smirk.

“Impatient, are we?”

You nodded quickly.

“Oh come on now, sweetheart. Use those words for me. Tell me what you want.”

“You,” you whimpered. “I want you.”

His smirk widened. “I figured that much out on my own, darlin'. I want you to tell me what you need.”

You weren’t exactly accustomed to expressing yourself verbally in the bedroom. To be honest, a lot of your past experiences weren’t that great anyway. A lot of one night stands with men who only cared about their own pleasure.

You found yourself feeling kind of excited at the prospect of a man listening to you and what you wanted…even more so because that man was Dean.

“I want you on your knees, handsome,” you said firmly.

Dean’s eyes widened slightly, but he dropped to his knees obediently. His normally bright green eyes were dark with lust as he locked eyes with you.

You loved the powerful feeling you had as you stood over him. The great Dean Winchester, on his knees for you.

You touched his face sweetly and he leaned into your palm, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “Do you wanna eat my pussy, Dean?” you whispered.

His eyes shot back open, a hungry expression on his face. “Yes,” he breathed lowly.

“Then get to work,” you commanded softly.

Dean was used to being in charge in the bedroom and it wasn’t often he found himself submitting to a woman. You were different than any woman he’d ever been with before—after all, he loved you. If you told him to do a damn handstand naked, lick your feet, and call you “your majesty”, he would have done it in a heartbeat.

His calloused hands slowly slid up your thighs, squeezing the supple flesh. His mouth followed, leaving sloppy kisses as he worked his way closer to your core.

“Baby?” he asked softly, glancing up at you.

“Hmm?”

“Do you have any particular attachment to these panties?”

“No, why—Dean!” you gasped as he ripped your underwear in half, tossing the remains to the floor.

He grinned and made a happy little noise deep in his throat before kissing your mound. He grabbed your right leg and tugged it up over his shoulder, giving him better access to you.

“Lean on me for support, beautiful. I got you.”

The moment you laid a hand on his shoulder and he was sure you were stable, he dove into your pussy with a deep growl.

Your head fell back in ecstasy and a series of moans left your lips. The hand not holding onto his shoulder immediately wound itself in his hair, holding on for dear life.

“Dean—feels so good,” you moaned.

His hands dug into your ass cheeks in response, tugging you even closer to him. He never wanted to stop—hearing those sweet sounds you made mixed with the heady taste of your sweetness was more intoxicating than any drink he’d ever had.

Your legs had begun to tremble and Dean’s grip on you tightened. He wasn’t willing to stop his ministrations, but he wouldn’t let you fall either.

Your nails scraped against his scalp and his shoulder as you clung to him. The pleasure was almost too much and not enough all at once, and you felt your orgasm approaching.

“Dean,” you gasped. “I’m so close.”

He smiled against your core and shifted his focus more heavily to your clit. You cried out and cursed softly, and he knew he’d made the right move.

“I—oh god,” you cried as your orgasm washed over you.

Dean lapped up everything you had to offer, his grip on your body never loosening. As you began to come down from your high, he slipped his hands up to your hips to ensure he didn’t drop you.

He gave your pussy one last lick before allowing you to pull him up by his hair. To his surprise, you mashed your lips against his hungrily, not giving a damn that he tasted like you.

One hand tangled into your hair and the other held you tightly. “What do you want me to do now, sweetheart?” He murmured against your skin.

“Take control, Dean,” you begged. “Make my legs shake. Make me scream. I don’t wanna be able to move for hours.”

“Holy fuck,” he groaned. “Who taught you to talk like that, baby?”

You smirked. “It comes naturally with you.”

"Well it's the sexiest thing I've ever heard," he murmured.

His strong arms wrapped around your waist and gripped you tightly. He spun you both around so your back was to the bed. He pulled you up into his arms and tossed you onto the bed.

You gasped in surprise, not used to being manhandled in such a manner. You sat up slightly, resting on your elbows as you looked at the gorgeous man in front of you. You curled one finger and beckoned him towards you with a smirk.

He quickly discarded his boxers and dropped onto the bed, crawling slowly up your body. He dropped kisses onto your skin as he moved, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

When he reached your mouth, you reached up and grabbed the hair at the base of his neck, tugging him down to you. Your kiss was hungry and needy, leaving no question as to what you wanted.

As the kiss deepened, Dean shifted his body to touch your soft curves. In doing so, the tip of his cock brushed against your pussy, eliciting soft moans from both of you.

Dean's hands traced softly up and down your sides, relishing the feeling of your skin against his. "I love touching you," he murmured in your ear. "You're so damn soft."

You smiled and turned your head to nip at his jaw. He groaned and turned his attention back to your soft lips, sucking the bottom one between his teeth and biting down gently.

Much like Dean, you loved touching his body, but you reveled in the firmness of his body beneath your hands. Every time he moved, you could feel his muscles tense and shift. His body was powerful and beautiful--a vessel carrying the most incredible soul you'd ever known.

Dean shifted again, nudging your head to the side so he could suck at your neck, leaving love marks on the sensitive skin. You lifted your hips up slightly, seeking some kind of friction to relieve the ache between your legs. Once again, his cock brushed against your core and you gasped lightly. Dean, on the other hand, bit gently into your neck to suppress a loud moan.

"I can't wait any longer, baby," he groaned.

"Take me. I'm yours," you whispered.

He sighed softly, kissing you sweetly before pulling away. "Roll over for me, sweetness. Hands and knees."

Your eyes widened in surprise, but you rolled over immediately. You lowered your upper body to lay flat against the mattress, ass high in the air.

"Holy shit," Dean murmured as his hands grasped your large, round ass. "Who said you could have an ass this incredible? I can't wait to watch it jiggle while I fuck you senseless."

Before you could respond, he smacked your ass with an open palm, causing you to gasp slightly.

He seemed to realize belatedly that he should have asked if you were okay with that before doing it, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't imagined smacking your ass for years. "Is that okay, baby?"

"More, please," you begged softly.

He smacked your ass again with a grin. "You like that?"

"Harder, Dean," you moaned. "Like you mean it."

"Fuck," he groaned, hand coming down against your cheek again.

Each time you moaned loudly, reaffirming your enjoyment of the action. Your pussy clenched around nothing and you were beyond desperate for him to just fuck you already.

"Dean, I need you--please," you cried desperately.

"Where do you need me, baby?"

"Inside me," you whimpered.

Without warning, you felt one of Dean's thick fingers enter your pussy. "Like this?"

You shook your head rapidly.

"Words, babe," he said firmly.

"I want your cock, Dean."

"Yeah? Tell me where."

You turned your head to look at him as best as you could from your current position. "I want you to fuck my pussy with your big, thick cock...please," you pleaded softly.

Dean blinked rapidly and licked his lips. He pulled his finger out from inside of you and sucked your juices from it. "Yes ma'am," he murmured.

He leaned forward and kissed your cheek where he'd left a red mark from his slaps. You turned your head back around, forehead against the mattress, preparing yourself for what would come next.

Dean gripped his cock tightly, stroking it a few times before lining himself up with your entrance. He started to enter you and you gasped at the stretch. It was painful given his larger than average size.

"I've got you, baby," he whispered, running his hands up and down your back in a soothing manner. "Just relax for me."

You took a deep breath and tried to relax your body as much as you could. When he felt the tension leave you, he continued to push forward.

You'd never felt so full before and the pain had begun to subside into pleasure. "You're so big," you mumbled.

Dean smirked and chuckled softly. "I'm not all the way in yet, sweetheart."

"What?!" you gasped in surprise.

He pushed the rest of the way in, bottoming out so deep inside you, you swore you could feel him against your cervix. "Fuck!" you yelped.

Dean continued his soothing hand motions on your hips as he allowed you the time you needed to adjust to his size.

While you appreciated his gentleness, you desperately needed him to fuck you. Instead of telling him what you wanted, you moved your hips forward slightly before slamming back against him so your ass pressed firmly against his lower abdomen.

Dean's blunt nails dug into your hips and he growled lowly. "Fuck, baby."

His hips snapped forward and he held you in place by your hips. He set a brutal pace, unable to move slowly--it felt way too damn good.

Dean was completely mesmerized by your ass, watching it jiggle as he fucked into you forcefully. He slapped the opposite cheek from the one he'd hit earlier and you cried out in pleasure, pussy clenching around him.

"You feel so fuckin' good, sweetness," he moaned. "Tightest pussy I've ever had."

You couldn't formulate a good response to his words as you were already too far gone. His cock slammed into your g-spot with each thrust, making your legs shake and your head fog up.

"Made for me, weren't you baby?"

"Mhmm," you hummed.

Dean smiled, knowing you were overwhelmed with pleasure and unable to respond properly. He leaned forward and grabbed a handful of your hair at the base of your neck. He tugged back slightly--just enough to cause a little pain without truly hurting you.

His thrusts were almost violent, they were so fast and hard. He wanted to feel you come apart on his cock and he knew you were close.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" he whispered.

You simply whined desperately.

"What do you need, sweetheart? Tell me what you need."

"More," you begged.

"Hmm," Dean hummed. He slipped an arm around your waist and tugged you back against him so you were sitting up as he continued to thrust into you.

One hand slid up to your neck, wrapping around your throat and applying just a tiny bit of pressure to gauge your reaction. His other hand moved slowly towards your core, seeking your clit for added stimulation.

"Dean!" you cried.

He bit into your shoulder. "I'm here, baby. I want you to fall apart for me."

He rubbed at your clit quickly, thrusts slower due to the new position, but nevertheless pleasurable.

You needed just a little more to push yourself over the edge, so you gripped his hand around your neck and put more pressure on it, indicating what you needed.

Dean got the hint and tightened his grip on your throat, just enough to push you over the edge. He didn't want to hurt you--he would never hurt you.

"Cum for me, sweet girl," he murmured in your ear.

You cried out as your second orgasm crashed against you and your pussy tightened almost painfully around Dean's cock. He helped you ride out your high before lowering you back to the bed and rolling you over onto your back.

He was immediately on top of you, thrusting into you more slowly. He put one arm on either side of your head to support himself, effectively trapping you beneath him.

He rolled his hips against you, the motion pressing his pelvis against your clit, causing you to whimper in pained pleasure. Your hands found purchase in his upper back, nails digging in as he repeated the action.

"I love your body, baby," he whispered. "So fucking perfect."

You smiled up at him, pulling him down for a heated kiss. "I like it too," you mumbled. "Yours isn't bad either."

He chuckled lightly, kissing you lovingly. "I wanna see you come apart for me, (Y/N). Can you give me one more?"

Your eyes widened. "I don't think I can..."

"I bet you can, sweetness." He grabbed your hips and pulled your legs up so your legs were wrapped around his waist. He began to thrust in earnest again and your head fell back, a moan escaping your lips.

Dean closed his eyes, focusing on pulling at least one more orgasm from you and keeping his own at bay. The way you were squeezing him made it a hell of a lot harder than he would like.

The harder his thrusts, the tighter you seemed to grip him, and the deeper your nails dug into his back. He knew he was going to have some serious gashes on his back, but he intended to wear them with pride.

"Come apart for me, baby. Let me feel you soak my cock," he begged.

"Dean," you groaned.

"Come on, my love--let go."

Your eyes fluttered closed and your body began to shake as waves of pleasure threatened to overwhelm you. You came for the third time that night, cries of pleasure mixing with Dean's moans of encouragement.

You started to come down from your high, body overly sensitive from the onslaught of pleasure that continued. "Dean, too much!" you gasped.

"Just one more," he begged.

"I can't!" you whimpered.

"Please baby--one more. Need it," he continued to beg.

You didn't think it was possible for you to cum again, but you began to feel a new sensation in your abdomen. It felt similar to the familiar tightening coil that signified an oncoming orgasm, but it was infinitely more intense. You weren't even sure if it was pleasure or pain--the feeling was simply too overwhelming to comprehend.

"Dean--I can't--" you gasped in confusion.

His hand slid between your bodies to gently massage your clit and you suddenly couldn't breathe. You began to writhe beneath him, hands gripping at the sheets to try and ground yourself.

Dean knew you were about to come undone again, so he didn't slow any of his motions. "Look at me, baby."

Your eyes met his for no more than a moment before your vision became blurry. You screamed his name as you came for a fourth and final time. The feeling was so incredible, you couldn't even begin to describe it.

Your vision began to return to normal as you desperately tried to catch your breath. You were practically limp beneath him as Dean began to chase his own orgasm.

He tucked his head into the crook of your neck and murmured soft words of praise against your skin. "Feels so good--squeezing me perfectly."

He kissed your neck as his thrusts became more erratic. "I'm gonna fill up this pretty little pussy, sweetness. Gonna cum for you."

You managed to press a kiss into his shoulder and wrap your arms around him, hands clutching his back. "Fill me up, Dean," you whispered encouragingly.

Dean groaned lowly. "This pussy is mine, baby. You hear me? Mine."

"Yours, Dean. Only yours."

"Oh--fuck--" he groaned. "(Y/N)!"

His hips began to stutter, thrusts faltering as he filled you up with his seed. He whispered your name like a prayer as his movements began to slow to a halt. You clung to him tightly as he came down from his high.

He finally collapsed on top of you, completely spent and breathless.

You rubbed his back soothingly, lips pressing gentle kisses to his shoulder and neck. As the two of you laid there quietly, you began to notice the bedding beneath you was particularly wet--more so than you had expected it to be.

"I love you so much," Dean whispered, lips pressed softly against your jaw.

"I love you too, baby," you said sweetly.

Dean began to lift himself up, each movement making you gasp--body too overstimulated to handle any motion.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he murmured softly.

"I'm not complaining," you assured him.

He grinned slightly as he pulled himself up completely, softened member sliding out of your excessively wet pussy.

He looked down at the bed and his grin widened. "We made quite the mess, baby."

"Yeah, it feels a little...wetter than normal."

He chuckled softly. "That's probably because you squirted, (Y/N/N)."

You gasped, cheeks reddening in embarrassment. You realized that must have been the result of the most intense orgasm of your life. "I did?!"

Dean noticed your discomfort and immediately reassured you. "Yeah, sweetness--and it was the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen."

You bit your lip and looked up at him. "Really?"

He grinned. "Really."

"I've--uh--well...I've never squirted before," you admitted.

His chest puffed up with pride. "I'm honored to have been the first--and the last." He added a wink for emphasis.

You smiled softly. "Maybe don't make it a regular thing...I literally can't move."

Dean laughed. "Don't worry, babe. I'll take care of you."

You watched the handsome man cross the room and go into the bathroom, emerging several minutes later with two washcloths. He gently picked you up, moving you to the other side of the bed where it was dry. From there, he very gently began to clean you up with the warm washcloths.

You were moved by the loving way he took care of you, making sure you were clean and comfortable before leaving the room in search of another set of sheets.

When he returned, you found you still couldn't move, but Dean didn't seem to mind. "I can change the sheets with you in them, (Y/N)."

"But--"

"Hush," he insisted as he pressed a kiss to your lips.

He made quick work of removing the sheets on the other half of the bed and putting the clean sheets on that side. He then scooped you up again and moved you to the clean, crisp sheets. He removed the rest of the soiled sheets and finished making the bed.

As soon as he was finished, he crawled into the bed beside you. He reached out to grab your soft body and tugged you against his warm chest.

You nuzzled into him and sighed softly. "I could get used to this."

He smiled and kissed the top of your head. "I'll always take care of you, baby...so you might as well get used to it. I'm not going anywhere."

You smiled and pressed a soft kiss onto his chest. "I love you, Dean."

Dean tightened his grip on you and smiled. "I love you more, (Y/N/N). Always."

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