#jared padalecki one shot

[lilousmustaches]

Always keep fighting

Warnings: Depressive and insecurity thoughts.

Notes: I was always afraid of naming one of my stories "Always keep fighting" because i used to think that it had to be perfect. I think this one earned it gracefully. You have my heart in it. Rewatching Supernatural 10 years after and all of it just making the same sense to me as when i was just a kid... gave me the confirmation that i'm always going to have where to come back to. Thank you.

Summary: A very meaningful intimate conversation with the one who helped you overcome your depression many years ago. Jared Padalecki.

Platonic!Jared Padalecki x Reader / Jensen Ackles x Reader

You breathed out tired, closing your eyes feeling the sun and a slight breeze hit your face. Billie Eilish’s voice was playing max in your AirPods isolating you from the noises around like that would give you some peace of mind. 

You were in the middle of filming a season of Supernatural and honestly your life was great. Expect it wasn’t. Well… it was really, nothing really bad was happening, you had an incredible job, amazing friends, amazing fans, there was no drama. But the stress was winning you over and you could feel yourself slowly drifting away into a dark place again, just like when you were younger and what looked like a innocent wave of sadness, turned into 3 years of anti depressives. You heard once that when you have depression one time, it never go away. Not completely. You live your life “sober”, but if you don’t watch it out, any trigger can throw you into the pit once more. 

But it was adult life right? How could you escape the stress of having to do a house moving, working really hard for too many hours, being rejected for a job that you really wanted, sleeping with a coworker who you were in love with and he disappearing after… Normal adult things. There wasn’t no time to cry about it while listening to Billie Eilish. 

You opened your eyes when felt a presence besides you, and you took of your AirPods when saw Jared installing himself near you, in the bench below a tree that was located in a quiet spot in the supernatural set. He wasn’t looking at you, he was looking straight ahead like everything was normal. 

“Hi Jar.” You said still a little confused but waiting to see what this was about. 

“Hi (Y/N)” He said simply still looking ahead. “What were you listening to?” 

“New Billie’s album.” You said with a little smile and Jared finally looking at you with an excited face, he was wearing his grey beanie and a white hoodie. 

“It’s so good right?” He said making you chuckle. 

“Yeah…” You answered frowning your eyebrows. “What are you doing here Jar? I thought you didn’t even had scenes today.” 

“Had some audio problems I had to solve for that forest scene.” He explained and turned his attention straight ahead again. “And thought it would be a good opportunity to check on you.” 

“Check on me?” You asked laughing a bit confused. “You see me practically everyday” 

“Yeah, that’s exactly why I knew we had to talk.” He said turning more serious and your heart started to sunk in your chest. “I know you (Y/N). For real.”

You sighed giving up on trying to hide, Jared was one of your best friends and you two always understood each other very well. That included noticing each other’s mood swings and knowing all about the other’s personal life’s. You stayed quiet for a few seconds before breathing out. 

“I didn’t get that part that I really wanted.” You admitted feeling almost ashamed of saying out loud, sensing a bitter taste in your mouth. It was the main role for an adaptation of a book that you loved, and you felt like you were the perfect person for it. Apparently not. 

“I’m sorry (Y/N), I know how excited you were.” He said quietly putting his arm around your shoulder to give a squeeze. “Did they tell you why?” 

“Nothing concrete.” You struggled. “Random excuses and pre written messages.” 

“That sucks.” He agreed and made a long pause. “But it was just another project, other ones will appear and besides… it would mess up your schedule with Supernatural!”

You rolled your eyes and looked at him with a little smile. 

“Jared we both know Supernatural is coming to an end. Everybody is moving on, thinking about what to do next. You’re already writing your project, hell, Jensen is in L.A right now signing contracts for The Boys.” You said and saw him struggling on what to say. He knew you were right. You entered the Supernatural cast many years ago and it was like a dream coming true. Your career got some much better, the working environment was everything you could ever ask for, you met your best friends and had incredible fans. Being a female character in the show, you didn’t think you would last that much. But you did and you were happy about it. But all the things in life get to a point when you start wanting more, and now, knowing that Supernatural has to end, you found yourself lost. Stagnated. Scared what would happen to your career after this. You were a few years younger than J2 and thought the industry would be open to welcome you, but wasn’t at all what was happening. 

“(Y/N) we still have, at least, one year before we will be really done with Supernatural. That gives you more than enough time to figure it out.” He said like it was obvious. 

“Jar, I know” You said with a sad smile looking at him. “All the rationalized things you were going to say to me, already crossed my mind. I know everything is technically ok. I’m just…” You stopped yourself sighing, gathering the courage to admit it. “I’m just sad.”  

Jared looked at you with a suffered expression and you saw for a split second a look of surprise in his face.

“I don’t want to seem ungrateful to the universe, God, or whatever there is out there.” You continued making him open a small smile. “I know I have time, I just moved to a better apartment, I should be thankful. But I’m just so sad. I don’t even know how to explain it.” 

“I understand it.” He said sincerely looking straight into your eyes, giving you all of his attention. “The guilt that comes with having everything great around you and feeling all of this. Believe me, I do.” Jared said and you knew what he was talking about. About his depressed phase that gave life to all of the campaigns. You two shared a lot of conversations in that period, specially because you had history as well.  “I noticed you were not acting like yourself these past days, I was waiting for you to come talk to me, like you always had.” 

You looked away again feeling a bit ashamed. 

“I didn’t feel like talking.” 

“(Y/N).” He said turning his body to face you, making you look at him again. “There’s nothing wrong with feeling like this. You were one of the people who helped the most when I was depressed. You remember what you would say? That it wasn’t my fault, it was just literally a chemical default in my brain. That’s what depression is. A sickness that affects our brains. You passed through a lot of stress these last weeks, it’s completely understandable the way you’re feeling.” Jared said serious squeezing your shoulder. You closed your eyes to stop yourself from crying.

“I just feel like I’m not enough.” You admitted and finally let one tear drop. Jared stayed in silence, making you open your eyes seeing him with a hard expression looking at you like he trying to read you.

“There is another reason why you’re feeling like this?” He asked and you looked down, wondering if you should tell him or not. 

“Hmm I kinda got ghosted?” You said and saw him raise an eyebrow. “Well, no. I know the guy is super busy right now, I don’t blame him. But there’s a little voice in my head telling that it was the perfect timing to get out of the situation and not give me further explanation that he in fact.. don’t want me that way.” 

“Are we talking about Jensen?” Jared asked in a funny way and laughed when saw your surprised face. “(Y/N), I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to know but he told me that you guys slept together after that night we were in his house…” 

“Yeah, I should have figured this out.” You said allowing yourself to chuckle, running your hand over your face. “So yeah, this finally happened…” 

“Finally!” He exclaimed happily trowing his hands in the air. 

You and Jensen were always unfinished business. When you entered the series, you were young, single and adventurous and it didn’t take long to start crushing on Jensen. Hard. The kind of crush you weren’t even functioning right when he was around. Looking at it right now, maybe it was in that moment that your bond with Jared started to grow, he was always your confident. But none of it mattered, because Jensen… wasn’t single. And eventually you got over it, it was never going to happen so why was the point of growing expectations. Until Jensen wasn’t in a relationship anymore, there were flirts here and there, what of course didn’t last long because you were already meeting someone. And for years and years it was like that, you were simply never single at the same time. When all of that changed some months ago, when the two of you ended long last relationships. But it was really two weeks before that it all turned very real. 

Flashback on

You had  just shooted the mid season finale and man, you were tired. Everyone was going to get 1 week away from filming, but that didn’t mean vacation days. You were in the middle of an, very overwhelming, apartment moving in Vancouver and in the end of the week, you had a trip planned to Chicago to participate in the first day of a Supernatural Convention. The boys were going to get a second week off to attend to more appointments, but the directors wanted you, Misha and other secondary characters to advance the maximum of scenes possible. 

To celebrate and just cool off for a while, Jensen invited you, Jared and Misha to eat some pizza and drink some beers in his place. In the next day, he and Misha were already going to travel to L.A and Jared to Austin, to see his family. 

“So it’s already late and I need some sleep before catching that plane.” Misha said getting up of the chair he was in. “Have a safe fight you guys, and (Y/N) see you on Friday?” He asked and you nodded giving him a small smile. He was going to be your pair to the Chicago Convention, and the two of you would come back together to Vancouver, not even crossing paths with J2 because there was going to attend just the third day of #SpnChicago.

“Yeah, actually I’m going to enjoy the lead and get going as well.” Jared said sighing getting up, slapping hands with Jensen and then turning to you. “You comin’ also?”  

You didn’t want to go actually. It has been ages since you last went out with them like that and it was the first time in days that you were able to get away from your problems. You looked at Jensen to see what the thought and caught he already looking at you, denying with his head. 

“Nah (Y/N), we still have that wine you gave me for my birthday to drink.” Jensen said getting up from the couch you were in, to open the door for the boys. “Stay as long as you want.”

“I think I’m to stay.” You agreed. “Have a safe fight guys.” 

With all of the goodbyes being said, Jensen closed the door of his apartment immediately disappearing into the kitchen. He came back with two glasses of red wine, extending one to you while he returned to his previous place, sitting with his whole body turned to you and you did the same.

“I can’t believe you still didn’t drink that.” You chuckled. 

“Well, of course not! It was your gift, nothing more fair than drinking it with you.” He said like it was obvious, extending his glass. “Cheers” 

Half bottle after, you both were already tipsy, laughing about everything and somehow, closer to each other than before. You spoke about the series, about the bittersweet feeling of it ending. About how excited he was for Soldier Boy and at the same time nervous. He listened to you speak about the role you were auditioning for and gave you his whole support. You even gossiped a little, about Misha’s divorce. After that, somehow the conversation got to the point of relationships and you both shared a lot of thoughts and insecurities about it. 

Jensen smiled when the conversation got to a pause, letting his hand fall to rest in your arm that was leaning in the sofa. You hold your breath when felt his thumb slowly starting to caress you and your belly suddenly got cold when he started to stare at you.

“I just can’t believe that we’re finally single at the same time.” Jensen chuckled in a hoarse voice. You bite your lip, resting your glass into the center table and saw him doing the same thing. 

“That makes a difference?” You challenged him seeing him grin. 

“You know it does, sweetheart.” He said putting a strand of hair behind your ear and you wondered if he could hear the sound of your heart beating. “I always knew you had a crush on me.” 

“I did not.” You said faking a false indignation and you both laughed. “I actually thought it was the other way around.” 

“Guilty.” He admitted making you gulp. “All of those years… us trying to move on from each other. And look at us now… single at our thirties, at the same place we would be in since the start if we weren’t so damn stubborns.” 

You stayed in silence for a few seconds, staring each other like you could see each other’s souls. His eyes were in a dark green filled with lust and when you saw his glance lowering to your lips, you knew you couldn’t take any more of that.

“Kiss me Jensen.” 

“You have no idea on how many years I’ve waited for you to say that.” 

And you didn’t had to ask twice.

XXxxXXXxxxXXXxxXX

You opened your eyes confused still in a dark room, and in a very comfortable bed. You glanced at your phone in the bedside table seeing it was already 12h. The memories from last night started to invade your mind, making you sit up in a rush and frown when you noticed that Jensen wasn’t there. 

Oh right, he had a flight to catch. 

Wearing one of his shirts and his flipflops you found next to his bed, you walked until the living room and saw in his dinning table, an order bag from your favorite bakery and a little post it. 

“Morning sweetheart, 

I’m sorry If I couldn’t wake up by your side today. My flight leaves 8:30 am and I didn’t want to bother you.

I ordered your favorites things from that French bakery you like, to compensate it.

Last night was amazing and I can’t wait to see you again. 

Make yourself at home, stay as long as you want.

-Jensen.” 

You suppressed a smile feeling like a damn teenager, with all of that butterflies in your belly. This really happened. You and Jensen. 

You laughed adjusting yourself in one of the chairs, you had a delicious breakfast waiting for you after all. 

Flashback Off

That day you woke up alone in Jensen’s house, you passed still a few hours there before going back to your reality. The keys weren’t really a problem cause he had an electronic lock. You send him a photo of you eating the breakfast, which he rapidity replied with an emoji of heart eyes. 

But of course, your mind needed to start sabotaging you. You knew Jensen wasn’t the type of guy to text a lot, and you weren’t teenagers with no responsibilities, you were both busy as fuck. But you would be lying if you said if you didn’t expect a little more. Not even seeing his face for 2 weeks after you had sex, gave you so much spare time to question yourself. 

Had he really liked? He was regretting it? He realized you were actually better as friends? Why he didn’t answer your meme? How your relationship would be when he got back from L.A?

“Look.” Jared started after you explained all of it to him. “Don’t beat yourself for feeling it, your feelings are valid and I can see where they are coming from.” 

“It’s true that he could have been more present, but we both know how Jensen is  when comes to answering messages.” Jared continued laughing humorless. “But c’mom (Y/N), it’s you and Jensen were talking about! The guy has been wanting you for years.” 

“I don’t know Jar.” You sighed. “It’s like my mind knows the rationalized facts but still chose to give me the wrong answers.” 

“Are you eating right?” He asked all of that sudden surprising you. 

“Yeah…” You started and huffed when saw his accusatory face. “Ok, maybe I’m skipping breakfast.” You admitted and rolled your eyes when he didn’t back down. “No, I’m not eating right. Are you happy?” 

“No!” He cried. “You’re under stress, you’re isolating yourself, a lot of things are happening in the same time, you’re not eating right, you’re not exercising. You’re going running with me tomorrow by the way.” 

“Jared you know I hate running” You said indignant.

“I don’t care.” He cut you off. “What I’m trying to say is that you and me both… (Y/N) we have to look out for ourselves, you know that. I don’t think you’re depressed again but I think you’re in the edge of it.” Jared said making you shiver. You thought about it, damn you thought you already were. But hearing it from your best friend’s mouth, who always went to hell and back to help you, was rough. Really rough. 

“I…” You started slowly afraid of the words that was going to come back out of your mouth. “I would never forgive myself if I let me go back to that dark hole I was 10 years ago.” 

“Then don’t.” Jared struggled like it was the point of the whole conversation until now. “Can you imagine all the things you would have missed if you gave up by the first wave of depression? Young (Y/N) would have not believe she would sleep with Jensen Ackles.” He said mocking you to lighten up the mood a little bit and you allowed yourself to laugh even if was pretty hard listening to all of that. 

“Call your therapist. I’m going to ask to the producers to give you one more week off.” He continued and you open your mouth ready to argue with that nonsense. “Don’t argue with me on that one. You already have tons of advanced scenes, you need time to rest. And… stop taking life so serious honey, you have time, you’re going to figure out ok? Let yourself be surprised by it.” 

Jared said searching your eyes and saw you nodding slowly. He pulled you for a tight hug resting his head on top of yours. Your eyes were closed and for the first time in a week, you breathed out feeling calmer. Not even Billie Eilish accomplished this. 

“What do we do?” He asked in a slash joking slash serious tone, speaking like you were a little child. 

“We always keep fighting?” You said a little unsure and felt his chest vibrate when he started to laugh. 

“That’s my girl.” Jared said tightening the hug before backing away. “I love you.” 

“I love you too moose.” You said with a small smile feeling a lot better. “Thank you.” 

“I’m always here.” He said getting up. “I need to go back now.” 

You nodded and when you were in the point of putting back your AirPods, he stopped, some steps away from the bench you were. 

“Oh… and (Y/N). Jensen already arrived from L.A” He smiled. “Let life surprise you.” 

You denied with your head letting a small laugh escape from your lips, when you were reliving all of this conversation. One thing that Jared said was completely right, young (Y/N) would have been so proud and surprised by your accomplishments. You survived. This was an everyday motive to be proud already. Your thoughts were interrupted when the screen of your phone lighted up with a notification. 

“Hey sweetheart… I’m finally back in Vancouver and dying to see you. There is so much I want to tell you. And so much I wanna do to you… 

What do you say about going to that Italian restaurant at 20h? I will pick you up. 

Always yours,

Jensen.” 

Tagging: @esoltis280@smoothdogsgirl@helloangelicaaaaa@sleepylunarwolf​ @sympathyforluci​ @mirandaaustin93​ @atc74​ @spnbaby-67​ @reginaphalange2403​ @hi-my-name-is-riley​ @mychemicalimagines​ @multifandomlover121 @nyotamalfoy

[sacr1ficialang3l]

older!dean headcanons˚୨୧⋆｡

OLDER!DEAN WINCHESTER X YOUNGER!READER (read here)

WARNINGS: mentions of/implied smut (MDNI). age gap.

NOTES: He is back! My psych final is tomorrow and i am going insane, so this is shorter than usual. You have all been so sweet and supportive, and I just wanted to give you a little something as a thank you while I study. I love you all, thanks for the kind words. As always, English is not my first language. Enjoy<3

˚୨୧⋆｡ After months of resisting you and denying his feelings, he is the sweetest man ever when you two get together. He adores you, and he makes sure to show you. He spoils you rotten, lets you get away with almost anything, and he always needs to have a hand on you.

˚୨୧⋆｡ He is protective!!! Like, very protective. He always keeps an eye on you during hunts, and makes sure to kill any evil motherfucker before they can even think of putting their hands on you. And when you do get hurt, you think it pains him more than it does you. He patches you up with gentle touches he didn’t think his blood-stained hands were capable of. He looks at you with sad, deep eyes as he kisses over the wound, and then he doesn’t even let you get up from bed, even if the injury is as tiny as a paper cut. 

˚୨୧⋆｡ After every case, he loves, or more like needs to cradle you against his chest and hold you close. He wraps his huge arms around you and presses you to his side, or on top of him, and he just buries his face on your hair and breathes in. He tells you it is to calm you down after hunts, to make you feel safe. But you think it is more about him. Like he needs to remind himself that you’re okay. That you’re there next to him, and that you’re not going anywhere. 

˚୨୧⋆｡ You love to annoy him, it is your favorite hobby. Play with his hair while he and Sam research in the library, brushing it right in front of his eyes while he tries to read. You love to sit in a barstool in the garage while he works on Baby and talk his ear off when he has no way to escape (not that he would). You force him to watch rom-coms and chick-flicks that he pretends to hate, but you catch him smiling to himself a few times. You poke him, and bite him, and jump on him all the time, and he wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

˚୨୧⋆｡ You have a habit of sinking your teeth into his biceps any chance you get. There are always teeth marks on his flesh that he wears with pride. (There are always hickies on your thighs and collarbones to match, of course.)

˚୨୧⋆｡ He claims not to be the jealous type. “I'm too old for things like that, sweetheart.” But you knew he was. He didn’t mind when people stared at you when you walked into a bar or around a small town, always that his arm was around your shoulders or your hand was on his. He is proud that such a pretty girl chose him. But the moment some frat boy tries to approach you at a bar when you are alone, he feels his blood boil. He watches from far away for a few seconds, trying to keep his cool, but he loses it when the guy decides to brush your hair behind your ear. He quickly walks across the bar until he is right behind you, pulling you against his chest and glaring at the dude over the top of your head. The boy is gone in less than a second.

˚୨୧⋆｡ You try to show your love for him in every way you can. Dean was confident and strong, but it sometimes felt like he doubted your feelings for him, like his brain was trying to convince him that you deserved better and that you would get tired of being with some old guy eventually. So, you shower him in love. You learn how to bake pies just for him, making him a new one every week. You wash his hair in the shower, massaging his scalp to help him relax. You get him naked in bed and go on a journey of kissing every scar you can find. You press your lips over the small ones, run your tongue over the long and raised ones. And of course you make sure to tell him how much you love him. You murmur soft i love you’s against his lips. You remind him every day of how beautiful he is, how good he is. You whisper in his ear about how hot he is, how he makes you lose your mind and how no one could ever compare to him.

˚୨୧⋆｡ Dean liked being rough with you in bed. He loved manhandling you, leaving purple fingertips marks on your hips, pulling your hair. He was careful at first, too scared to hurt you. But you wanted him to, you begged him to make it hurt. 

˚୨୧⋆｡ Because you loved it when it hurt a little. When he sank his teeth into the flesh of your thighs, when your knees ended up bruised from kneeling on the floor for too long, when you could still feel him days after. You love the marks that he leaves, a living reminder of his touch on your body. It made you feel complete, it made you feel his.

˚୨୧⋆｡ Dean tried to go slow with you at first, thinking that you might be too inexperienced for everything he wanted to do to you. But he didn’t know that you were just as much or even freakier than him. 

˚୨୧⋆｡ Your favorite thing to do was, when Dean and you were alone in the Impala for a long drive, to rest your head in his lap. You lay across the front seat casually, looking up at him with innocent eyes when he sends you a warning look. You start by “accidentally” rubbing your cheek against his crotch, loving the way the scratchy fabric of his jeans felt against your skin. You would tease him until he was hard and his breath was ragged, and then you would take him in your mouth. You order him to keep driving as you suck him off slowly. You drag it out, edge him until he is desperate and gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white. And when he finally comes, you swallow it all like a good girl, moaning in satisfaction, enjoying the way his cum coats your tongue. It makes him groan every time, nostrils flared with the need to fuck you. Sometimes you keep going, keep suckling on him until he is whining in oversensitivity and has to pull you away by your hair.

˚୨୧⋆｡ In return, Dean gives you pleasure every time he can. He can eat your pussy for hours on end, in the kitchen counter, or the Impala, or in a lonely classroom when you have to infiltrate a school for a case. He will fuck you on his bed, or the floor, or against the wall. He just loves to make his girl feel good, see you shaking with pleasure, begging him to stop and to keep going at the same time. He loves when you tell him that he’s the best you have ever had, and the best you will have. He loves when you scream his name and your thighs close around his head because of the overwhelming sensations. He loves to make you cry with pleasure. 

˚୨୧⋆｡ But after, he is the sweetest guy ever. He takes aftercare very seriously, murmuring reassuring words against your skin and softly kissing every bruise and bite mark. He reminds you of how much he loves you, of how much you matter to him. 

“I don’t know what I would do without you, baby. You keep me sane.”

“You’re such a good girl, my beautiful princess.”

“I will take care of you forever. Nothing will ever hurt you while I'm here.”

“I love you.”

NOTES: wish me luck on my final! I will be back after I'm finally free.

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

[ambiguous-avery]

Tangled Sheets

Dean Winchester x fem!Reader/You x Sam Winchester | WC: 8464

Summary: Sam and Dean would give up anything for the other. Even if that includes the girl they’re head over heels for. But did anyone ever think to ask her thoughts on the matter?

Tags/Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, threesome (no wincest), femme nicknames (pretty girl, good girl), g/n nicknames (baby, sweetheart), reader is AFAB, oral sex (F receiving), vaginal fingering, anal fingering, unprotected P in V/A sex (make safe decisions, friends), double penetration, consent checks via traffic light system, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

A/N: Let’s let these three finally have their moment. So here, a story about a girl and her dogs boys idiots. This picks up immediately following Untamed Soul.

Three Hearts, One Flame Masterlist

The motel room was colder than your cocoon in the bathroom and only contributed to your deepening scowl as you crossed your arms over your chest. You had slipped into your pajamas for the night because you were sure that the rough fabric of your jeans would be too much against your still-tingling skin. Decency be damned. It wasn’t like they were anything scandalous. An old-oversized shirt you had stolen from Dean forever ago and sleep-shorts you usually reserved for hot summer nights. Nothing you hadn’t worn around them before. 

Dean had pulled the horribly outdated recliner chair over to the table in the room and was lounging in it, beer in hand. Sam sat opposite of him in a wooden chair that creaked with every little movement. Dean twisted in his chair, turning to look at you and flashed you a grin.

“And you get on my case for long showers. You been in there since we left?” Dean teased. You shifted your weight between your feet, making a very conscious effort to ignore the way his voice rolled over you. Behind Dean, you could see Sam’s gaze drop to your bare legs, and you tried your best not to read into that too much. You had nice legs. You would’ve been offended if he didn’t look.

“It’s a different story when we all draw from the same hot water tank,” you finally said.

“Oh I know all about sharing, sweetheart.” Dean’s gaze caught yours, and you could almost feel the heat from his stare searing into your skin. Why had he said it like that? “Hell, ask anyone, and they’ll tell you I’m a giver.” You quickly averted your eyes, focusing on the peeling wallpaper that decorated the room instead of the images of Dean’s head between your legs that flashed through your mind. Sam cleared his throat.

“Do I need to sleep in the car tonight?”

Dean leaned back in his chair, finishing off his beer and setting the now-empty bottle down.

“Nah, Sammy, we’re just getting started. Come on, take a seat. Got a cold one for you.” Dean said your name as he stood and grabbed three bottles from the mini fridge in the room, setting them down in front of each of you. You sat down in the third chair between them with a sigh. You’d survive the loss of your personal time, but you were definitely locking yourself in your room when you got back to the bunker. You didn’t care what kind of excuse you had to give them to get them to leave you be. Hell, you’d tell them exactly what you planned to get up to if it meant they gave you your precious few hours alone.

“What, you strike out at the bar tonight?” you asked as Dean cracked open his beer.

“Wouldn’t be the same without you there, sweetheart. Figured we’d bring the drinks to you.”

“I think you guys would survive one night without me. We only live together.”

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re sick of us. Stick around. Play a game. Celebrate an easy hunt.”

You glanced at Sam who shot you a look that said Yeah I don’t know what he’s up to either. 

“I couldn’t be sick of you guys even if I tried,” you said softly, a small smile playing on your lips. You really couldn’t imagine hunting without Dean and Sam by your side. “Alright, what are we playing?” Dean smirked like you had just stepped into his perfectly laid trap.

“I was thinking truth or dare.” He reached for the empty bottle and tipped it onto its side. The glass clinked softly against the tabletop. “Whoever the bottle lands on has to do a dare. Or… spill a secret or whatever the truth is.” To your left, Sam scoffed.

“Really, Dean? How old are we?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in bemusement.

“Interesting choice of game, but I’ll bite,” you said, opening your beer. The hiss of escaping carbonation filled the air, and you took a swig, the cold bitterness a refreshing reprieve from the fire that roiled within. Meanwhile, Sam shook his head, a wry smile curving his lips as he resigned himself to Dean’s antics. 

Dean grinned and gave the bottle a spin. You watched with amusement as it twirled on the table, the neck slowing down until it pointed directly at you. Dean’s green eyes gleamed mischievously as he leaned forward.

“Truth or dare, sweetheart?”

With Dean, it was a genuine toss up on whether he’d ask a potentially embarrassing question or give you a harmless dare. The devilish glint in his eye suggested that neither option was going to be wholly safe, and there was a non-zero chance that a dare from him was going to be to flash him or Sam your tits. You would’ve done it. And that was the problem.

“Truth.”

“Alright…” Dean drummed his fingers on the table, clearly having expected that you would pick dare. “What’s your favorite position during sex?”

You heard Sam choke on his beer beside you, and you were thankful when Dean turned his attention to him. It gave you a moment’s reprieve to tamp down the heat rising in your cheeks.

“Dean!” Sam spluttered. You leaned over and clasped Sam’s shoulder, only to immediately regret it because your eyes inadvertently went to his hands that held the beer bottle. Hands that you had imagined doing other things to you mere minutes ago. You pulled your arm back and instead chose to focus on your own drink.

“What? The questions have to be dirty otherwise it’s no fun! And besides, I could’ve asked far worse,” Dean said. You cleared your throat and took another sip of beer, buying yourself a moment to school your features into a neutral expression before replying.

“Cowgirl,” you said simply, and you had to fight every urge to grin as both Winchesters turned to look at you, eyes wide. You sucked your lower lip between your teeth, feigning innocence. And then, because you were still frustrated at Dean for his interruption, you dug your heel in and added, “I like watching people squirm beneath me.” 

Pride swelled in your chest as your words hit the mark dead on. You watched as Dean swallowed thickly before taking a long pull from his beer, and Sam’s Adam’s apple bobbed silently, the pulse in his neck pounding. You could’ve cackled at how perfect their responses were. If this was how the game was going to go, you were all too eager to play it. Dean coughed awkwardly, his typical bravado momentarily faltering as he tried to regain his composure. Sam opened his mouth like he might’ve had something to say then closed it wordlessly.

“My turn, right?” you asked, pretending not to notice their reactions. They each nodded silently. You leaned forward and gave the bottle a spin. It rotated slowly before coming to a stop, pointing at Dean. You smiled sweetly at him. “Truth or dare?”

Maybe it was because he was still recovering from the revelation you had dropped on him, but Dean’s response of, “Truth. I ain’t got nothing to hide, sweetheart,” in a strangled voice was a little surprising. You had fully expected him to pick dare. Nonetheless, you took a moment to think, letting your gaze linger on the way his jaw clenched slightly, the stubble on his chin catching the dim light in the room.

“Alright… where’s the weirdest place you’ve had sex?”

Dean shifted in his chair, trying to maintain his usual cocky demeanor despite the flush creeping up his neck. You could see the brief flicker of uncertainty in his eyes before he masked it with a casual shrug.

“Probably the back of a food delivery truck,” he finally admitted, a smirk tugging at his lips as if he was daring you to ask about details. You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up at the unexpected answer and the mental image of Dean with his pants around his ankles, ass bared for anyone who might walk. You laughed harder. 

“Seriously?” you chucked, raising an eyebrow. Sam snorted beside you.

“Dude, pretty sure that’s a health code violation,” Sam said while shaking his head.

“Cut me some slack. We could all use some fun every now and again. If you got your nose out of your books every once in a while, maybe you’d experience it.” Dean’s voice carried a hint of challenge to it.

“I have fun, Dean,” Sam said defensively. “It just doesn’t include public sex.”

“Hey, we closed the door. And I’m skeptical that your fun includes any sex.”

“Whatever, Dean.”

The bottle clinked as Dean spun it. Sam glowered at his brother across the table as the bottle pointed at him, and Dean grinned. You watched as Sam’s expression shifted to mild apprehension, but Dean’s heckling must’ve got to him because the apprehension gave way to determination. Sam leaned forward in his seat.

“Truth or dare, bitch?”

“Dare, jerk. Do your worst.”

“Gladly. I dare you to… kiss her.” Dean’s gaze flicked over to you.

Sam’s eyes went wide in surprise, clearly having expected Dean to put him through something ridiculous or demeaning. You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unsure of what the least suspicious reaction would be. Were you supposed to be offended? Shocked? Horrified? Into it? You wouldn’t even have to pretend for that last one.

You shot a quick glance at Sam, but he was already looking away, his cheeks tinged with a light pink hue. Dean watched the exchange with a smug grin, clearly relishing the discomfort he had caused. However, when you looked at him, you were sure there was something more in those green eyes of his. If you weren’t mistaken, it was something akin to longing. A twinge of disappointment and more. You would’ve tried to dig deeper into it, but Sam’s movement in your peripheral vision drew your attention back to him.

“Are you okay with this? You don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable.” He was looking at you, eyebrows drawn up in concern and something unnamable in his eyes. While there had been no physical change, something about the way Sam was looking at you felt different. More charged. Like the prospect of kissing you had opened some sort of floodgate and there was no way to close it again.

“I’m sure you could make her plenty comfortable, Sammy.”

“Dean...” Sam gave Dean a look for the briefest of moments, and you made the executive decision that the best way to navigate the situation was to be as cool about it as possible. It was just a kiss. A kiss with one of the men you had just imagined fucking you into next week, but a kiss nonetheless.

“You’re not afraid of little ol’ me, are you, Sammy?” you asked, laying the charm on thick. Actually, maybe if you leaned way into it, the boys would be none-the-wiser. Hide your attraction in plain sight, so to speak.

You hadn’t ever called him ‘Sammy’ before. That was a privilege only Dean had, but in the moment, it felt right. Like it fit right in with the teasing tone you took. But when Sam let out a long, audible exhale through his nose and something dangerous flickered in his eyes, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe you had crossed a line. He had never outright said that you were allowed to call him that, and you had seen how defensive he could get about the nickname. The word ‘sorry’ was on the tip of your tongue, but Sam spoke before you could say it.

“Come here.”

It wasn’t what he said that caused your stomach to flip. It was how he said it. Like he was a predator stalking his prey. Like he was on the verge of pouncing. Like he was a wolf calling a lamb to him. You had it backwards. Maybe you were supposed to be afraid of him. And before you knew it, you were out of your chair and standing between his legs after he had scooted away from the table. Even sitting down, he was so damn tall. “You okay with this?” he asked again, the usual, gentle Sam you knew bleeding through whatever personality had taken him over. You nodded numbly.

“Yeah… It’s just a kiss,” you said, more for your sake than his. It didn’t do anything for your heart pounding in your chest.

His hand cupped your cheek, tilting your head to meet his gaze. The air between you crackled with tension as you held your breath, the heat of his hand sinking into you like a balm. He closed the distance between you.

All your fantasies and previous ideas of what kissing Sam Winchester would be like flew out the window in an instant, every one of them a mockery of the real thing. His lips were soft against yours, and you could taste the lingering bitterness of beer. But the kiss was nothing like the playful teasing you had expected from a simple dare. There was something deeper to it, something raw. A silent confession of things left unsaid for far too long. You were sure Sam could hear your heart hammering in your chest as you melted into the kiss, unable to resist the pull of his lips on yours. Your eyes had fluttered shut, and the world around you faded away until all that was left was Sam.

Sam’s hand on your cheek. Sam’s lips against yours. Sam’s comforting, woodsy scent enveloping you like a hug. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer until you were practically sitting in his lap. Your hands settled against his chest, firm and steady beneath your touch.

Dean’s low whistle shattered the spell between you.

“Alright, I think that’s my cue to make myself scarce,” Dean said with a chuckle, but there was an edge to his voice that didn’t sit right with you. You pulled away, breathless and cheeks flushed. Sam’s gaze found yours, his expression entirely unreadable. You took an unsteady step away from him and turned to look at Dean. You hadn’t been imagining it before. There definitely was something gnawing at him that he wasn’t letting on.

“Where are you going?” you asked as he moved to stand from his seat. He let out a humorless laugh.

“Look, as fun as it is to watch you two dry hump, I’m starting to feel like a third wheel on a bicycle.”

Your stomach lurched. You could feel the balance between the three of you tipping. Everything was going to come crashing down around you. Pandora’s box had been opened, and there was no going back. The phrase “the person who chases two rabbits will catch none,” came to mind, but whoever had said it clearly had never met you. You couldn’t lose them. That might actually kill you.

“Dean,” you said at the same time Sam said your name. You looked back at Sam. He had the same indiscernible thing in his eyes that Dean had, and it was really starting to bug you. Normally you could read these two like books, but right now, it was like someone had taken all the words out and scrambled them. Sam tipped his head in Dean’s direction.

“If he’s feeling left out… then why not give him a kiss too?”

Your jaw went slack, and every thought racing through your head came to an abrupt halt.

Were you dreaming? Did you hear him correctly? Or had that kiss with Sam actually short-circuited your brain?

Dean must’ve been going through a similar thought process because all he could muster was a dumb,

“Huh?”

“Are you joking?” you asked and immediately regretted it. It made it sound like you didn’t want to kiss Dean. Dean looked genuinely hurt.

“No,” Sam said. “Do it. I dare you.” And he purposefully grabbed the bottle on the table and turned it to point at you. You were tempted to point out that that’s not how the game was supposed to work, but Dean spoke first.

“It’s fine. Look, I know you guys got this… thing between you. I’m not gonna get in the way of it.”

“You and her obviously have something more, and I don’t want you guys to not do anything about it because of me,” Sam countered.

“Guys,” you cut in, hoping you didn’t sound as panicked as you felt. They both looked at you, and the weight of their gazes slammed into you with all the force of a semi truck. You stood your ground. “What is going on here?”

“Nothing!” Dean snapped. “You and Sammy have been making heart-eyes at each other for long enough. I figured you needed a little push. Based on that kiss I saw, I was obviously right. So I’m just gonna go take a nice, long drive and maybe get a second room.”

“What are you talking about? You two have been emotionally edging each other for months now! I figured you were taking your time because you liked her and didn’t know how to deal with those feelings.”

“Hello? Guys? I’m right here.”

The realization of what was happening began to sink in, and your mind raced to catch up with your heart. No one spoke. The room suddenly felt too small. Suffocating you with the tension. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing that one wrong move could send everything spiraling out of control.

You looked from Sam to Dean, their expressions mirroring a strange blend of determination and vulnerability. As if they had thrown each others’ cards on the table and now were waiting for you to make a move. You had hit a point of no return, and all that was left was to keep going forward. You took a steadying breath.

“You both like me.” It was a statement, not a question. You knew. “And I like both of you.” The two of them glanced at each other, silently communicating in the way that – despite having been with them for several years at this point – still made you feel like an outsider. “Don’t make me pick. Please. It’d be like telling me to pick my favorite leg and cut the other off.”

Another uncomfortable silence.

Sam was the first to speak, his voice low and filled with emotion that you couldn’t quite place.

“We should’ve talked about this before it got to this point,” he said, his eyes flickering between you and Dean. Dean nodded in agreement, running a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture that was so unlike him.

“So, where do we go from here?” he asked.

“I think we have two options,” you said solemnly. “The first is that I follow through on Sam’s dare. You and I,” you motioned between yourself and Dean “kiss, we call everything even, and we shove this all back in the box that it came out of and never talk about it ever again.” Dean wet his lips.

“And the second option?”

“The second…” Oh God, were you really about to say this? Out loud? To them? “The second option is… we consider that the concept of sharing can extend to people, too.”

Dean let out a slow breath, eyeing you carefully like you were going to say, “Just kidding!” a second later. You didn’t.

“Sharing,” he repeated, the word hanging heavy in the air. “That’s… unconventional.”

“Unconventional, but not impossible,” Sam added quietly, his gaze intense as it bore into you. “We’ve always been good at defying the odds.”

He had a point. The three of you had faced countless challenges together, overcoming obstacles that had once seemed insurmountable. You were confident that there was nothing in the world that could stop the three of you together. But this? This was different. This wasn’t a hunt to complete or a monster to behead. This was potentially a messy knot of emotions with the very real possibility of a disastrous outcome.

“Has it ever even crossed either of your minds?” you asked slowly. They shared a guilty look. Your eyes went wide. “Oh my God, it has!”

“It might’ve been a... passing consideration,” Dean admitted quietly. “But it’s not exactly something that comes up in a normal conversation.” It was Sam’s turn to agree with Dean with a nod. He said,

“But now it’s here, right in front of us.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I understand that this isn’t something that just happens and everyone is okay with everything. But you two are more than worth the fight. What do you guys think? Sam?” You looked at him, sincere determination burning in your eyes. He met you with the calm assurance that you had come to associate with Sam. As though any doubts that he might’ve had were already laid to rest.

“I think that I care about the both of you enough to give this a serious try,” Sam replied, his voice steady and earnest.

“Dean?” You turned your attention to the other Winchester, the one who you felt would be the most resistant to the whole idea. There was a beat before he answered.

“I think Sam gave you a dare that you haven’t followed through with, sweetheart.” And then, Dean flashed you that brilliant smile of his, all teeth and dimples. And fuck if that didn’t go straight to your core.

The tension between the three of you shifted rather than dissipated, remaining charged and heavy.

You took a tentative step towards Dean, keeping a careful eye on each of them as you approached. Sam’s eyes were a challenge, and when you finally were in front of Dean, you reached out, cupping his cheek in your hand. Your gaze met Dean’s, searching for any sign of hesitation. But there was none. You leaned in slowly, giving him the opportunity to pull away if he changed his mind last minute. Instead, he met you halfway, his lips brushing softly against yours.

It was everything you had hoped for and more. It was nothing you had imagined – it was better. Way better. Couldn’t even begin to describe how much more perfect it was than you had ever pictured in your mind. Kissing Dean was like being wrapped in warmth and safety. He was all passion and confidence and fire, and all you wanted was to let it consume you. And it went deeper than that. There was a hunger shared between you that couldn’t be denied. A desire that was more profound than you could find the words for. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer and sweeping you up in a whirlwind of Dean. He was a storm. Wild. Intense. Powerful. 

Dean’s tongue swiping against your lips. Dean’s scent of leather and whiskey curling around you. Dean’s hand sliding up your back and holding the back of your neck. Your lips parted, and your hands settled on his broad shoulders, all corded muscle and strength beneath your fingers.

You broke the kiss, only because you might have forgotten that breathing was a thing while you lost yourself in the one and only Dean Winchester. His pupils were blown wide as he looked at you in awe, as though he couldn’t believe that the two of you had just kissed. His eyes flicked down to your tongue that darted out to wet your lips.

“You sure you know what you’re getting into, sweetheart?”

Oh, you knew. 

After all the years spent by their sides, how could you not? How could you not know that Sam would treat you so kindly and gently? He was the type who liked to savor his women like a fine wine. You had always imagined that Sam would take his time with you. Pleasure you and fuck you until you couldn’t see straight anymore. And Dean? Dean played rough. He’d tease you. Edge you. Claim you. He was the kind of guy who was always in control, and you would gladly give that to him if he asked. You’d heard enough of his encounters through the paper-thin motel room walls to know that Dean made women sob and whimper.

“If we’re gonna do this,” Sam’s voice cut in, and when your eyes found him, he was your anchor. A grounding point. Ever-steady. Unwavering. You swore you fell for him just a little more every time you looked at him. “We should probably establish a safeword. Or we could use the traffic light system.” You nodded along with him, glancing at Dean out of the corner of your eye. He was doing his best to hide it, but you recognized his expression as the same one he wore when he was trying to piece together something in a case. 

“Green for all good. Yellow for take it slow, and red to stop immediately, right?” you asked just so that everyone was for sure on the same page. Recognition flashed in Dean’s eyes, and he quickly agreed.

With the indulgence of a heated kiss with each of them and the friendship crisis averted – at least for now, – your arousal from your interrupted shower was thrumming through you, singing through your veins like a siren’s song. Tempting you to lose yourself in the two men in front of you. You had tamped down that temptation for far too long. Thankfully, it seemed like Dean was already there with you.

“So, how do you want to do this?” he asked carefully.

“Any way I can get the both of you.” You might’ve been embarrassed at how quickly you responded if they both weren’t looking at you with darkened eyes that suggested that they were already thinking the same thing. You were pretty sure you were going to be the first official case of spontaneous human combustion. Nothing supernatural about it. It was them, your honor. They set you ablaze, and you were absolutely helpless to do anything to stop it.

“Like... at the same time?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, and a smirk tugged at your lips as his breath caught in his throat. “That okay?”

“Uh, yeah, ‘course, totally fine,” he stammered.

“Green?” you prompted. He nodded and repeated, 

“Green. Dark green. Fucking emerald, sweetheart.”

“Sam?” You shifted your attention to him and picked out all the ways you could see his self control unraveling at the seams. The way he watched every little movement. The way his arms were loosely crossed over his chest as though that were the last bastion of composure keeping him in check.

“As a forest, pretty girl.”

And that was all it took.

Dean was on you in a heartbeat, lips crashing against yours like a wave that had spent too long away from the shore. His tongue slid against yours as he slowly backed you towards the bed, only giving you a reprieve when you stumbled backwards onto the mattress with a yelp. He chuckled, following you down and peppering kisses across your cheek before settling himself on your right, propped up on his elbow. 

A gentle hand touched your arm, and you pulled away from Dean slightly, turning to see Sam’s warm gaze meeting yours. You hadn’t heard him move and only barely felt the dip of the mattress as he took up the spot on the other side of you.

“Hey,” he said softly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Don’t forget about me.”

“Never,” you replied, reaching for his hand. “Come here.”

Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned in, his kiss softer, more tender than Dean’s, but no less intense. It was a kiss that spoke of quiet longing and deep affection, and it made your heart ache in the best way possible. He slid his hand across your stomach before slipping down over your hip and settling on your thigh. You gasped into his mouth as his fingers dragged over your clothed center. At the same time, Dean pressed kisses against your shoulder, his own hand toying with the hem of your shirt before dipping beneath it, his fingers dancing across your skin. He pushed your bra up and cupped your breast, his fingers finding your nipple and teasing it. 

No fantasy of yours could’ve ever prepared you for this. They all paled in comparison. Having Sam and Dean’s hands and lips on you simultaneously was something your brain never could’ve conjured up properly compared to the real thing. And when Sam’s hand found its way beneath the elastic band of your shorts and underwear and found you wet and waiting for him, you felt him smile against your lips.

“Hardly even touched you, pretty girl,” he teased, his voice low.

“I might have gotten a bit of a head start in the shower earlier,” you admitted cheekily. Dean chuckled.

“Oh shit, I interrupted that?”

A witty response died on your tongue as Sam chose that moment to find your clit and roll it between his fingers. You moaned and your eyes fluttered shut as he teased you, fingers sliding through your wetness but never quite dipping into you. And just when you were ready to tell him that you needed more otherwise you might actually die, Sam gave you a quick peck on the lips before he slid down off the end of the bed and kneeled between your legs. He helped you out of your shorts and panties in a smooth motion before you felt his warm breath brushing against your core. He propped one of your legs up and over his shoulder, holding it tight while his other hand splayed over your thigh, holding you open as he leaned forward and pressed an open-mouthed kiss against you.

His tongue. His lips. His fingers digging into your thighs. Your responding cry was high and thready as Sam held you and pressed his tongue flat against your clit, and you would’ve carded your fingers into his hair if Dean hadn’t caught your wrists and pinned them above your head.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart. We’re the ones touching you right now,” Dean murmured, pressing his lips to your temple. Your head fell back against the comforter. You had always imagined Sam would be good with his tongue. He was so eloquent, so well spoken. But God, you had no idea just how good. He licked a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit before focusing solely on it.

“Fuck, Sam,” you gasped, using the leverage you had on his shoulder to rock your hips against his face. Sam’s grip on you tightened as he worked you over.

Dean grabbed your chin with the hand that wasn’t holding your wrists and turned your face to him. His lips crashed into yours in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as Sam continued. The dual sensation was overwhelming – Sam between your legs and Dean’s possessive kiss stealing your breath away. You were drowning in pleasure, caught between them in the only way you ever wanted to be.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to taste you,” Sam muttered against your thigh, his breath hot against your sensitive skin before he dove back in, sliding two fingers inside you while his tongue circled your clit. Your back arched off the bed, the sensation almost too much to bear.

“Pretty noises from such a pretty girl,” Dean said, his lips trailing down your neck. “Bet you can be louder, though.” His free hand slipped under your shirt again, palming your breast. The rough drag of his calloused hands against your sensitive skin had you gasping for air. His fingers pinched your nipple, and the sharp pain-pleasure turned your next moan into a whimper halfway through. “There you go, sweetheart.”

Your hips bucked as Sam curled his fingers inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made stars dance in your vision. You were so hopelessly trapped between them, caught in the perfect storm that only they were capable of creating. The coil of pleasure within you wound tighter and tighter with every swipe of Sam’s tongue, every twist of Dean’s fingers, every breath hot against your skin.

“F-fuck. Sam, Dean, I–” You couldn’t find the words as Sam’s long fingers pressed deeper, and you felt your thighs begin to tremble around his head.

“You gonna come for us, sweetheart?” Dean’s voice was low and gravelly in your ear, and all you could offer in response was a low whine. “Come then, baby girl.” And dear God, if that wasn’t the hottest command you’d ever received in your life. Your body went rigid as you came apart in their hands, tensing and shuddering as pleasure flooded through your system. Sam worked you through it, his movements slowing as your trembling subsided, pressing gentle kisses to your inner thigh as you came down from your high.

Dean released your wrists, and you immediately reached for Sam, fingers tangling in his hair as he looked up at you from between your legs. His lips were slick with you, hazel eyes dark with desire.

“You taste better than I ever imagined,” he said, voice thick with want. Dean chuckled beside you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before backing off as Sam crawled back up your body, leaving kisses along your stomach, between your breasts, and finally capturing your lips. Meanwhile, Dean’s hands stroked along your sides, pushing your shirt up as they went. You and Sam maneuvered just enough for Dean to help pull your shirt above your head, and your bra didn’t stand a chance against Sam’s deft fingers.

“Isn’t it a little unfair that I’m the only one naked here?” you asked, your voice still breathy from your orgasm. Dean’s signature smirk returned as he sat back on his heels on the bed, his eyes roaming over your body and taking in every inch of exposed skin with undisguised hunger.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.” You huffed your disagreement and grabbed the front of Dean’s shirt, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Too many clothes,” you whispered against his mouth. Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his flannel, and he chuckled, helping you push it off over his shoulder before pulling his t-shirt over his head, revealing the broad expanse of his chest and the anti-possession tattoo that matched yours and Sam’s. You turned to Sam next, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “You too.”

Sam complied immediately, ridding himself of his shirt to expose the toned muscles of his chest and abdomen. Your mouth went dry at the sight of both men half-naked before you, something you had only ever dreamed of. The difference between them was stark but no less appealing – Dean’s broader build with more defined muscle versus Sam’s leaner, taller frame.

“How do you want us?” Sam asked, his voice husky with need. You bit your lip, considering the options that lay before you. The endless possibilities. All the ways you could have them both at once.

“I want… both of you. Inside me. At the same time.” Your voice was surprisingly steady considering the request that had just left your lips. You watched as both men’s eyes widened slightly, pupils dilating even further with lust.

“You sure, sweetheart?” Dean asked, his voice strained as he searched your face for any sign of hesitation. “That’s… intense.”

“I’m sure.” You nodded, reaching out to stroke his cheek. Sam’s hand found your hip, his thumb drawing lazy circles against your skin.

“We’ll go slow,” he promised. “Tell us if it’s too much.”

Dean was the first to move, the metallic clink of his belt buckle sending a shiver down your spine as he pushed his jeans and boxers down in one fluid motion. Your breath caught at the sight of him fully naked, his cock hard and leaking. Sam followed suit, standing to remove his remaining clothes. When he straightened up, it was your turn for your eyes to go wide. Sam was… proportional to his height, to say the least.

“Everything you imagined?” Dean asked, noticing your expression.

“So much more,” you managed to reply, reaching out to wrap your fingers around him. Dean hissed through his teeth at the contact, his head falling back as you stroked up his length. There was something intoxicating about having him at your mercy. You didn’t mean to be a tease, but your touch was light and your movements slow as you marveled at the weight of him in your hand.

Sam moved behind you, pressing his chest against your back as his hands slid around to cup your breasts. His cock pressed against the small of your back, hot and heavy.

“You call the shots, baby. Who do you want where?” Sam murmured, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. You mind raced with possibilities, each one more enticing than the last.

“You underneath, Dean behind,” you decided. Both men groaned at your words, and you felt Sam’s cock twitch against you.

“Fuck, I like the way you think,” Dean said. “Probably need lube, though.”

“My bag. Under the bed,” you said. Dean shot you a surprised glance, as though the thought of it genuinely shocked him. “Oh sure. A guy keeps condoms with him and it’s fine, but a girl has lube in her bag, and you’re clutching your pearls?” You gave him a gentle squeeze, and he let out a low exhale.

“Smart girl, always prepared,” Dean smirked, moving off the bed to retrieve it. You watched as he bent down, presenting you with a perfect view of his backside. You couldn’t help the appreciative hum that escaped your lips. Sam chuckled against your neck, and you turned your head to catch his lips in a heated kiss. Sam’s tongue slid against yours as Dean returned, bottle in hand. You felt the mattress dip as Dean settled in front of you, his lips finding the spot just above your collarbone.

Sam settled himself on the bed, reclining against the headboard as he beckoned you to him.

“Come here, pretty girl,” he said, his voice like gravel. You crawled over to him, straddling his thighs as his hands settled on your hips. His cock stood proud between you, and you couldn’t resist reaching down to stroke him, relishing the way his breath hitched when you did. Pre-cum beaded at his tip, and you swiped your thumb over it, spreading the moisture down his length. Sam’s hips bucked involuntarily. His hands squeezed your hips as you positioned yourself over him.

Dean’s hand slid up your back, his chest pressing against you as his lips found the nape of your neck. The feeling of being sandwiched between them was indescribable – all heat and muscle and desperate want. You heard the cap of the lube bottle click open and moments later, you felt Dean’s cool, slick fingers pressing at your ass.

“Anyone ever play with you back here, sweetheart?” he asked, fingers lightly pressing against your hole. You shook your head.

“No, you’re the first.” He let out a low, dark chuckle.

“Fuck, okay. Gonna take good care of you, sweetheart. Promise.”

His finger circled teasingly before pressing inside. You braced your hands on Sam’s shoulders, and Sam leaned forward to kiss your brow as he gently guided you down onto his cock. You each let out simultaneous moans as you sank down, clenching around Sam’s cock and Dean’s finger.

“Such a good girl for us,” Dean said, resting his forehead against your shoulder blade as he worked you open with careful precision. Us. Dean had said ‘us,’ and you’re pretty sure your heart skipped a beat at it. “What’s your color, baby?”

“Green,” you said breathlessly when Sam was fully seated in you. “What’d you say before? Fucking emerald,” you echoed Dean’s sentiment from earlier.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Relax for me, sweetheart.”

You took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing yourself to relax as Dean pressed a second finger into you, the dull burn quickly dissipating. The dual sensation of Sam inside you and Dean' working you open was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. Sam’s hands stroked up and down your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as he watched your face for any sign of discomfort.

“You’re doing so well,” Sam murmured, leaning forward to capture your lips in a tender kiss. “So fucking perfect for us.” There was that word again. Us. This time from Sam. These two were going to be the death of you. Sam’s hips shifted beneath you, and you gasped against his mouth as he hit a spot deep inside you that made your toes curl. His cock throbbed inside you, and you had the very distinct feeling that it was taking all his willpower not to thrust up into you. “Feel okay?”

“So good,” you breathed, rolling your hips experimentally. The movement caused Dean’s fingers to press deeper, and you moaned at the fullness. You whimpered.

“God, you feel incredible,” Dean groaned, carefully pressing a third finger into you. His free hand gripped your hip, steadying you as Sam made shallow thrusts beneath you.

“Dean,” you gasped, pushing back against Dean’s fingers. “Need your cock so bad.” And, really, Dean stood no chance when you said something straight out of his fantasies to him.

“Need me to fuck this pretty ass of yours?” Dean asked, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Sure you’re ready for that, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you begged, your body trembling with anticipation. Dean withdrew his fingers slowly, and you only had a brief moment to lament the loss before you felt the blunt head of his cock press against you. Both of their grips on you tightened, holding you completely still as Dean smeared the lube over himself.

“Easy now,” Dean murmured, pressing forward at an agonizingly slow pace. “Breathe for me. Just like that. Good girl.”

You leaned forward, burying your face in Sam’s neck and breathing deeply as Dean sank into you. It was a stretch. Intense and just shy of painful. But Dean’s patience and careful movements kept it from tipping into being too much. He paused as the head of his cock disappeared into you.

“Color?” you heard Sam ask.

“Y-yellow,” you panted, “give me a second.” Every muscle in you was pulled taut, adjusting to the new sensation.

“Take all the time you need, sweetheart. No rush,” Dean’s voice was strained but gentle, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your lower back. “We’ve got all night, and we’re not going anywhere.”

Sam’s fingers trailed up to cup your face, tilting your head so he could look into your eyes.

“You’re doing amazing,” he muttered, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. “So beautiful taking both of us. We’ve got you.”

You focused on your breathing, on the feeling of being completely surrounded by them. You were safe. Safer than you had ever been in your life. Safely nestled between them. Right where you belonged. You could’ve cried from the sheer joy you felt. Sam and Dean and you. That’s all you needed.

The initial discomfort gradually faded, giving way to a fullness that bordered on overwhelming in the best way possible. You shifted experimentally, drawing a grown from both men.

“Green,” you whispered with a small nod. Dean took that as his cue, pressing forward inch by agonizing inch until he was fully seated inside you. The sensations were beyond anything you’d ever imagined. Pleasure. Pressure. Fullness. Your breaths came in short gasps as you adjusted to them both, your body stretched to its limits.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” Dean groaned, his fingers digging into your skin. “So tight around my cock.”

“Doing okay, pretty girl?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Sam’s first thrust in while Dean pulled back knocked the air from your lungs. The second one fried whatever circuits were left in your brain. And the third? Well, you never fully recovered from there.

They quickly found a rhythm, one moving in as the other withdrew, never leaving you empty for a single moment. You were helplessly caught in a tide of pleasure, rising and crashing with each thrust. Your senses were overwhelmed. The sound of their labored breathing. The drag of their cocks against your walls. The delicious friction. Sam’s hands on your breasts. Dean’s lips on your neck. The taste of Sam’s skin as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck. The sight of his face contorted in pleasure. The praise from both of them. They each sounded so reverent. In awe.

“Look at you,” Dean panted behind you, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. His hands were on your shoulders, pulling you back onto him with every thrust. “Like you were made for this. Made for us.”

Sam’s hands were everywhere – in your hair, on your hips, on your thighs – leaving trails of fire in their wake. His thrusts became more erratic as he chased his release. You felt your own orgasm building, the same coil from before winding tighter with each perfectly timed thrust.

“D-Dean– Sam–” you gasped, your nails digging into Sam’s chest as they pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it, you got another one for us?” Sam encouraged. “Come on. Let us feel you.”

Sam’s hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with practiced precision. That was all it took to send you hurtling over the edge. You cried out their names as you came, your body clenching rhythmically around both of them. The sensation of your walls pulsing around them was too much for Sam, who followed you over the edge with a deep groan, grinding his hips up into you as he filled you with his release. Dean thrust one, twice more before burying himself to the hilt with a strangled moan of your name, his cock twitching as he spilled deep within you.

For a long moment, none of you moved, the room filled only with the sound of heavy breathing as you all came down from your shared high.

“Holy fuck,” Dean muttered, his voice rough, wrecked. His forehead pressed against your shoulder blade. “That was… Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah,” you agreed breathlessly, unable to form more coherent thoughts. Dean carefully withdrew from you with a hiss, and you whimpered at the loss, feeling suddenly empty as he moved away. Sam rubbed a soothing hand along your thigh as Dean disappeared into the bathroom. You heard water running, and moments later, he returned with a warm washcloth.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Dean said softly, helping lift you off Sam. Your legs were boneless as you collapsed onto the bed between them. Dean’s touch was gentle as he cleaned you up, the warm cloth soothing against your sensitive skin. Sam shifted beside you, pressing a tender kiss to your temple before getting up to clean himself. “You okay?” Dean asked, his voice soft with concern as he stretched out beside you, propping himself up on his elbow. He tossed the washcloth somewhere towards the bathroom. His free hand traced lazy patterns on your stomach.

“Better than okay,” you murmured, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. “That was… wow.” Sam returned, sliding into the bed on your other side. The mattress dipped under his weight, and you turned your head to look at him. He brushed stray hair from your face.

“You sure we didn’t hurt you?” Sam asked.

“Just sore in the best way possible,” you assured him, reaching up to touch his cheek. The warmth in Sam’s eyes made your heart flutter. “Worth every ache I’ll feel tomorrow.”

Dean chuckled and draped his arm across your waist.

“Good, ‘cause I’m planning on giving you plenty more reasons to be sore.” His voice held that cocky edge you knew and loved, but there was something softer underneath it now.

“Insatiable,” you teased, turning to press a kiss to his stubbled jaw. “Both of you.”

“Only for you,” Sam said with a soft laugh, his large hand splaying across your stomach, fingers brushing against Dean’s arm. The possessiveness in his touch sent a pleasant shiver through you despite your exhaustion.

“Pretty sure you two have ruined me for anyone else.” You nestled into the pillows, your body deliciously sore in places you’d never felt before.

“That was the plan,” Dean said, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. There was something different in his eyes now. A softness that hadn’t been there before. Something unguarded and vulnerable, and it made your heart squeeze in your chest.

There was a long silence as the tension from before crept back in. You didn’t want to, but there was a conversation that needed to happen. Sooner rather than later. So you mustered up the courage to voice it.

“So… what happens now?”

Dean’s arm tightened around you almost imperceptible, and Sam’s eyes flicked to Dean before returning to you.

“What do you want to happen?” Sam asked, his voice gentle but serious. The questions hung in the air, heavy with implications and possibilities.

“I want this,” you said simply, looking from one brother to the other. “Not just tonight. Not just sex. I want us.” The admission made you feel vulnerable. Exposed in a way that had nothing to do with your nudity. “I know it’s complicated and messy and probably insane, but–”

“Sweetheart, our whole lives are complicated and messy and insane,” Dean interrupted, a small smile playing on his lips. “What’s one more thing?”

Sam’s hand found yours, his thumb brushing gentle along your knuckles.

“I’ve wanted this – wanted you – for too long to let it go now,” he admitted.

“Same here,” Dean added, propping himself up higher to look at you properly. “This wasn’t just scratching an itch for me. Not with you.” Relief flooded through you, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Good,” you whispered.

It wasn’t always going to be easy. You knew that. You were a hunter for God’s sake. You knew that life was never simple. But this? This strange, beautiful arrangement between the three of you? It was worth fighting tooth and nail for. Worth the inevitable complications and challenges that would come with it.

“We’ll figure it out as we go,” Sam said, as if he could read your thoughts.

“Together,” Dean added, the word carrying more weight behind it. You nodded, warmth spreading through your chest as the realization that these two men – these incredible, frustrating, brave, stubborn men – were yours.

And you were theirs.

---

I just want to say that this is the longest piece I have ever written, and I am seriously so proud of this for once. I was able to set all of my self-doubt aside for this and just write, and I genuinely feel like this is the best piece of work I have ever written in my entire life. I thank you so very much for reading it all the way through. 💜

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Dean taglist: @aylacavebear @globetrotter28 @bettystonewell @supernotnatural2005 @maddie0101

Both: @jollyhunter @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @voodoochildthings @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind

Drop a comment, ask away, or add yourself to my taglist!

[boykingscourt]

you're serving face? someone is breaking into your apartment and you're serving face???

[jays-bonnie-on-the-side]

WHAT’S DONE IN THE DARK, COMES TO LIGHT

PAIRING : sam winchester x fem!reader | dean winchester x fem!reader

SUMMARY : sam and reader have been together a few months. after a night out with her friends, she comes back to the motel, determined to have sex with her boyfriend. too drunk to notice, she climbes into the wrong bed.

WARNINGS : estalished relationship. strong language. fluff. angst. smut. oral (m. receiving). unprotected p in v. daddy kink. misunderstandings. violence. cheating. pining. mutual jealousy. mentions of alcohol.

A/N : had this idea in the archives for a while and thought it was time to share it. hope you like it as much as i did. also, if you need a clue: y/f/n-your friend’s name, y/o/f/n-your other friends’s name. y/n/n- your nickname

You and the boys had a case close to the city your best friends lived in. So, after the gruesome hunt, you catch up with them at their favorite bar. The brothers decide to join, eager to celebrate your victory while meeting your childhood friends. You walk into the bar, hand in hand with your handsome and tall boyfriend, his brother following behind as you search for the girls. Their eyes land on you, and their faces drop.

“Hey!” You shout as you see them making their way through the small crowd.

Letting go of his hand, you wrap your arms around your two best friends. They squeeze you tight, having not seen you in almost a year. It felt so good to be in their presence. You loved the company of the Winchesters, but it was due time to see your girls. And with luck on your side, they dropped all their plans to get together.

“Ugh, I’ve missed you guys!”

They let you breathe, pulling away from the embrace. “We missed you!”

“We’re glad you made it in one piece!”

They knew you were a hunter. You couldn’t lie to them. When you dropped out of college after learning about the supernatural firsthand, you couldn’t find an excuse good enough to tell them why and where you were going; You didn’t want to either. They begged you not to join the life, but they knew that whatever they said, wouldn't stop you.

“Thanks to these two,” You turn and intertwine your fingers with his before facing them again. “Guys, this is my boyfriend, Sam.”

Their eyebrows raise, and their lips curl. “Boyfriend?”

Sam extends his free hand for them to shake. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

“You too,” they say as they each accept his strong hand.

Dean stands beside you, eyeing up the girls. You glance toward him, swallowing your annoyance as you introduce, “And this is his older brother, Dean.”

Like every straight woman, they stare at the gorgeous specimen with hungry eyes. You knew your friends well enough to know what they were thinking. You couldn’t blame them; He’s magnificent to look at. When you began working with the boys, you had the same thoughts, but they vanished once you started dating Sam.

Like his brother, he reaches and shakes their hands. You felt a strange tinge in your body when Dean’s touch lingers. Unsurprisingly, the girls liked it, and pretty soon, they were paying more attention to him than you. After ordering drinks, everyone moves over to the pool table, to play a game of Cutthroat. The match wasn’t much of anything; Dean took turns with them, his arms wrapped around theirs, taking his sweet time to show them how to align and hit the ball just right.

You roll your eyes, feeling jealous, and you aren’t sure why. After prying your eyes away from the scene before you, you lean into Sam. He wraps his strong arm around your waist, kissing the crown of your head. Given he’s much taller, you tilt your chin to the ceiling and meet his gaze. He gives you a small smile, already knowing your request.

He clears his throat and calls over to his brother, “Hey, man, it’s getting kinda late. I’m gonna head out. You ready?”

Dean looks up from your friend and over at Sam. “Late? It’s only 10:30.” Your boyfriend gives him a look, and he takes the hint. “Oh, right.”

“Well, I’ll catch up with you boys later,” Sam pulls you into an embrace, and you whisper in his ear, “Don’t wait up.”

He plants a sweet kiss on your lips before turning his attention to your friends. They smile and give him a quick discussion on the consequences of what’ll happen if he doesn't treat you right. Sam chuckles at their attempt to be threatening but understands where they’re coming from. He would never hurt you, and you knew that. They exchanged their goodbyes with your boyfriend before turning towards Dean.

“Well, ladies, it was nice meeting you. I hope to see you again soon.”

“Maybe we can catch up tomorrow,” “You know, somewhere more private.” They purr in his ear.

It had been a while since his last threesome, and though the attractive women were tempting, he had his eyes on another girl, one that already belonged to someone else. He knew he could never make a move, and he had no choice but to be okay with it. After all, he only has himself to blame for constantly putting his brother’s happiness before his own. He plasters a fake smile and shakes his head at the proposal.

“I would, sweethearts, but the world ain't gonna save itself.”

"You're so brave," one of them fawns.

You roll your eyes for what feels like the tenth time. Hell, you’re surprised they haven’t rolled out of your head already. However, you’re the tiniest bit relieved when he declines their offer. You wouldn’t know who to be more angry with: him or them. Your friends weren’t the kind to have one-night stands but Dean never would’ve guessed. Knowing so, they would’ve gotten attached if they weren’t already. He says a final goodbye before walking towards you and Sam.

“Let’s go before I regret it.”

Sam gives you one last kiss, one that leaves you wanting more, earning a side glance from Dean that no one catches. “Have fun.”

With that, the three of you watch as the handsome brothers leave.

“They’re so hot.”

“How you get any work done is beyond me.”

With a chuckle, you shake your head. “It ain’t easy.”

“I could take them both and not in a fight,” Y/F/N says.

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head at your friend’s quip. Y/O/F/N laughs in agreement. Your mouth had fallen open, taken aback by her blunt honesty. Could you blame her? Not one bit.

“Well? Aren't we all thinking it?”

“Of course not!” You squeak.

“So you’re telling me that you wouldn’t have a threesome with them if the opportunity arose?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“I mean…” You shrug your shoulders, not wanting to lie but not wanting to tell the truth either.

“Ha! You totally would!”

Shaking some sense back into your head, you speak over the loud, drunken individuals. “I love Sam. I don’t think I’d be with him if Dean and I ever…”

“Fucked?” Y/F/N finishes.

“Yes.”

“I could!” Your second friend shouts.

“I’ll drink to that!” says your first one, holding up her shot glass and waiting for you two to do the same.

You clink glasses and down the hard liquor. The alcohol burns in your throat, almost making you regret drinking it in the first place. You missed your girls. You adored Sam and Dean, but you couldn't get as rowdy and loose in front of them as you needed to sometimes. A few hours had gone by, and you each had switched to water after one too many shots of tequila.

“You’re telling me…tha you‘n Sam…haven’t donnit yet?” Your friend slurs.

You nod but stop when your head begins to spin. “Not once. I think ‘e wants to take it ssslowww.”

“Nuh-uh! You have ‘ta have’a drink from that talllll glass’iv wat-ter.” Your other friend says before raising her empty glass to her lips. She frowns and waves the bartender over. “Can I have’a tall glass of waterr?”

You three burst into laughter at the “coincidence.” The fading alcohol makes you all tear up a bit, making the not-so-funny joke hilarious. The bartender comes over, and sets your friend’s hydration on the counter in front of her, paying half a mind to your boisterous trio. A few minutes had passed and the joke began to die.

“Seriously, Y/N/N. You need to’ride that man, like yesterday!”

“Yeah! You go back to that motel ‘n get dicked down!…Dick him down!”

Despite her words, you knew exactly what she was saying. With confidence, you stand from the bar stool. “Youknow what? I willl! ‘M gonna go and do my boyfriend!”

“Yeah!” The cheer.

After downing the rest of your water, you throw your share onto the bar. “All right, bitches. Ima go get laid,” You wrap your arms around their necks and pull them in for a hug. “I’ll see ya guys, tomorrow.”

“We want alllll the details.”

“You b-better not hold out on us.”

“I promise!”

Fortunately for you, the walk wasn’t long. The motel was down the street from the bar they chose. The cool air helped sober you up, not much but enough to see straight. Once the Impala’s in sight, you smile to yourself. You pull the key out and silently struggle to get it in the keyhole. Finally, you hear the lock click.

“Aha!” You exclaim before shushing yourself.

You push the door open to the dark room. Sam had gone to sleep over an hour before you showed but Dean was wide awake. He couldn’t sleep. He hadn't been able to since he realized he had feelings for you, his brother unknowingly beating him to the punch. The moonlight shined across the floor, eliminating the foot of the beds. You quietly shut the door, and stumble to your duffle bag near the table.

Assuming the Winchesters were asleep, you don’t bother going to the bathroom to undress. You kick off your shoes, holding on to the table to keep your balance. Dean squints in the dark and sees your shadow, watching in secret. You pull your shirt over your head and his eyes widen. He looks away, knowing he shouldn’t watch, but he can’t help himself.

You wiggle out of your jeans, and Dean practically drools. Though the darkness engulfs you, the moonlight peeks through the thin curtains, casting a perfect glow over your curves from where you stand. You were in nothing but your undergarments, causing his pants to tighten. He knew he was wrong for watching you, for wanting you, for being so turned on but it wasn’t his fault. He can’t be blamed for how he felt, especially when you were almost naked in front of him.

Unsure if it was the confidence from the alcohol or the anticipation, you eagerly stroll between the beds. Dean closes his eyes, fearing that you’d catch him staring. You lift the bed sheet and the mattress dips softly beneath your weight. He stirs, forcing you to stop. Once he stills, you move again, this time between his legs. You kneel in front of him, grabbing the front of his jeans. His large hands stop yours, squeezing gently.

“What’re doing?” He whispers.

You push them away, whispering back, “I want you.”

With haste, you unbutton his jeans and yank down his zipper, allowing his boner room to grow. You lower his boxers, enough to expose his untrimmed hair, and though he wants to stop you, his mind clouds with lust as you pepper his pelvis with kisses. He wanted nothing more than you to take him into your pretty little mouth. To feel your lips around him, your cheeks hollowing as you suck harder and harder—no! You couldn’t.

“We can’t, sweetheart.”

“Why not?”

“You’re drunk.”

He heard the drunken drawl and figured you only wanted him while under the influence. Though a pang struck his heart, he would never take advantage of you. Even if that wasn’t the case, even if you did want him, his brother was in the bed beside yours. No, he thought. We can't. He sighs, hating his decision but knowing it was the right one.

“But I’m sober enough to know I want this.” You straddle his hips, setting your heat on his erect and clothed member.

“We shouldn't…” He weakly fights but a gasp escapes once you move.

“Please,” You grind, enticing him with every word. “I want you so bad, baby. I’ve wanted you for sooo long. I’ve dreamt of your perfect cock inside me, filling my pussy with your cum. Please don’t make me wait any more. I need you.”

He bites his lip; He could spill his load right now if he chose to let go. Fuck! You had him so whipped. He couldn’t say no to you, not like this. But his brother invades his thoughts.

“But what about—?”

“What about him? I want you.” You feel his hesitation so you curl your fingers around his shirt, pressing your palms to his abdomen and sliding them up to his chest. You lean down and kiss his tattoo. “Don’t you want me?”

Without missing a beat, he answers, “Fuck, princess, I want you so bad.”

“So fuck me,” You sit up and grab his hand, bringing it to your damp panties. “I’m so wet for you, baby.”

He huffs in shock; You weren’t exaggerating. You were drenched, just for him. His thumb rubs against your folds, smearing the wetness against the soaked underwear. He runs his digit upward, applying light pressure to your aching clit, eliciting a quiet moan from your impatient body. He couldn’t fight it anymore. He needed you just as much as you needed him. He nods, and you see the shadow before you agree.

You nearly squeal with excitement but the quietness reminds you why it has to stay that way. After all, you didn’t want his brother waking up to the intimate and long-awaited scene. You return to your previous position and eagerly pull both his boxers and jeans down. With your face so close, his erection pops out, lightly smacking your cheek. The harmless slap goes directly to your core making it tingle with anticipation.

All you want to do is pounce and bounce on him, but you desperately want to swallow what he’s packing. You drag his pants to his ankles and he quickly kicks them off. Your hand wraps around his member and you’re thrilled by the size. He was thick but not too thick, long but not too long; Like you suspected: He was perfect.

He forces himself to keep still, letting you take charge. His breath quickens as he feels your own fan against his sensitive sack. You take his tightened nut into your hot mouth, sucking gently. His body flinches, not out of discomfort but out of immense pleasure. You stroke his twitching cock as you show love to his other testicle.

His breathing comes out in huffs; He isn’t sure how much longer he’s going to last and you haven’t even taken him in your mouth yet. As if you read his mind, your mouth travels upwards, your tongue licking the underside of his dick until it reaches the tip. Your mouth swiftly closes around it, tasting his delicious pre-cum. His fingers weave through your hair, desperately wanting you to go further but not wanting to rush you.

You get his unsubtle hint and take him down your throat, inch by inch. He throws his head back, loving the way your mouth feels. Needing air, you retract and breathe through your nose. You go down again, your cheeks beginning to hallow. Soon, you determine a steady pace, sucking harder with each bob.

The longer you pleasure him, the wetter you get. Your saliva escapes your mouth, traveling down his shaft and over his balls. He was so close, closer than he wanted to be. He was half tempted to cum down your throat but held off, wanting to fill you elsewhere. You’re so lost in giving him the best head he’s ever received, that you’re confused when he pushes you back.

“W-what? What’s wrong?” You whisper, dazed.

“Get on, sweetheart.”

Your pussy flutters at his words. Finally, you thought. Fingers hooked on the hem of your black lace thong, you drag it down your legs and toss it on the floor. You move so your knees are beside his hips and you hover above his erection. His tip brushes against your drenched folds, causing you to whimper.

His hands fly to your hips, helping you maintain your balance while trying to hide his eagerness. You’re so close to fulfilling his, and your, dreams of being deep inside you. Sure, he was always respectful of you, never objectifying you, but he’s a man after all. Yet, it was more than wanting sex. He wanted that connection; He craved it.

You reach between your legs and take hold of his awaiting phallus. Without prolonging it any longer, you align him with your entrance and slowly ease down. Your head falls back as you each moan softly, finally getting the touch you desire. His wet member and your soaked pussy allow a smooth acceptance and you’re damn thankful for the preparation. Your core meets his base, and you smile at being able to take him fully. After all, he’s bigger than what you’re used to.

He sheds his shirt and rubs your thighs as you adjust to one another. You place your palms against his torso, readying yourself to move. He positions his hands on your hips again, prepared to assist. You lift yourself, and he glides out of your tight hole. His breathing quickens as he watches himself disappear.

The pain of him stretching you out is drowned by the alcohol in your system. If it wasn’t for the liquor, you could’ve sworn you were just drunk on him. It doesn’t take long before you create an unholy rhythm. He was captivated by you. The way your hips roll and your body bounces…It was intoxicating. The line between the best ride he’s ever gotten and it being you was blurred. No, it’s definitely her talent.

What he wouldn’t give to see you and not your shadow. His hand cups your covered breast, squeezing lightly. When it doesn’t suffice, he reaches around and unhooks your bra. After tossing it with your underwear, his fingers twiddle your hardened nipple. Groans and quiet moans fall from both your lips but once his other hand moves to your front, you forget why you were trying to remain silent. His thumb instantly finds your clit, eliciting a loud whimper.

“Shh, sweetheart. ‘Don’t want to wake him up, do you?”

“No, Daddy,” you whine. “‘M sorry.”

The nickname sent chills down his spine and he wanted more. It wasn’t the first time a woman had addressed him that way in bed but you were the only one he wanted to hear it from. It egged him on, so much so that he found himself thrusting up into you, taking control. I’ll show her who her daddy is, he thought.

You moan again, just above a whisper. The hand he used to fondle your breast goes back to your hip, guiding your body up and down, up and down. His hips meet yours and his thumb adds more pressure. You begin to squirm above him, the pleasure raking over your body as it also builds in the pit of your belly. Heavy pants mix with the sweet sound of skin slapping—a symphony to your ears.

With his rhythm so vigorous, and your aching thighs, you were ready to topple over. His thumb rubbed harsh circles on your sensitive clit, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. You were so close and so was he, but he refused to cum before you did. His hips snap up, hitting your G-spot with every thrust. Your nails dig into his skin, as you teeter on the edge of your most powerful orgasm yet. Fuck, keep going, Daddy, you thought what your mouth just couldn’t say. Just like that. He knew you were close by the way your walls clenched around his shaft. Just a few more—

“Dean, seriously? You—” The lamp between the two beds is switched on, blinding you and your partner.

Your high’s disrupted. You squint in the light, and when you see your boyfriend sitting up and across from you, your eyes widen. W-what the—? Your head whips to see the man still buried deep inside your guts. D-Dean?!

Suddenly, you become very sober. With a gasp, you push yourself off your deceiver. His mouth was agape, a mix of shock and guilt. We weren’t that loud, were we? But that wasn’t the point. No, he just had sex with his brother’s girlfriend.

Sam’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head. The combination of moans, the collision of skin, and the mattress bouncing had awoken him. He groaned to himself, annoyed his brother would have sex in the same room he lay asleep in. Unable to ignore it, he decides to stop the fornication. What he didn’t expect was to find you on top.

“What the fuck?!” He shouts, throwing off his covers.

“Baby, i-it’s not what you think.”

You’re terrified. It wasn’t your fault, you thought Dean was Sam. In a way, it wasn’t Dean’s, either. He assumed you wanted him. You begged him. It didn’t matter. It was both of your faults. You should’ve known it wasn’t your boyfriend and he should’ve told you no and stuck to it.

“Sammy,” Dean holds his hands in defense. “Hold on a second—”

Sam leaps toward the bed, striking Dean across the face.

“No!” You cry, trying to pull your boyfriend away.

He lands another punch across his brother’s face. And again. You continue your pleas but he doesn’t listen. All he can see is red. You and Dean try to stop his violence but his strength overpowers you both.

“Baby, stop!” You tug his arm once more but he shoves you away.

He doesn’t mean to do it so hard. The force pushes you off the mattress. The room spins, not because you hit your head, but because of the alcohol and complexity of the situation. The possibility of you being hurt, of him hurting you, breaks through his fit of rage. He stops his punishment against Dean’s countenance and checks on you.

You sit up and see Sam with a worried look. Seeing you’re fine, he steps into his shoes before grabbing his duffle bag, and the keys to the Impala. With as much haste as you could gather, you begin to stand. He stomps to the door, throwing it open then storming out. You quickly wrap a sheet around your body before running out of the motel after him.

“Sam, wait!” You jog towards him, trying to catch his attention. “I swear it’s not what it looked like.”

He stops abruptly, and you run into his back. You stumble as he turns on his heel, “Really? ‘Cause it looked like you were fucking my brother!”

You shake your head frantically. “I thought it was you!”

“What? How the fuck do you get him and I confused?!”

“I—It was dark, I was drunk—I am drunk. I forgot which bed was ours,” he stared at you wildly. “Baby, I would never cheat on you. I’m yours, only yours.”

He chuckles darkly, sending shivers down your spine. “Yeah, well, not after this.”

Sam spins around and in a few strides, he’s beside the Impala. The door creaks open and he throws his bag into the passenger seat. He hops in and shuts the classic door behind him. You run towards the car, and put your hand against the glass. Tears begin to well in your eyes, afraid he’s serious. How could he not be? His girlfriend and his brother…the perfect recipe for disaster.

“Please, don’t go. We can work this out,” You plead, your eyes reflecting the desperation.

He ignores you and starts the engine. It roars to life and you’re petrified of the sound. You know if he drives away, it’ll haunt you forever. And that’s what he does. You begin to pound on the window, following the car as it backs out. The tears spill over and your breathing is erratic.

“Don’t go! Please! Sammy, don’t leave! Please, baby, I love you! No, no, no!”

Your boyfriend peels out of the parking lot, leaving you a crying mess. You didn’t know what to feel most ashamed of: The fact you cheated on your loving partner or how good it felt before the light turned on. Back in the motel room, Dean gets dressed. He touches his sore cheek, wincing from the pain. He had heard your confession and he couldn’t have been any more devastated. You thought he was his brother.

What was he thinking? He should’ve known better. It wasn’t the first time he’d taken the girl Sam liked away but this was the first girlfriend. He couldn’t help himself; He’s in love with you. You should’ve been his for the start.

He isn’t sure which is worse: That he might’ve lost Sammy for good, or that he doesn’t regret what happened.

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[rubyvhs]

early mornings | sam & dean

tags. pure fluff, mentions of sex once, 800 words lailas notes. loved doing this, first time trying headcannons style nd you didn’t specify so I did both sam and dean. theme inspired by @sammyluvr their’s is honestly so so gorgeous.

sam winchester !

— .✦ You both had sex the night prior, and so Sam is the sweetest human in the morning. It's in the bunker and you're still asleep but he wakes up for his five am runs and just admires you for ten minutes.

— .✦ You eventually wake up and at first are very much panicking. Where is he, did you do something wrong, is he mad.

— .✦ He comes back with breakfast. In bed. 

— .✦ "Sam, I'm really impressed that your best quality isn't your di—"

— .✦ "I'm trying to do something sweet." Yeah but why would he do it if not to hear your teasing?

— .✦ You also just hide your insecurities behind jokes and banter so maybe that's why Sam shut it down when he heard it. You both eat in bed and he picked up your favorite which makes you fall in love (and scream inside) a thousand times more. 

— .✦ You're so insanely terrified but you're also comfortable. He's your best friend and now he's something so much more. You thought yesterday was a one off but he's so clearly in this for the long run that you're beaming the entire day. It's the best morning you've ever had.

— .✦ He even tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, which is just so very fairytale Sammy. And it makes you feel unreal. 

— .✦ He's surprised when you kiss him after you're both done and off the bed. He's even more surprised when you don't immediately leave his room, instead shower in his bathroom and change into his clothes. 

— .✦ He kisses you the second he sees you in his flannel. And he blushes like crazy.

— .✦ Sam hopes he can spend the rest of his mornings in bed with you, and if all it takes is some breakfast he's more than ready.

— .✦ He tells Dean he'll be looking for cases in his room today and doesn't let you go. He never wants the morning to end. He spends the day in bed with you, your head on his lap or his chest, anything as long as you're touching him. 

dean winchester !

— .✦ Your alarm blares AC/DC and he wakes up with a jump, arming his gun under the pillow until he sees that there's no threat.

— .✦ He almost wakes you up just out of principal because why the fuck is your alarm doing nothing to you but waking him win a frenzy.

— .✦ Then he notices how cute you look, hair ruffled on the bed. Your soft breaths make him smile and he leans down to kiss your hair. He's blissed out for a moment and forgets about what you did to him. 

— .✦ Then he checks the time and it's already eleven which means that was your emergency alarm (in case you don't wake up at a reasonable time, you mentioned once). 

— .✦ "Sweetheart, wake up." He says, against his will. He only slightly shakes you but you get up pretty easily since someone else is touching you. You've always been a much heavier sleeper than Dean, not being a hunter from such a young age and all that.

— .✦ He's surprised to see how quickly you get up and into the bathroom to brush your teeth and take a shower (which he joins you in) and then get dressed.

— .✦ But that's about as much as he lets you do. He knows you're an action type of person but that means that sometimes you might not take a moment for yourself and just feel instead, which is the worst thing Dean can think of. 

— .✦ He doesn't want that for you so he gets you back in bed (after he makes it, you're very picky) and you spend a good few minutes above him, straddling his body as you both talk about random things, mostly the plan for the day and it's the most domestic Dean's ever felt. 

— .✦ Your head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat, it's everything he's ever wanted. Someone to want to be alive with because the only reason you stay alive is to share it with someone else. (After a while Sam doesn't cut it and he'd rather have you over his pain-in-the-ass little brother any time.)

— .✦ You eventually do get on with the day and walk around the bunker, find cases, go grocery shopping, but Dean only does all of those things in suspense of what's to come the next morning; which is another lazy few hours with this ‘one’.

[ribbonsncherries]

The Contract

Warnings: Lots of smut, P in V, Oral (both m and f receiving), BDSM!, Sexual Assault, Stalking, Angst, Alcohol mentions, Dominant and submissive plot, Drug Mentions, Virgin user, mentions of drugs.

Chapter 1

Pairing: CEO!Dean Winchester x inexperienced! User

Summary: When her roommate and work partner gets sick, she is in charge of interviewing famous billionaire businessman Dean Winchester for his new bar's grand opening which leads to a passionate and tumultuous affair where she discovers his dark sexual desires, marked by control and dominance. The one catch? He doesn't do romance.

Based on the trilogy Fifty Shades of Grey.

(3473 Words)

Divider credits: @dollywons, @anitalenia, @selysie

 “Please!” her roommate Jessica repeated yelling at her. (y/n) poured hot water into a coffee mug, placed a tea bag in the water, and began mixing with a spoon. “What did I tell you about yelling? Your throat is already damaged from the yelling at this point.” she scolded. Jessica sighed as (y/n) passed her the mug filled with tea. Jessica pouted as she poured in some honey. “I just need you to do this one thing. One thing.” (y/n) and Jessica are partners for a famous magazine ‘Runway’, Jessica and (y/n) were going to interview famous billionaire Dean Winchester who had just opened a new bar in their city. Dean was a longtime famous topic in Runway cause of the girls who swooned over him since he was single, so Runway only thought of the dynamic duo to interview him the next day. If only Jessica hadn’t become a walking disease. 

“It’s just one interview without me you can do this. Besides I’ve already got some questions written down, just press play on the tape recorder and ask away,” she said. (y/n) rolled her eyes as she drank her tea, “I’m only doing this cause Castiel is going to beat us up if we don’t get this article in.” she agreed. Jessica smiled as she lifted her arms. “Yes! (y/n) saves the day again!” she said before coughing up a storm, “ow.” Jessica thought for a moment and grabbed the laptop sitting across from her on the coffee table, just as she was about to reach out (y/n) grabbed it before she did, “Not a chance. You need to stay and rest, that means no working until you feel better.” Although Jessica groaned she agreed. “Night roomie,” she rasped getting up from the couch and to her room. 

The next day (y/n) got up early and did extra research since she was doing this alone. She quickly called Castiel to inform him that she would be able to do this alone and quickly for the article to get posted and submitted by next week. She dressed up professionally yet comfortably since this was a grand opening at almost 9 in the morning. She dressed up in black dress pants and boots, pairing it with a basic black shirt and sweater. She grabbed what she needed and met Jessica in their living room who was blowing her nose into her tissue. “You're so lucky you get to meet the Dean Winchester,” Jessica complained. (y/n)’s lips curled into a smile as she heated a bagel. “You’re a dork, Jess,’’ she laughed. Before she left (y/n) packed her bag with her media pass, notebook, and tape recorder. As she was putting on her boots Jessica immediately got up. 

“I almost forgot” she rasped. Jessica dug through her work bag and gave (y/n) a piece of paper with questions to ask Dean. “Ask him these would ya.” (y/n) looked up to Jessica while she offered a sheepish grin. “Good luck.” (y/n) thanked her before starting her car. As she headed to the bar nerves were kicking in. She’s always had Jessica by her side so this was strange going to interview someone famous without her. When she pulled up into a parking garage she put on her media pass around her neck and grabbed her bag. As she began getting closer to the bar she saw a crowd of people, especially paparazzi and girls screaming his name. She took a deep breath in and began squeezing her way to the front. “Excuse me!” she called out to the event worker. She flashed her media pass. “I’m here with Runway magazine I think I’m supposed to be-” 

“Media cannot pass this barrier.” The man said. (y/n) puffed her cheeks in frustration. “Yeah, I know I work for Castiel Novak, the editor-in-chief. I know he’s a good friend of Mr. Winches-” 

“Don’t care stay behind the line.” (y/n) groaned out anger and clenched her teeth in annoyance. When Dean Winchester came by the Paparazzi began crowding amongst each other. Everyone shoulder-to-shoulder. She tried to get past through but there was no way around it. As Dean cut the ribbon he saw the commotion going on beyond the bright flashes of the camera pointing at him a woman with a large camera pushed (y/n) to the ground. Dean whispered to his assistant Benny, As (y/n) got up she looked over to the entrance where a man in a suit was looking straight at her. Benny went up to the barrier of media, “Hey, girl in the sweater.” (y/n) looked up and pointed to herself, Benny nodded his head as he made a signal with his hand for the reporters and paparazzi to move, (y/n) now had a clear path and was invited inside by Benny through the back. As she was invited inside she was told to stay there until Dean was available to talk to her. When Benny left she took in her surroundings. It was dark, the light sources only being from the warm lights of the fake candles and rustic chandeliers. She saw many pool tables as well as booths next to it. A bar in almost every corner of each room she was surrounded by. She began walking around slowly clenching her bag, everything was quiet besides the commotion of screaming girls and paparazzi, and the slow clacking of her boots. She approached the pool room where there was a row of 5 pool tables and a bar. Her fingers ran through the smooth green velvet and smooth brown wood. 

“Do you play?” said a deep rusty voice. (y/n) jumped and turned around only to be face-to-face with Dean Winchester. He was tall and intimidating from his broad shoulders down to his dress shoes, His emerald eyes gazed upon her as he asked the question, and she quickly took her hand away from the table. “I’m so sorry, they just told me to wait here.” she smiled awkwardly. Dean could only keep a stern look with a slight smirk while (y/n)’s smile went down as she cleared her throat, “If it’s ok with you, Runway would like to interview you about the grand opening.” she said quietly. 

“I asked if you play,” He said. (y/n) glanced at the pool table, “sometimes, I’m not very good at it.” she uttered. “Let’s take a seat,” he said before leading her to the bar near the pool tables. She sat on the stool, put her hands on her lap, and looked down nervously. ‘Damn he is hot’ she thought. As he came around the bar he said “Cas told me there were supposed to be two of you.” (y/n) almost forgot. “Oh yes, well Jessica came down with the flu and it’s pretty bad so I’m alone for a moment.” she smiled. “Want anything?” he asked as he began grabbing glass cups with the bar logo on them. (y/n) was taken aback, “drinks this early?” she asked him. Dean looked at her while he poured whiskey for himself. “Doesn’t hurt to drink early once in a while,” he said looking up at her with his offer still standing. “Sure, I’ll take red wine if you have it please, and thank you,” she said.

“We can begin with that interview if you want,” Dean said as he poured her wine and slid the cup toward her. (y/n) nodded once more as she began taking out the voice recorder and notes to write along with Jessica’s questions. She began digging through her bag in search of a pencil or pen she had forgotten to pack. “Fuck” she muttered to herself. Dean dug through the inside pocket of his suit and handed her a pen with his company name on it. ‘Winchester Elixirs’. She saw the pen handed to her and gently took it. “Thanks” she mumbled. She pressed record on the voice recorder and set it down between them. She cleared her throat “Um, so, this is for the special article for Runway Magazine, You are young at the age of 26 to have made a popular chain of bars, to what do you owe your s-” “To what do I owe my success?” he interrupted and scoffed. She looked at him awkwardly and nodded “Yep…” 

“Seriously?” 

“Yep…” 

“Okay um… We know that you are a business man but do you enjoy doing things outside of work?” She asked pressing the pen to her bottom lip and looking up at him to answer the question. 

Dean had his hands on the edge of the counter, his grip tensed with his knuckles going white. “I enjoy many physical pursuits as well as managing cars.” (y/n) nodded as she went through Jessica’s questions “You're unmarried- wait no. um… you had a mother that died- oh my god, I’m sorry I didn-” 

“Do you have an actual question Ms…?” 

“(l/n), but you can me (y/n)” she said. 

“Give me an actual question,” he said. She rapidly nodded and brought it down to look at Jessica’s notes. Her head came back up to look at him, and her eyes dropped with sadness. "Um, what is it like being a successful businessman and having to be a family man with your younger brother?"

Dean smirked thinking of his younger brother Sam, "To answer your first question, yes, my mother did die when I was very young. and my brother was only 6 months old. It's hard but. this is our harsh reality, what better way to just drink through it, why else do you think this empire is up and up, causing people to need to drink their thoughts away. Life, death, lousy interviews." he mumbled. (y/n) looked at him with sadness on her face. "Mr. Winchester, I'm so sorry it wasn't my place to ask that," she said. Dean could only look at her, he could tell she was biting the inside of her cheek and gripping her notebook from embarrassment, "Ask another question, go ahead I'm not gonna kill you." he scoffed, (y/n) smiled softly at him as she looked through Jessica's notes once more.

Are you gay?” she asked him with direct eye contact, her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes widened, she just asked a personal question which he answered and now it's led to this ridiculous answer. As she looked back at her notes, she chuckled awkwardly “It’s written here I’m so-’’

“No, (y/n). I’m not gay,” he said with a small smirk and chuckle. She smiled “I’m sorry Jessica can be a little.”

“Intrusive?” 

“More like curious.” 

He saw her, the way her lips were in contact with his pen. He looked up and down at her taking in her curves, her hair, her eyes. “Mr. Winchester, you’re meeting is about to begin in an hour.” Benny interrupted. “Cancel it, I’m a little busy here,” he said to him before he left. “No, it’s ok I can leave if you want me to,” she said softly. 

His emerald eyes looked into hers, “I want to know more about you.” his voice rumbled. She drank a bit of her wine slowly, “There’s not much to know besides this.” she said glancing at the recorder and notes. “What do you like?” Dean asked. (y/n) was thinking for a second before saying “I like music. Especially old 70s Rock, my dad used to play a lot on his record player all the time when I was a girl.”

“Let me take a good guess, You look like a Led Zeppelin gal to me…” he said observing more of her features as he thought. (y/n) looked down for a minute before she laughed softly. “Well I like Fleetwood Mac mostly, and Derek & The Dominos. Those are what I’m listening to the most right now,” she said. Dean hummed. 

“Let’s continue,” he said. (y/n) nodded once more and began asking more questions Jessica had written down even though she was skipping most of them. By the time they were done (y/n) cussed at herself for not asking many questions and even the ones she did ask were dumb and stupid almost everybody knew the answer to them before they even saw his response. “Thanks for the drink,” she said smiling. “I hope you got everything you needed sweetheart.” He said to her. Though she knew he said that to other girls it made her stomach flutter. “Thanks, I think you only answered about five questions,” she said before leaving. “Thank you for your time.” she smiled before leaving the bar. Dean looked down at her bag to see the slip of paper halfway out, so when she turned her head he quickly grabbed the piece of paper from her bag and pocketed the questions, it was then he realized she accidentally took his pen with her. 

When she got in her car she sighed to herself and let out a deep breath. “Holy shit,” she muttered in her head all she could think of was how hot Dean was. The pictures the press took of him were no match for how he looked in person.

When she got home she saw Jessica on her computer with tissues surrounding her. “Jess, what did I tell you about worki-” 

“I fucking love you so much (y/n),” Jessica shouted as the sounds of clicking surrounded the living room. “What?” (y/n) asked in confusion. Jessica looked up at her and smiled big “Dean just emailed me and he answered every question, this is perfect.” She exclaimed. “So…” She said with mischief. (y/n) took off her sweater and threw it on the couch, she looked at Jessica with confusion, “So what?” she asked. 

“What was he like?” Jessica asked with her whole body moving toward her as (y/n) sat down on the coffee table. “Well…he was fine I guess,” she said. Jessica looked at her skeptically, “Fine? Just fine?” she said in confusion. (y/n) scoffed as she began taking off her boots. “Well, he was nice he gave me some free wine. He was very formal…and clean,” she said. Jessica laughed “Clean?” she asked. (y/n) thought about him more oblivious to Jessica laughing. “He was nice, Intimidating…very intimidating. I mean I can understand the hype around him,” she said looking up at Jessica who was grinning at her. “Jess… Why are you looking at me like that?” (y/n) smiled. 

“Like what?” (y/n) rolled her eyes before going to the kitchen to make herself a sandwich. “Whatever Jessica.” she sighed. Jessica was curious one last time and looked him up online. She clicked on images and began scrolling, “But (y/n) you’ve got to admit he is so hot.” (y/n) scoffed “Well, he could be when you're into that…kind of…human.” she said finishing making her sandwich. “By the way, I asked if he was gay. That was so embarrassing. He looked at me like I was a freak.” (y/n) laughed. Jessica apologized. “I'm sorry but hey, whenever we see photos of him he has never been photographed with a woman before so I just thought-”

“Jessica have you ever thought that maybe this guy wants to keep his life private I mean he’s already in the media so much.” (y/n) said. Jessica smirked “Awwe look at you defending him.” she teased.

“I’m going to my room.” (y/n) said with a mouthful of her sandwich. Jessica immediately got up and coughed a bit before jumping in front of her. “Wait, (y/n) I'm sorry. Can you make me some of those too?” she asked politely. (y/n) rolled her eyes before going back to the kitchen to make her a sandwich. “Thanks (y/n). I’ll be right back Mother Nature calls,” she said. (y/n) looked over at Jessica’s computer and saw the images of Dean and his dark blonde hair and emerald eyes, She closed Jessica’s laptop before making the sandwich to try and get her mind off him. 

“(y/n)!” (y/n) turned around to see one of her friends, she smiled as he continued walking next to her. “Hey, James.” she smiled. “So, a couple of friends are going to this photography exhibition and going to dinner afterward. Wanna come?” he asked hopeful she would say yes. He has liked her since she got promoted to their floor with Jessica. “Well that sounds fun but I can’t I’ve got a lot of writing to do for the new Winchester article. So I’ll be in my office all day.” she sighed as she stopped dead in her tracks. James’s face went down slightly “No, it’s fine we can hang out some other time.” he said bringing his arm behind his neck and rubbing it awkwardly. (y/n) smiled “I promise I’ll make it up to you guys, we can hang when Jessica feels better so the whole group can hang. Ok?” she said oblivious to what he was trying to do. James nodded before she walked off to her office. She closed the door and sat down on her desk. She opened her laptop and began writing away. 

It had been a few hours until one of her secretaries called “Hi (y/n), Dean Winchester is asking to see you. Do I send him to your office?” she asked. Her heart skipped a beat, and her stomach fluttered once more. (y/n) picked up the phone “Yeah, Jenna send him in, thank you.” she said. She heard the door knock. “Come in!” she said. Dean Winchester came into her office and looked around. He was dressed in a casual red flannel and jeans rather than his usual tux. “Hey, Please have a seat if you want.” (y/n) said, smiling at him. He continued looking more and saw autographs from celebrities and pictures of her and friends. "Did you want a drink? I have some water and apple juice?" She asked politely, Dean pulled out a chair and sat down "No thanks, sweetheart." He said casually

“What can I help you with?” she asked. Dean looked at her like he was observing her. She was worried if she had something on her face or her teeth. 

“Just wondering if you got the email I sent to your partner?” He asked. (y/n) glanced at him from her laptop “Um. Yes she did thank you for that by the way I know her questions were a bit invasive.” she said with her eyebrows up in sympathy. “No, it’s fine I was more than happy to answer them,” he said to her. “Is that it?” she asked politely. “Did you grow up in this town?” he asked her. (y/n) nodded “Yep born and raised.” she said smiling. Dean smirked “I need to pick up a few things, do you know a grocery store near here that sells whipped cream and zip ties?” (y/n) looked at him curiously “Well there’s a grocery store nearby that sells most of those things, it’s actually around the corner of Rose Street,” she smiled “What on earth are you planning? sounds like a torture device” she joked. “Are you baking something?" she asked curious and oblivious.

Dean smirked at her and tilted his head. “Yeah, what would you recommend I get?” he asked. (y/n) thought for a moment leaning back on her chair. “Well, maybe an apron to cover yourself to protect your clothes.” She said gesturing to his flannel. His smirk grew bigger “I’ll just take off all my clothes.” he said in a low rough voice. (y/n) could almost choke from his statement. “Ok…no clothes– I mean no apron…” She smiled and cleared her throat and began taking a sip of her water. “Thanks, how is your roommate feeling by the way?” 

“She’s a little better, right now she's working a little from home but she's having trouble finding a good photo especially the permissions and stuff so-” 

“If she’d want an original I can swing by here tomorrow,” he suggested (y/n) was taken aback. “You would do that?” she asked softly. “Yeah.” It was as simple as that. He agreed and (y/n) was feeling ecstatic inside. Dean took out his wallet to pull out his business card with his number “I’m staying at the Pacifica Lux Hotel call me anytime.” he said before walking out. “Ok bye…” she waved awkwardly. She leaned back against her chair, she mentally smacked her head from how embarrassing that whole conversation was. She took a deep breath before continuing with her work. She decided to wait until she was home to surprise Jessica.

A/N: Hello! I'm already having fun planning this. Fifty Shades is honestly so bad it's good. Trust me, besides the sex scenes, the plot is kind of good, lmao. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you for liking and reposting the announcement, especially to my followers! Again, my suggestion box is open for writing new stories between this book's waiting chapters. Thanks for reading. I'll see you all next Friday!

[daylighted]

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ━ㅤ ㅤ sam winchester.

the tale of the lord of the sea and the gentle maiden whose home was always amongst the waves.

a poseidon reimagining, through the veiled, handcrafted lens of sam winchester and reader, who brings gods to their knees, addressed as pearl, fem pronouns. interconnected standalone sequel to life unto death.

content warnings. discussions of death & drowning. poseidon is not a total monster. no happy ending. open ending.

word count. 5k

it did not stop pouring the day that the village drowned.

she was always disconnected from the rest of the townsfolk, pearl was. an enigma, her parents sighed in her mention; an enigma, her peers snickered at her presence; an enigma, he whispered to himself, as he watched from the horizon as her entire cruel town was engulfed in lapping wakes of water.

he did not let the water, not a single drop, land on the roof of her cottage by the seaside.

it was not an uncommon occurrence for him to linger atop the shores, breathing in air that he did not need to breathe, so long as he could taste the same salt-twinged air as her.

the town did not rise from the depths, and the water did not draw back into the sea, and yet throughout all of this, pearl did not leave.

he had never been frightened that she would. he'd never doubted her at all, as every other person in her life seemed to. there was something about his pearl that called to him, and as she got more determined, or perhaps more frustrated, she braved the harsh waves and answered his own calls.

there were no words for the goddess she had become in her seclusion. little starfish clung to the glittering, salted strands of her now curled hair; freckles dusted her skin like raindrops; and her pink coral mouth was turned down into the prettiest sneer he'd ever seen.

"why have you forsaken me like this?" she calls from the shoreline that marred the front entrance to her small home. "what have i done to deserve this isolation?"

he was certain that her eyes were locked onto his. he could feel the penetrating gaze of her defiance, her devastation. and, as he'd done many times since his accidental discovery of the girl with salt water in her blood, he took the wind between his fingers and forged a note in between its gusts, and let his words be carried over the miles between them.

you are not isolated, they curl around her ear and promise, for you have me.

maybe he was a selfish bastard; but weren't all gods? give a man an inch, and he will take a mile. give a god an inch, and he will drown the cruel town that tormented his fascination.

she had began to start calling him samuel, his pearl. a title which translated to the name of god, all of which were true, he figures. can't argue with. the mer beneath the ocean's waters called him poseidon, though his attachment to that name slipped away the longer that pearl spoke to him.

and gods, was her mouth colorful. even when he was beneath the surface of the waves, he could hear her cursing him to every other god that she could name - of which he was certain his brothers were getting quite the laugh over.

he did not fully understand her discontent, however: he'd saved her. spared her from the drowning inside of her mind, and from the drowning he unleashed upon her home. the problems of humans were the size of salt grains, to him, and so he could not figure out how to empathize with her, or to apologize.

that day, the cruel twist of pearl's words had fallen off into resignation. poseidon could never deny himself something he wanted or longed for, and so it was easy to rise above the lapping water and steal a peek at the girl of salt water. her fingers danced over the water's surface, playing with the gentle waves that he sent to her. the god of the sea, gone molten in the presence of a woman made up of flame and ire.

"i know you listen to me, samuel," she says, and the rolling waves, his most loyal of messengers, carries the sound of her voice back to him, "i ask you again what i have done, to be trapped in the center of your seas, with no one for company. not even you, who stays beneath more than you come to play."

the cruelest of bastards could not even deny such invitations. the seas parted, revealing a coral lined surface beneath their depths, as he began the distance from his place in the ocean's center, to the woman that he deemed the center of himself.

pearl did not balk, or shrink away. even as tall as he was, even as big as he was, she held her ground, inches beneath the nose he looked down at her from. "where did you get the impression that i had a common name?"

"samuel is not common around here," she shoots back at him, and even as his voice echoes, hers carries, "as i am the only human being left."

"i am here," he hums, and it makes him uncomfortable, to hear what she deems as one of his faults weaponized against him. "is that not enough?"

it is crazy, the things that adoration and affinity cause you to excuse. she was angry with him, but did not curse the very existence of himself. her finger stabs into his chest but he does not take hold of it and break it.

pearl was a girl made of salt and ire. she would not whittle under his pressure. she would blossom anew. "you are not human. you are a god with the temperament of a human, but you are not like me."

his fingers close around her finger, lifting it easily from digging into the bare skin of his chest. "and you were not like them."

her skin is warm beneath his. he is tempted to never let go, to test his luck and see if she glimmers under the heavy weight of his gaze, or crumbles into sand.

"that is not a fair assessment," pearl fires off, and his defenses crumble in its wake, "letting your seas swallow my livelihood was not your call to make."

his tug is gentle, but it is enough to bring her closer to him, to lean down a head's worth of height and meet her eyes properly. "darling, your livelihood was not amongst their numbers. it has always been amongst those seas."

he does not see pearl for a fortnight. it is the longest fourteen days of his life; a hard accomplishment to make, when days blink by like seconds to him, and weeks like minutes.

but she prays. how lovely her voice can be when it's not full of her hurt and her wrath, when it calls to him in times where she cannot see his face except in the depths of her mind. perhaps it is easier that way, to speak her truths without the gaze of a god searing into her as she stumbles for proper words.

"i know the town still exists beneath the surface," pearl whispers to her steepled hands, her forehead to the wooden bedframe, "so i would ask to see it. if it was so important for it to be drowned, i would ask to see what has become of my childhood home and its neighboring predecessors."

he does not listen to every prayer that finds its way beneath the ocean's waves. but he listens to hers every time that they come.

she wakes up in the morning to the seas drawn back deeply, tall waves peaking at the distant horizon and lightly splashing on the doorsteps of dilapidated homes.

she has always seen so much, pearl. poseidon could claim that all of this was done in favor of her protection, but it started as the beginnings of a plan to forge a kingdom beneath the water. as the earthly populations grew, his sea creatures and his mer's did, too.

destroying the lives of people that hurt you was only the catalyst. homes made of wood had already been repurposed and reinforced with coral. algae and seaweed danced in the cracks of the windows and the open doors.

what was once dreary and small, her village, was now crafted anew. her grief was still evident in her expression, but there was a sense of exactly what samuel had grown to expect from her, beneath the surface of her emotions. awe and longing.

she was never at home on the shores. it was why she moved closer to the seaside once she'd reached the age to leave her family; it was why, prior to this, when the rumors flooded her ears and snuck into his in the process, she sought comfort in the gentle laps of waves at her doorstep.

as always, pearl is in tune with his presence, as he is in tune with hers.

"you have been quite busy," she says, a hand raising in a broad gesture to the underwater city.

samuel's head dips into a nod when he steps out from around the house he'd been observing from. it is best not to overwhelm the girl, whose life had already been upturned overnight. sympathy came easier now that he'd seen the blazes in her eyes. "atlantis," he says, his fingers closing around hers as he approaches. "come. let me show you the world."

and her hurt is still deeply embedded within her, but it is shaping and forging into something stronger. he sees it in the way her eyes glimmer with intrigue despite the harsh tilt of her chin, attempting to intimidate him. he is certain that pearl was the only human capable of bringing him to his knees.

pearl allows him to lead her along; small hand entwined with his larger one. it must be hard, he thinks; seeing the place you grew up in to be so empty and desolate, looking so out of place as it grows into something new. it does not help that the water is drawn back, making everything that is supposed to be beneath its depths exposed and wrong in appearance.

the recognition is immediate, when samuel leads her to the home that she spent her youth in. her fingers tighten around his, her other hand running along the rough exterior of coral that'd grown around the planks of wood.

she is silent. he is afraid, for a split second, and not for the first time, that she might cry, and that he has again made the wrong decision in an attempt to soothe the ache in her heart.

pearl's lips part, and he is not expecting the words that come out of them. "what happened to them?"

samuel's expression flattens.

he turns to the ruins and sees a future; she sees a past. he wishes that he could save her from the pain of those memories and let her start anew, and on her own time; but it is not his place to interfere again with what pearl needs or wants.

"they left," he answers finally on a slow exhale of a breath, "at the first signs of an impending tsunami." the light drains out of her eyes like the sun dipping behind the horizon, and he wishes that he had never answered. that he had sugarcoated the truth and spared her some of the heartache. "they did not seek out the girl on the coast. they abandoned her to the wrath they assumed that i felt."

she wipes at her watery eyes, the salt of her tears entwining with the sea salt on her cheeks. "did you? feel wrath?"

"i felt fury." samuel extends a hand to grasp her wrist between his fingers, pulling it away from her face, lifting it to kiss each of those tear stricken fingertips. "that they could isolate someone off of their own misconceptions. that they could choose to leave you."

pearl does not say anything else, but her eyes are locked onto his, and samuel knows that she is finally reading through the lines of what he'd done. drowned the home she'd grown up in, afraid and alone and to her own devices, and built something out of it, with the two things that she loved the most: water, and safety.

"how am i meant to live like this?" she asks, letting him hold her still, but turning on her heel to gesture toward the expanse of sea on either side of them. "i will drown, too. the sea will swallow me whole."

"nothing is capable of dousing the fire that stokes within you," he promises her, his mouth to her palm, "you are made of salt and the sea. it cannot take from you again."

like calls to like.

pearl has always felt at home by the seaside. the foundations of her childhood home were built nearest to the edge of grassland. her first steps were taken in sun-warmed sand. her first friends were the crabs tucked in the dunes beneath the soft surface.

the others of her village feared the coastline. the horizon stretched on endlessly, the waters constantly raged and inched up the shore more and more with every lap of waves. they blamed the god beneath the surface for its temperaments.

she blamed the superstitions of the townsfolk for the unrest beneath the sea. fear breeds anger; more contagious than any disease or ailment.

pearl had been talking to the god for longer than he'd been answering. perhaps it was her own fault, then, that the god reacted so violently to her pleas for understanding.

i am not like them, she'd said once, her head to the bedframe, her knees digging into the mottled wood of the cabin's floor, i do not understand myself to know why. they do not bother to ask.

she didn't know what god she was praying to, just that the one beneath the ocean's surface was closest to home, and pearl could only hope, then, that his answering calls were kind and just.

the next day, she'd awoke to the town flooded, the home abandoned, and her abode untouched.

water sloshed outside of her window. salt made the wooden walls sparkle beneath the sun ablaze. and she was all alone, except for the little creatures that slipped beneath her doorframe with the lapping waves to keep her company.

no, she did not understand, then, what had happened. did not even consider the fact that she'd called upon a god and his answer would come so swiftly. she did not drown with the town, but she drowned in her grief.

samuel, she'd called him, because even the most obscure of gods deserved to be named when they were being cursed, she figured. but samuel was not an obscure god, nor was he a kind one, typically. as much as she was an enigma to those who'd known her, he was an enigma amongst his kind, too.

solitude did not come easily after he'd shown her atlantis. as much as she tried to shut him out for even a day, a sunrise and sunfall at least, he did not leave her. by the end of the week, the mer were leaving gifts at her doorstep — invitations, really, to join him again in the parted seas.

it must have been part of his innate abilities; the way that pearl could dip her toes in the sands, and the water would give way to either side of her, curl around her like a wave about to crash, creating a tunnel into the depths of open water.

she should have feared drowning, after what the god had done. instead, she trusted him as strongly as all devoted do; with her heart, her soul, her fate.

the water stretched for miles, and yet each step, her tunnel of safety did not dissipate. on either side of her, mer pressed against the liquid barriers, the wall rippling as their hands pressed against it to capture her attention, to wave. his assessment was right, after all: the sea was always her home.

she did not know what she was being invited to, was not tuned in to the inner workings of the mer and the god who oversaw them. what pearl did know, though, was that even the sea creatures seemed to bow to her as she slipped into the domains of their home.

"you came," samuel says from the expansive arching entrance of his grandiose kingdom of coral, "i trust your journey was dry."

her smile comes so naturally that she could not believe this was a man that she'd once deemed the greatest monster of all. "much to the dismay of the mermaids watching me."

"they would never dare to flick a droplet onto our awaited guest."

our awaited guest. but there is no one else permitted into the space, then; no one that could be in the same space, what with the water warped into a protective entrance, and the mer without landlegs.

she opens her mouth to question him, but he shakes his head, offering a hand instead. "they are curious, so they will watch, until i tell them away," her hand curls into his, so much smaller in appearance to the god's, "it is not common to have a mortal in our ranks."

"is this your way of telling me that it will become common practice?"

pearl is capable of appreciating the beauty of his home while acknowledging that this is not it at its prime. its prime would be surrounded by blue, drowned in water like her village was. it would be bright and vibrant amongst the clear ocean. it would look like a home, and not a place meant for showing and telling.

but the violets and the pinks and the oranges are striking against the matching sunset backdrop, the seaweed curled around the towering structure's walls flapping with the salted gusts of wind.

she cannot peel her eyes away from each room. the space was open, separated by arches and half-walls of uneven coral, but each room was distinguishable from the others. there, his throne, sat tall on the middlemost floor, the tips of its back rising past the uppermost floor. here, a large open space with...

pearls. pearls everywhere. lining the half walls, making the floor of the kingdom glimmer in shades of cream and white.

"it is my way of offering my home to you," samuel finally answers, his hand still held loosely in hers, almost as if he were more nervous than she was. impossible. she'd never been one for being the center of attention, but here, it was like every pair of eyes on her was awestruck and not scrutinizing.

she turns to face him, something uncertain in her eyes. "i do not understand how that would work."

"the logistics are mine to worry about. if you want to take your place within my walls, it is yours. it has always been yours." sam takes her hand again, leading her past sconces of gemstone and mineral, past the glimmering aquamarine of his throne, and up.

his hand holding hers is what steadies her, or else she might have stumbled at the sudden lurch. they floated higher together, as if she'd been underwater and slowly loosing the breath in her lungs to stay on the ground, and now she was pulling back on it enough to float higher.

she does lose all sense of her breath at what, exactly, she'd been led to.

a bedspace, with a bed of pale blue pressed against the deep blue wall. the first solid wall in the space that she'd seen, and it glimmered like jewels, as deep as ultramarine.

"oh," she says softly, like all of the air in her lungs was whooshed away, and in its place was the water surrounding them.

somehow, she has brought the god to a stutter. "no. no, this is not..."

"oh," she echoes, and suddenly samuel is on his knees before her, her hand still clasped in his.

he squeezes once to get her attention. he is so tall that even knelt, he is merely eye level. "it is yours," he clarifies quickly, as if he could not get the words out fast enough, "if you choose to accept it. and even if you do not, it will remain untouched until the day you take up on the offer."

speech is a privilege. she cannot find an inkling of a thought in her arsenal of them. "oh." this time it elicits a wince from herself, wishing she had something more grateful, or appreciative, anything.

samuel's mouth quirks into an amused sort of smile, which only makes her feel worse about her reactions. "i choose to believe the lack of coherency is a good sign."

it was a good sign. how did she put into words that no one had thought of her, or what she wanted, ever before like this? that in this expanse of a kingdom with its open walls and the houses of her former village in its sandy courtyard, she has never felt so at home?

she does not say any of this. instead, she does something that surprises even herself, and she launches forward to grasp his face into her hands, and kisses him.

to kiss a god is to give oneself away entirely. an offering of its own sorts.

and when samuel picks her up and lays her on the plush of her mattress, she lets him take what she grants to him. again, and again, and again.

the ends of pearl's dress catch in the wind as she sprints down the sandy path she's come to know so dearly.

the seas part, and the water splashes into the sky. dolphins peek their snouts through the thinning barrier, the drippings of water making the sand soft beneath her feet. starfish and sea snails peek out from the safety of the wettened sand, come to watch their goddess return.

pearl is not of any magic, or any god's blood, but she has figured out the pieces of the coral walls and how to climb them. and climb she does, up and up until she's in her bedspace, where samuel is usually there, tidying the space. returning the water back to its natural state after she leaves is always a mess, he told her once, but i do not mind clearing the seahorses out of your blankets, so long as it gets you to come back to me.

but samuel is not there. she has never gotten to see the seahorse embedded in the warm seaweed blankets, but there are two there tucked into the strands, and now something feels wrong.

she listens intently, moments too late. she had time to turn around and leave if she'd not gotten so caught up in the joy curling around her heart.

"this is the pet, then," an unfamiliar male voice says from the surface level, and pearl wishes she could run the opposite way, and not have to face whoever else could brave the parted seas. no mer could, no sea creature could speak to her, and immediately, this is not someone that she feels that she should know.

samuel's voice is enraged. she knows the cadence of his anger, now. no matter the barriers were thinning today; he was fighting against his will to not send the ocean into a frenzy. "she is no pet."

"every human that slips through the cracks of our hearts is a pet, poseidon, and the quicker you learn that, the easier it is to detach."

his voice is deep, bored. from the corner of her singular wall, pearl peers around to find two sets of eyes already watching her.

samuel returns his attention to the man before him. slightly shorter in stature, dressed in dark, and expression ablaze. "you are only angry because persephone had to return to the ground. do not take it out on her."

"say her name again, brother, and i'll test how slowly i can make a mortal bleed dry." pearl's blood in mention runs ice cold. she wraps her arms around herself as if the sudden chill is one that can be rubbed away, and not one that is rooted within her. "come on out, beloved pearl. let me see the face of the woman who has stricken my brother."

it feels like a trap. perhaps it is. but there is no other way to go, with the drowning seas surrounding her, and the deeper levels of the kingdom hardly any security at all. so pearl descends from her room and makes her way between the men too big to be mortal, both wearing carefully placed masks over their feelings.

"pretty," the stranger says, reaching out to dust a thumb over pearl's eyelashes, "and you have certainly made your mark on her."

"that is unkind," pearl snaps back at him, jerking her face away from the light touch of his hand. "you must be mad, calling out for me like i am an animal, and making assessments of me as if i cannot understand you."

the man's mouth twitches. "i see." his eyes dance over to samuel's. "you have always liked dousing the fire out of women alike."

samuel's jaw ticking is the only indication that he heard his brother at all. "it is not a good time, pearl."

"it is!" the other claps his hands together, the look in his eyes brightening in a way that mimics a child with a toy. her, his chosen plaything. "tell me, how cruel does it feel, exactly, to know that your love is destined to wither and die?"

"do not listen to him." samuel grasps his brother's arm and tugs backwards. "he knows only death and destruction. he will see a weakness and latch if only to taste the bitterness of your hurt—"

"spreading lies about your bloodline does not lessen the blow of the truth."

samuel's voice drops. "leave her out of this, hades. out of your games."

hades.

it sends a shiver down pearl's spine, hearing that name uttered so freely. the townsfolk used to whisper of him after a passing of a loved one. used to wish their spirits any other fate than the one that came in the underworld.

he recognizes when pearl clicks the pieces together. and, as samuel said, he latches. "i could free you from those confines," he says slowly, his voice low and easing, "i could grant you the ability to be amongst your god as an equal. an offer i assume poseidon has not offered you."

hurt flashes over her face, and hades has her. hooked, lined, and sinking.

"i do not believe you."

it does not deter the god of the underworld.

"you have prayed for my brother to be banished, and now you plead his name that he never stops," hades' smile is cruel, teasing, unkind, "such a shift in tone does not go unnoticed to the gods that listen. i am not so cruel to deny a girl the fate she wants."

her heart hammers in her chest. he was not supposed to know what she wished. those pleas were for samuel, and him only. her want to be one of his people; to not only worship him, but to be alongside him, and to never have to perish and end up in the hands of his meaner brother.

"he does not know what you wish for, does he?"

samuel's eyes have never left pearl's expression. it is his turn for his eyes to flash with hurt. "what have you kept from me?"

it was not a willful or conscious choice. she prayed and pleaded, but there was no way to make a certain god listen.

"you would give that to me?" pearl asks, her voice small, hesitant.

hades reaches for her hand, and his deep green eyes blacken the moment their skin touches. "i would give you everything."

it is too late for poseidon to pull her free from his clutches. she does not remember at all, now, why she'd ever called him sam before.

the seas do not part again. her abode in the grasslands rots, sea-stained wood mottling and curling in on itself.

the town has drowned, and so has pearl.

he was angry, hades. an angry, bitter god is not one that should be taken up on an offering for a granted wish. but love is blinding and love is cruel. not that pearl knew, anymore, what that love had felt like.

she lives in the sea. the merfolk welcomed her; cleared her a space in the depths of the sea to rest in, a beautiful pink sea anemone just for her. the kingdom she'd began to call home was long gone; the city of atlantis long forgotten and lost.

the water is cruel and rough. when she sits atop one of the protruding rocks in the deep of the ocean, she is splashed with violent waves, salt curling her drying hair, hitting with enough force against the scaly tail in place of her legs that it almost feels like the water is trying to pull her back under. trying to pull her to something.

to feel at home, finally, is a love like no other she has felt. but even then, it does not feel like enough. pearl's heart has swelled tenfold, but there is still a chunk that feels missing.

and so she sits on that rock every night and sings, sings to beckon what she lost back to her, and the only thing it ever brings is lost, lovelorn sailors. they are never what she yearns for. mockeries of the empty hollow in her heart. drowning them is easy. the drowning sea has always been hungry.

every night, she sings, and poseidon listens from the other side of the ocean deep, sat in the soft blues of her bed. there are no gods for him to pray to for her return, for the curse of lost love placed upon his pearl by his petty, furious brother to be taken back.

but there is all of the time in the world with gods. and he had plenty at his disposal, to keep the sea creatures out of her bedspread, in case she finds her way back to him.

notes. this one has been in my drafts for ... i'm not even gonna say how long. it's had many ups & more downs. hope u all enjoy it regardless !!! literally a labor of love.

tags. @frosttbitessam @sthefferrete @cevansbaby-dove @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @bluestrd @ultravi0lence14 @mccartneyqp @depressionbarbie2023 @im-bili @chevroletdean @fallbhind @angelblqde @honeyryewhiskey @deansbite @lyarr24 @deanswidow @figthoughts @bluemerakis @fallbhind @beausling @t3l3vangelism @tristimith @whyyouegg @untltledforyourpleasure @ravenchoo @odetoficton @globetrotter28 @theosaurous @starzify @samslovely @aileenunfiltered @rubyvhs @soldiersgirl @fairychris @legalmente-loca @voidsuites @stereotypicalbarbie @arlensw1fe

[saltcxrcle]

best friend's brother ── . ✶ c. miller

summary: you weren't one for clichés, but you ended up falling into one anyway

pairings: clay miller x reader, clay miller x fem!readerノ: wc: 4.4k warnings: set after the events of the movie, no use of 'y/n', falling for your best friends brother trope, slight enemies to lovers, smoking (both reader and clay), mentions of the events of the movie, flangst, shot gunning, some sexual tension, kissing, making out, fluff at the end, kinda edited; all mistakes are my own a/n: RAHH CLAYY MILLER MY LOVE!! my first fic for this final boy (and it certainly won't be the last) also i had to make up a lot of shit for bc we get crumbs of clay's backstory and the timeline of the movie, so is this canon? absolutely not! but that's what fanfiction is for :p so enjoy me writing for a jarpad character that isn't sam winchester <33 clay miller masterlist

GOD THIS WAS SO CLICHE. 

Sitting on the porch with Clay and sharing a cigarette while your heart was beating so fast at how close he was, your shoulders were touching as fingers brushed against one another as you passed the dwindling cigarette between the two of you. You thought that you would be the exception to the rule of falling for your best friend’s older brother. 

You had been best friends with Whitney since you moved to New Jersey when you were four years old, and your mom made your small family of three introduce themselves to their next-door neighbors. 

You remember you hid behind your mom’s leg when the door opened, and a woman with brown hair and kind eyes answered the door. You hadn’t wanted to move from your old house in California. But your dad had found a better job across the country and moved despite your complaints, dismissing you because you were a kid and didn’t know any better. 

But the woman at the front door managed to coax you out from behind your mom when she mentioned that she had made cookies the day before and asked if you wanted one. You lit up at the prospect of getting a sweet treat before dinner that day. The woman introduced herself as Miss Jenny and called for her kids to come and meet the new neighbors while she grabbed a cookie for you. 

You could hear the thundering of footsteps from the open door, and a boy who looked to be around two years older than you and a girl your age came into the doorway. Your parents introduced themselves to them while you stared at the floor, shyness creeping back into your system, and all you wanted to do was dash to your new house. 

But the girl was bright and bubbly and didn’t seem to mind your shyness. 

“Hi! I’m Whitney!” She greeted you cheerfully.

You murmured your name in response, just barely being able to meet her hazel eyes. 

“Here you go sweetie.” Miss Jenny had come back from the kitchen and handed you the cookie on a napkin from behind her kids. 

“Thank you.” You said quietly as you sent her a small smile. 

The boy scowled. “Mom! That was the last cookie!” 

“Clay.” Miss Jenny's tone sounded like your mom’s when you didn’t listen to her. “We can make more later.” She promised him. 

The boy you now knew as Clay looked slightly happier, but his eyebrows were still scrunched as he stared at the cookie in your hands. Clay huffed before ducking back into the house. 

Your lips were pursed. “He can have it if he wants.” You went to hand the cookie back, but Miss Jenny shook her head. 

“It’s fine sweetie, I planned to make some more tomorrow anyway.” 

Whitney looked at your parents. “Is it okay if she could come over and play with me tomorrow?”  

You stared at Whitney in surprise. You hadn’t expected to make a friend this quickly. 

You looked behind you to see your parents nodding. 

“Of course!” Your mom said with a smile. 

From that day on, you and Whitney stuck beside each other like glue. You were the more introverted one out of the two of you, while Whitney was the social butterfly. But she never once left you behind and always tried to get you out of your shell. Whitney was the sun to your moon; the two of you balanced each other perfectly. Meanwhile, you and Clay never seemed to get along with each other. It wasn’t like you did anything to him, but he took you getting the last cookie personally and made it known. 

He was relentless in his teasing of Whitney and you if you were over at their house, which was quite often. And it didn’t stop when you guys grew up, if anything, Clay acted more like a dick when he was a teenager. He went through his “bad boy” phase, as you would like to call it. You heard all about him ditching class, getting a motorcycle, smoking, and going to parties from Whitney as you and your parents helped her with their mom.

Eventually, Clay left your life when you were fifteen and he was seventeen. Your parents took Whitney under their wing, and the two of you grew closer than ever as you supported her while her mom went through her chemo treatments. But you guys slowly drifted apart when you guys got into different colleges. 

Whitney wanted to stay local to help with her mom while you tried to go to school in New York. Although you wanted to stick by Whitney and apply to schools in the state, she encouraged you to apply to your dream schools in New York. You remember the day you left for NYU, which was bittersweet, filled with tears and promises that you’d call often and come back home for the holidays, which you did. 

Your world turned upside down a few years later, and you were finishing your last year of undergrad. Whitney had gone missing, her mom died, and Clay came crashing back into your life. 

You remember the day of Miss Jenny’s funeral and seeing him for the first time in years at the podium, speaking about his mother. You managed to make it to the funeral, letting your professors know about the family emergency and taking the first flight to New Jersey back to your hometown. 

You vaguely remember Whitney telling you about calling Clay and getting into a fight about not helping and being there for their mom. 

You lingered in the cemetery long enough for Clay to approach you. 

“Whitney’s missing.” Clay’s voice was slightly thick with grief as he stared at you hard. 

Your brows furrowed. “What?” 

“Are you kidding? Did you not notice her absence here?” He gestured to the nearly empty graveyard. 

“Of course I did!” You scowled at him. That was all you could think about, but you didn’t want to question him when he was being bombarded with his own family members and receiving condolences from others. 

“When was the last time you talked to her?” 

“I can tell you it was more recent than you had.” You couldn’t help but snark at Clay, crossing your arms over your chest.

Clay glared at you, his jaw clenching in frustration. “When?” 

You sighed. “Right before she hit a dead zone. Whitney told me about the camping trip with her boyfriend and his friends.” 

“And you haven’t checked in on her?” 

“She said she wasn’t going to have service.” You said through gritted teeth. “Besides, I've been a little busy with school.” 

“So school is more important than your missing best friend.” Clay nodded in mock understanding. “Got it.” He flashed you a sarcastic grin before shaking his head, his hair falling in his eyes.

“Oh, fuck you! Says the guy who ran off doing god knows what and refused to come home to help his sister care for their dying mother.” You pointed a finger into his chest. “Do not accuse me of not caring for your family when it's clear you didn’t in the first place.” 

Clay’s eyes flashed with anger as his nostrils flared. He stared down at you with a clenched jaw but said nothing. 

The two of you stared at each other in tense silence. Your eyes took in Clay for the first time since you saw him earlier. If it was possible, he grew even taller since he was seventeen, and he definitely filled out his lanky frame—the broadness of his shoulders wasn’t something you could overlook. Clay’s hair was the longest you’ve ever seen, but his eyes kept the intensity he had since he first laid eyes on you. The hazel color swirled and shifted into a stormy grey like the overcast sky overhead. 

Clay was attractive—you weren’t blind. There were times when you thought he was cute in your youth, but his callous attitude towards you never failed to remind you why you never tried to befriend him. 

“Help me look for her.” Clay whispered into the silent afternoon, breaking the tense atmosphere. 

You closed your eyes as you took a step back, putting a distance between you and Clay. “I can’t.” You murmured, your heart cracking at your admission.

“Why not?” 

“I don’t have time.” 

“What do you mean you don’t have time? Your best friend is missing!” Clay looked at you incredulously. The person that Clay knew would have said yes to him in a heartbeat. 

You could feel the tears that you kept suppressed all day, threatening to spill over. “I’m going back tonight.” 

Clay scoffed. “Back to New York right? To some big fancy school in the big city while Whitney is out there missing? Some best friend you are.” The venom dripped from his voice as he shook his head, disappointed. 

You had no idea that Clay even knew where you were going to school or that he apparently kept tabs on your life. But his remark about going back to school instead of looking for Whitney got under your skin, but you’d never admit to it, never to his face. 

“Fuck you, Clay Miller.” You spit out, fury coating your words. You walked away, shoving at his shoulder with your own. You didn’t want to be there any longer than you had to with Clay. 

About a month later, after graduating, you were back home for the summer, having applied to grad school in New Jersey, and you would stay at your childhood home until you found a job and an apartment. You had gotten a call from an unknown number, which you almost didn’t pick up, but there was a pull in your gut that compelled you to answer. 

The woman on the phone asked for your name, which you confirmed. She called to inform you that Whitney was in the hospital, and you needed to come in and check in on her. 

The phone call was soon over at that point; you quickly grabbed your bag and left the house hastily. You vaguely remember your parents asking where you were in a rush for, spitting out that Whitney was in the hospital and that you’d call them once you saw her in the flesh. 

The drive was short, almost breaking all the traffic laws to get to the hospital as fast as you could. Anxiety twisted at your stomach as you walked through the lobby; your voice was wavering, asking the nurse at the desk about Whitney. 

The nurse had a reassuring smile on her face as she looked up your information, and once you confirmed your identity, she led you to Whitney’s room. 

You practically sobbed in relief at the sight of Whitney, bringing her into a fierce hug as the two of you cried in each other’s arms. You guys had a tight grip on one another as she shoved her head into the crook of your neck. 

You guys only pulled apart until no more tears were running down your faces. You wiped at your face with your jacket as you pulled back and took in Whitney’s appearance. 

She looked a little thinner from the last time you saw her, and you knew Whitney had some cracked ribs and a few other bruises, but other than that, she was fine. But you had a feeling that what she saw or experienced was worse than how she looked right now. You had so many questions fluttering around in your head but kept them to yourself so as to not overwhelm her. 

You went to open your mouth to say something, but before you could, the door opened and cut you off before you could speak. 

Your head snapped to see Clay entering the room. His clothes were covered in dried mud, and Clay’s shirt was stained beyond recognition. Your eyes zeroed in on his face. There was a large gash on his cheekbone that looked to be cleaned since butterfly bandages were covering the wound. 

The two of you locked eyes, his eyes were filled with relief but you could see the lingering fear within his hazel gaze. They flashed with something unfamiliar, but it looked akin to fondness before it was gone. 

“Hey.” You murmured, the corners of your lips twitching slightly. 

Clay swallowed thickly. “Hey.” He responded with a nod of his head, his dirty hair falling in his eyes. Your eyes followed his hand as he brushed it back, noticing how big they were.

You cleared your throat before you turned back to face Whitney. There was a knowing smirk on her face, and you rolled your eyes at her. 

The cold concrete seeped through the thin pajama pants you were wearing as you blew out the smoke from your mouth, the tenseness from your shoulders relaxing as the nicotine flooded your system. Smoke curled around you as moonlight lit the street, and the small porch light you were sitting underneath illuminated the path up your porch as you sat on the steps leading up to your childhood home. 

You glanced at the house right next to yours before taking another drag of your cigarette. 

It had been over a year since Clay found Whitney. That night you came to the hospital, Whitney and Clay filled you in on what happened hours before they made it to the hospital—being kidnapped at Camp Crystal Lake, Clay finding Whitney, and killing the guy that kidnapped her. You were in shock as they recounted the experience, seeing how Clay could barely get through his story without stumbling over them. Your heart broke when he mentioned how he met Jenna and how she was killed. 

They had to spend the night at the hospital for evaluation, and you picked up Jenna the next morning. Clay followed behind you on his motorcycle back to their house. Clay was surprised that the house hadn’t been claimed by the bank, but you explained that your parents helped pay it off, and it was all theirs if they wanted to stay. 

You looked away from the house and back down to the cigarette in your hand. It was on its last legs, so you stamped it out and let it rest on the ashtray that you had brought out before taking out your last one of the pack. 

“You know those things that wreck your lungs?” The familiar timber of Clay’s voice broke the serenity of the late summer night.” 

You huffed, looking at Clay approaching your porch and walking up it. “You’re one to talk Mister ‘I started to smoke in high school’.” 

Clay let out a low chuckle, shaking his head, knowing that you were right. “Yeah, but I stopped a couple of years ago. Besides, I thought you hated smoking.” 

“Things change.” You murmured as you looked up at Clay. “But I only smoke if I’m stressed or really drunk.” You didn’t know why you felt the need to explain, but seeing Clay in grey sweatpants and a tight v-neck shirt was loosening your tongue. 

Fuck, it should be illegal to have shirts that tight. You thought as you saw how Clay's sleeve was snug around his bicep. You swallowed thickly as he sat down next to you, Clay’s scent filling your nose, notes of pine, amber, clean linen, and something that was distinctly him. 

“Right, so I’m assuming that you’re stressed then?” 

“You’d be correct in that assumption.” You grabbed the lighter from beside the ashtray that was in between you and Clay and lit your cigarette, inhaling as you did and letting your lungs feel the slight burn from the process. 

“Can I bum one off of you?” Clay was silently glad that you kept your gaze in front of you, his eyes zeroing in on how your lips wrapped around the filter. 

“Thought you stopped smoking Mr. Paramedic?” You asked with a smirk, blowing the smoke from the side of your mouth as you turned to look at him. 

“I like to indulge from time to time.” Clay couldn’t help but smirk back at you. 

If someone told you that you could hold a conversation with Clay without wanting to strangle him when you were a teen, or better yet, a year ago—you would have laughed straight into their face. 

In the past year, there were bumps in the road after Clay and Whitney came back home. There were a lot of late nights staying up because of nightmares from both of the Miller siblings (whether Clay wanted to admit it or not), and it was clear that they were struggling with them. 

You remembered how Clay’s face twisted when you handed him a business card with your mom’s practice on the front of it. 

“Mom can’t take you as her client because of conflict of interest and whatnot, but she has a few other people that you can be referred to.” You explained after seeing Clay stare hard at the card in his hands. 

“I don’t need-” 

“Nope, you do need it, don't deny it.” You quickly shut down any protests coming from him. 

You saw how much he pretended to be okay, to be strong for his sister, who suffered from nightmares as well. But Whitney was proactive and started therapy after one terrible nightmare that plagued her for days after she had it. 

Ever since the siblings moved back into their childhood home, you were there almost every night to help and comfort Whitney. One night, Whitney was sleeping soundly, but as you were walking back from the bathroom, you passed by Clay’s room and heard murmuring, followed by a quiet shout of Whitney’s name. 

You opened the door to see his head jerking side to side, his eyes shut tight, and tiny no’s falling from his lips. 

You made your way to the edge of his bed. “Wake up! Clay!” You called his name out in a whispered shout as you shook his shoulder. 

Clay’s eyes snapped open, and he woke up with a sharp gasp. He sat up quickly. The blanket that was covering him fell from his chest and pooled around his waist. His eyes were frantic as he looked around his room before they met yours. 

Clay visibly relaxed when he realized that he was at home and rubbed at his face. “Sorry if I woke you up.” His voice was rough and thick with exhaustion as he mumbled his words

You shook your head. “You didn’t.” You replied with a whisper.

You realized that your hand was still on his shoulder—Clay’s bare shoulder. Your eyes flickered down his body, he wasn’t wearing a shirt and you could see his tanned skin being illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight peaking through his curtains. You almost choked on your breath at the sight of his sculpted body, so you immediately averted your gaze and ripped your hand off of his shoulder. 

You locked eyes with Clay again, and something passed between the two of you. When the Miller’s came back, Clay was still cold towards you but after this night, things changed between you. There was this unspoken tension between you, but a tentative friendship started to develop over the months. 

You remember how he came to you and told you about planning to be a Paramedic and that he had started the process of being trained. Something in your chest warmed when Clay revealed that you were the first person he told. 

“Besides I’m not a paramedic yet.” Clay shook his head. His hair was getting long enough to where he could tuck the wayward strands behind his ears. 

“Right but you'll be one soon." You waved his words off. "It’s my last one.” You told him, waving around the now-lit cigarette. “But I’m feeling generous.” You passed it over to Clay. 

“I’m honored.” Clay joked as he took it from you, his fingers brushing against yours, and the brief contact sent a shiver down your spine. 

You practically had to tear your eyes away from Clay; seeing his lips wrapped around the cigarette and taking a drag was making you feel warm, and you stared out into the street. 

With the friendship that you built with Clay, you learned a lot more about him from him rather than from Whitney. He was witty, kind, caring, and fiercely loyal to the ones he cared about. Somehow, along the way of developing this friendship, you started to fall for him. But I pushed it down because there was no way that Clay wouldn’t see you as more than Whitney’s best friend. 

“I’m sorry.” Clay said after he exhaled the smoke, passing the cig back to you. 

Your eyebrows furrowed before taking a drag. “For what?” You asked, blowing the smoke away from him and tapping the excess ash in the tray. 

“For being a dick to you at the funeral.” 

“Oh.” You were slightly surprised that he even brought it up. You guys hadn’t really rehashed any problems that had occurred before you guys became friends. 

“And for being an asshole to you growing up.” Clay added when you didn’t say anything else. 

You chuckled. “At least you’re owning up to the fact that you were mean to me when we were younger.” The cigarette was a little halfway done, and Clay took it from your outstretched hand. 

Clay huffed a laugh through his nose after he inhaled some of the smoke. “Yeah, well you took the last cookie so we had gotten off on the wrong foot.” 

“I get that." You snickered quietly. The cookies that Clay's mom used to make were delicious. "But you continued to tease me even when we grew up. Especially when we were teens.” You pointed out with a raised brow after you calmed down, looking at Clay with a knowing look. 

He shook his head. “That was because I thought you were pretty and I didn’t want to find my little sister’s best friend pretty.” 

You swallowed hard as you felt your heart start to pound against your chest. “Ah.” your voice was slightly hoarse before you cleared it. “So, you decided to be mean. God, you were such a teenage boy.” You teased as you shook your head. 

Clay laughed. “Yeah, well it's not like I knew how to talk to girls all that well. The ones I really liked at least.” Clay corrected himself when he saw the sharp glance you shot him. 

“Do you still find her pretty?” You asked boldly. 

“Who?” Clay’s eyebrows furrowed, and there was a wrinkle in between them that you wanted to smooth out with your thumb. 

“Your little sister’s best friend?” You bit your bottom lip as you met his gaze, nerves ratting your senses. 

The wrinkle between his brows became more prominent before it smoothed out, and a smirk pulled at his lips. “Yeah, she’s gorgeous now.” 

You couldn’t help but smile at him. “That’s good. You still like her?” 

“Yeah, even after all these years, I don’t think I ever stopped.” Clay leaned in closer to you, his scent getting more potent and more intoxicating, with smoke lingering around the two of you. 

“That’s good to hear.” You murmured in the tiny space that was left between you and Clay. 

“Want to finish this off?” He tapped off the excess ash of the almost-finished cigarette. 

“Sure.” You went to pluck it out of his hand. But he brought it up to his lips instead of taking the last drag of it—the orange glow of the cigarette illuminated the amusement that filled his eyes. You looked at him in confusion. 

Clay extinguished the now-finished cigarette into the ashtray, his mouth and lungs filled with smoke. He took your chin in between his thumb and forefinger and tipped your face up towards him. 

Your mouth parted instinctively as his lips got closer to yours until there was only a sliver of space between the two of you, and you knew what he was trying to do. It had been a while since you shotgunned anything with someone, but doing it with Clay was making a heat pool in your lower belly. 

Clay started to blow a steady stream of smoke into your mouth as you inhaled it, your eyes locked on his increasingly darkening ones, his pupil eclipsing the hazel color of his gaze. Your hands itched to grab his face and pull his lips towards his, but let him shotgun the remnants of your cigarette with you. 

You blew out the smoke once you had inhaled it all, and the two of you were left staring at each other. Clay's fingers on your chin moved to extend and encompass your jaw, and his thumb was resting on your bottom lip. 

Your noses were brushing against each other as your hand hesitantly rested on his clothed thigh.

You blinked up at him, eyelashes practically fluttering against his cheek. “Kiss me.” 

Instead of a response, Clay’s lips descended onto yours, and fireworks sparked behind your eyes as Clay kissed you passionately. His other hand came to rest on your free cheek as you moved closer to him, the hand on his thigh coming to rest on his waist. 

You couldn’t think about anything else but Clay, the flavor of nicotine and mint flooded your taste buds as Clay’s tongue danced with yours. You hadn’t felt like this with anyone else before, the world faded as you lost yourself in the feeling of Clay’s soft lips against yours. It was overwhelming in the best way possible, and you could feel arousal zipping through your body as Clay dominated the kiss. 

The two eventually broke apart, unfortunately needing air that was in your depleted lungs. But you didn’t stray far, resting your foreheads together as you took in sharp breaths together. You opened your eyes to find Clay already looking at you, his gaze filled with adoration and lust. 

“Do you want to go on a date with me?” Clay asked, stroking your cheek with his thumb. 

“Shouldn’t you have asked me that before you kissed me?” You had a teasing smile on your face. But you felt giddy at the idea of Clay taking you out. 

Clay rolled his eyes. “I didn’t hear you complaining about it.” 

You giggled at his words, riding the blissful feeling that flooded your veins from the kiss the two of you shared. “You’re not wrong. But I’d love to.”

Clay sent you a bright smile that filled your stomach with butterflies. “Good.” He murmured before leaning in again and pulling you into a gentle kiss, making you melt into it. 

Yeah, falling for your best friend’s brother was cliche, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.  

[angelickks]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 ۶ৎ bf!dean winchester x rich!bimbo!gf!reader (𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝟏𝟖+)

RICH!BIMBO!READER is chaos in lip gloss, all legs and luxury, and dean winchester is absolutely gone for you. you strut into his life in designer heels and never leave, wrecking his world with pink nails, sweet perfume, and a smile that could disarm a demon. you don’t know latin, but you do know how to charm a crossroads demon and shoplift from cursed boutiques like it’s a sport. dean calls you princess, worship and all—and you call him deany bear just to watch him grit his teeth and blush. you're glitter and gumption wrapped in an expensive sundress and manolo blahniks, and dean? he’d burn the world down just to buy you another one.

coconut body oil, sugar cookies, chanel, and vanilla flavored lip gloss. your scent lingers on dean’s flannel, in the impala, in the air after you leave a room - sweet, warm, impossible to ignore.

looks like an oversized designer sunglasses, bubblegum pink mini skirts, perfectly curled hair, and heart-shaped everything - necklaces, purses, prada sunnies, your damn mood ring you swear is “lowkey psychic.”

early 2000s pop icons, sultry lounge jazz on rainy days, and the occasional rock ballad - only because dean sings it under his breath when he thinks you're asleep.

always have a bejeweled lighter (even if you don't smoke), strawberry lip gloss in your expensive bra, and your phone full of selfies with dean scowling in the background.

chrome powder finished nails, soft blankets, romantic comedies with dramatic kissing scenes, and dean’s rough hands in your hair.

you're all glitter and girlhood, wrapped in curated chaos, with a heart so big it sneaks up on people. And dean? dean keeps catching himself thinking maybe heaven looks like her.

he totally didn't think he'd fall for you - at first, dean thought you were just another pretty face. high heels too high for salt and burns, nails too perfect for grave digging, and a wardrobe that looked more vogue than victim protection. but then you patched him up with the gentlest hands and bought him a limited edition vintage zepp vinyl “because it looked like something you'd like,” and he was gone.

he lives to ruin your expensive lingerie. you show up in matching sets — lace, silk, bows in the back — and every time he swears he’s gonna be gentle. but 15 minutes later, the panties are shredded, the bra's hanging off the lamp, and he’s got your lip gloss smeared across his jaw. “told you not to wear that if you wanted it back, sweetheart.”

motel sex with you is feral. you in your little pink mini dress on those grimy motel sheets? instant brain shutdown. he bends you over cheap bathroom sinks, lifts you up against creaky doors, pulls your heels off with his teeth. the man has zero chill when you're in “dumb little doll” mode, batting your lashes and giggling when he growls.

you love to tease him in public. sitting in his lap at a bar, whispering filthy things in his ear with a perfect princess pout. sliding your hand up his thigh under the table at a diner, playing dumb while he shifts in his seat and mutters, “you’re gonna get it later.” (you always do.)

the sight of you sucking on a lollipop? ends. him. he can’t function. Doesn’t matter where you are — car, bunker, goddamn library. you twirl that thing around with your lips glossed up and all innocent, and he’s 30 seconds from pulling over or bending you over a bookshelf.

he’s obsessed with your thighs. calls them his “favorite seat.” you could crush his head between them and he’d die happy. he’ll drop to his knees in the middle of a fight if it means tasting you — “hold still, baby, lemme take care of you real quick.” and when you ride him? hands locked around your hips, watching you bounce with that dumb pretty girl giggle — he’s done for.

he loves when you beg. big eyes, pouty lips, nails digging into his shoulders — when you whine for his cock in that sweet, breathy voice? he makes you wait just to hear you beg louder. “what was that, princess? didn’t hear you. gonna have to use your words fʻme.”

you love to leave scratches.his back, his arms, his ass — you mark him up like a crime scene. and he loves it. wears them like badges. dean’s favorite mornings are when he rolls out of your luxurious bed sore, covered in hickeys, and you’re lying there in nothing but his flannel shirt asking if he wants round two.

car sex. duh. backseat of the Impala. windows fogged. skirt bunched around your waist. dean with one hand on your throat and the other under your thigh, whispering, “whinin' already, princess?”

aftercare king, actually. for all his filthy talk and rough handling, he treats you like gold when it’s over. cleans you up, gets you water, rubs your thighs where he left bruises, kisses your forehead and murmurs, “you okay, doll? i didn’t go too far, did i?” then he wraps you up in his arms and says you’re the best damn thing that ever happened to him.

you're the only person allowed to call baby cute. you once referred to the Impala as “such a cutie lil car” and dean almost had a stroke — but then you pulled a diamond studded tire pressure gauge out of your designer bag and asked if she needed her fluids checked. now he won’t let anyone else touch her but you.

you always insist he moisturizes. “dean, baby, if you don't use this hyaluronic acid serum, your skin’s gonna look like leather before you're 40.” he grumbles, rolls his eyes, mutters something about “witchcraft,” but lets you do your little nighttime routine on him while pretending to hate it.

you’re fiercely protective — in your own sparkly way. the one time someone called dean “trailer trash” at a high-society event you dragged him to, you didn’t even blink just dumped an expensive cocktail on their head and said, “oops.” dean laughed so hard he nearly dropped his beer.

you spoil the hell out of him. real leather jackets. ridiculously expensive watches to, “match his outfits”. rare cassette tapes. a stupidly expensive gold lighter engraved with “Don’t Die, Dumbass.” he acts like he doesn’t care, but he keeps every single gift. And that lighter? Never leaves his pocket.

he secretly loves how soft you make him. you bring out a side of dean he doesn't let anyone else see. he finds himself saying “I love you, princess” more, letting his guard down, smiling more often. he even lets you paint one of his pinky nails sometimes “for fun.” (only the pinky though. he’s got a reputation.)

sam is baffled but supportive. he doesn’t get it. at all. but you bring dean back in one piece and make the bunker smell like vanilla and chanel instead of gunpowder and regret, so… he’s not complaining.

you love him so much. you don’t care about monsters or magic. you just know that dean winchester is the kindest, most broken, most beautiful man you’ve ever met, and you’d walk through hell in heels for him.

supernatural mlist!

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐒: y’all ask, therefore u shall receive. the poll everyone voted for some bf!dean headcanons and im sorry this is one of my fave tropes ngl im gonna also be posting some pedro ones soon lovies!!

[driedrosesandcherry]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 .ᐣ ⧽ ⠀ᛪ༙ stanford!sam ܸ﹙ s.w.﹚

ᶻz﹒₊ˎ SUM .ᐟ ⟣﹒ You and Sam are mentally suffering during exam week. What better way to blow off steam? Dinner comes first though.

cw ֪֪𓏼℘ 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 (𝟏𝟖+) ── MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. 𝜗 ˚ ∿ smut, a sprinkle of fluff, afab!reader, established relationship, explicit language, reverse cowgirl position, kisses almost anywhere he can reach, mentions of mirror sex, unprotected sex, third person omniscient, no use of y/n, use of gender neutral pronouns, sam says “good girl” endearingly. word count֢ ࣪ ݂ 1.8k

No distinct skin color, weight, etc for the reader, but they’re shorter than Sam. Requests, reblogs, and feedback are encouraged.

“You actually did that? God, you’re the worst, Sam.”

“The music sucked, babe. They also couldn’t sing.”

They chortled at his insistence and shook their head lightly after he blathered about how karaoke went yesterday with his friends. They began twirling their wooden yellow pencil skillfully over their knuckles and the length of their fingers. Their leg bounced while now looking over an open page of a textbook as their plump lower lip was lightly tucked between their teeth—a sign they were focused and wracking their brain more than usual like for an assignment here and there. Sam noticed when he looked up from his and rested his veiny hand upon their thigh, smoothing over the fabric of their pants with his thumb to soothe them. “You okay?” He inquired.

“Mhm,” they curtly responded, even whilst that familiar wrinkle takes place between their brows. Sam wasn’t buying their hum of yes for a moment. He politely cleared his throat and gently squeezed their thigh to get their attention. “Wanna get some dinner? We could always hit the books later.”

“Sam–”

“Baby,” He tersely responded.

And it worked like a charm everytime. That maintained eye contact and smooth timbre with the convincing slight cant of his head to the side. It didn’t take long for them to end up at the diner they’d always frequent. The great service and decent meal helped with the experience. Sam just couldn’t help himself as he held onto their hand to help them out of the passenger seat, kissed upon their temple and then their cheek as they headed inside. A random vintage car model, a jukebox, and the occasional elderly couple with a grandchild who was likely complaining.

A sigh filtered through their lips as they sat across from Sam who was already looking over the menu to order for them both. “I’ll get a, uh, tall sundae this time,” they murmured to which Sam softly nodded and set the plastic covered menu down wordlessly. As if on cue, the waitress with a mustered gentle smile on her red lipstick stained lips made her way over. “Hi, I’m Brandy. What could I get started for you two?” She had a classic New Jersey accent like from the films.

Sam rattled it off while they had time to pick at the plastic on the menu cover and stare off into what they could make out through the diner’s blinds before Sam took their hand. They hadn’t even realized the waitress had left to put their order ticket in the queue for the chef. “Sorry,” they murmured and Sam shook his head. “No, you’re fine. Just wanna make sure you’re okay.” And they simply nodded.

“…Studying kicking you in the ass too?”

“Of course.”

“Can I help you this time?”

Their eyes widened a fraction at him saying that, his words weren’t all sweet and innocent as they sounded. They knew that too well. Sam’s helped them study countless times, it’s how they started speaking to one another after all. He obviously meant stress relief sex instead. Sam blinked softly as he waited for anything as he gently rubbed his calloused thumb over their knuckles.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Good girl,” He says that so warmly every time as a gentle smile crests the curves of his lips. He doesn’t mean anything sensual by it, but it never fails to make their stomach flutter and feel a little too warm. They squeeze their thighs together discreetly as if it’d quell the warmth blooming between their thighs and they politely clear their throat when the drinks are set down by the same waitress. “A tall sundae, for you. A black coffee, for you.”

“Thank you,” they synchronously answered as their respective drinks were given.

“Should we try the mirror thing again?” Sam casually asked after taking a swig of his coffee. Their eyes widen a fraction with recognition and they stop chewing on the stemless maraschino cherry they’d scooped from the pinnacle of the tall sundae. “What?” He responded, noting their surprise and giving them a confused look.

Yeah, about that.

The first time Sam had gotten into an argument with them? That was his way of apologizing once they finally started speaking to him again. But, he also repeated how sorry he was while staring back at them in the polished full length mirror a few feet from the bed. His hand pressed gently but firm, lithe fingers spread against the lower dip of their back, the other keeping their head up underneath their chin so they could look at him and themself the entire time. He was consistently thrusting against that delicious spongy spot deeply while he was whining or moaning right near their ear with his toned front pressed against their back or gritting his pearly molars.

When they started dating the guy, they didn’t expect him to be such a pervert. That’s not exactly a complaint though and they appreciated the desperate thorough apologies and “I love you’s” in their voicemail box they’d listened to on the drive there that day.

“Maybe something new.” They replied, a noncommittal shrug following. Feigning nonchalance as if they never froze at the mere memory of what they’d done before. The pads of his lengthy fingers tapped against the surface of the table in thought just when their orders were placed down and they said thanks again.

They spoke to each other causally during dinner like sex wasn’t the sole thing on both of their minds the entire time. More telltale signs from them than Sam though and Sam found himself smiling softly about it because he noticed every little thing about them.

A chuckle rumbled in his chest at some joke they’d told as they made it back into their shared apartment and he kissed their cheek and watched as they hummed and practically melted into the momentary intimacy. They slipped their shoes off at the door, their pair to the left and Sam’s on the right and evidently bigger.

“So, something new?” He asked as he shimmied his jacket off and helped them easily slip off his jacket that they’d borrowed.

“Can’t I surprise you?” they asked, turning to look up at him, to which he huffed out a breath of laughter with amusement laced upon his face. He stepped closer before resting a hand on the side of their face and maintaining eye contact again. He definitely wanted a kiss, and they melted into the touch of his hand with ease and rested their hand atop his. The kiss began gentle and slow, and then it kicked up a notch as they gripped onto the cotton fabric of his shirt.

He placed one hand on the back of their head and the other on their lower back as he carefully guided them to the bedroom through the medium sized halls of their apartment as they continued to kiss with soft laughter in between. He carefully twisted the knob and pushed open the door, steadying them when they nearly stumbled from the change then slamming it shut behind him, letting a cool draft of air in.

You’re both impatient, but once your lips part you’re helping one another take your clothing off. While they’re tugging his shirt off of his broad shoulders and over his head, he’s working at the metal button and zipper securing those denim shorts that cuff and hug their thighs at the hem. Their hands rest against his familiar torso as they kiss his lips for a moment before they continue until they’re both in a state of undress. Then they’re pushing him toward the bed slowly until he catches the memo to lay back on the comfort of their sheets.

He allows them to with no questions or complaint. They don’t make him wait, in sheer time they’re settling between his spread thighs on their knees with their hands planted flat on the bed in front of them to balance. Sam sits up to take in the sight, his earthy eyes dimmed with something carnal when he levels his gaze with them all ready for him. He grasped his girthy cock and pressed past their labia before dipping right in with a content sigh.

Their hips lower promptly to have him fully seated inside with near ease just as he moves his hand and he hisses out their name softly due to the stretch and warmth as his head cants rearward and lands on the assortment of pillows. Their hips roll slowly at first—it’s damn torturous, but he finds himself lifting his head to watch with soft pants and he even spreads his thighs a little more. It doesn’t quite beat the soft moans that start to filter through their lips once they finally bounce their hips. “Shit,” he curses breathily at the sounds they’re making and at the squelching feedback every time they sink down around him.

It doesn’t take long to gain a rhythm where they’re simultaneously moaning and the sound of their skin meeting is echoing off their bedroom walls as the bed lightly creaks beneath them. One sharp gasp, their hips stuttering, and their walls clenching is all it takes for him to know and he can’t help but rock his hips to further the stimulation as he grips onto the flesh of their ass. “You’re doing so good. You gonna cum?” He so fucking sly already knowing the answer. When they managed a nod with a shaky exhale, he hums lowly and slides one hand from around their ass, over their tummy, and down to the space between their legs.

He bit his lower lip for a moment as he pressed one of his fingers against their clit softly then traced lazy circles over their clit as they worked in tandem to climax. His cock twitches inside them and now they know he’s getting close, but neither stop just yet.

And then their hips stop just when the pressure near their navel snaps and they cry out his name while their nails cinch into the sheets, their walls fluttering around his length. He follows suit with a breathy groan, hips jerking once more, spilling while buried deep inside them as he finally lets up on rubbing their clit.

His hands rested against their thighs finally as he sat up and rubbed their thighs and then kissed their neck. “Wanna see your face,” he exhaled. They turned their head slightly before he leaned his head around and kissed their lips gently, sucking their tongue for a moment before pulling back with a soft slick noise.

When they lifted their hips with a soft gasp and turned to lay on top of him, he smiled softly watching them snuggle against him even with the minorly uncomfortable sweat waiting to slough off of their bodies with a nice bath. He wrapped one muscular arm around them while his free hand trailed along the bow of their spine.

“Let’s get cleaned up and pick up on the last set you needed help with. I’ll make you some hot tea.”

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 I stress that you do not repost, translate, alter, or plagiarize my content on any platform, including—but not limited to—my theme. You are welcome to take inspiration as long as you ask me directly and have my explicit consent.

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

The Price of Vengeance

Request: Can you do Sam Winchester x reader with the prompt “Revenge is not meant to ease pain. It is meant to balance the scale.” That is if you’re still taking requests. If not, sorry to bother you 🤍. Requested by anon.

Warnings: physical violence, injury, blood, angst, death

Word Count: 2.6 K.

“Hello Boys. If you missed me, you could’ve just called. You know, over a cup of tea or coffee- nothing too fancy” you said with a smirk as you strolled into the museum. Dean and Sam had, of course, gone ahead of you, despite agreeing to wait. They could never resist jumping into trouble first.

“A little help here?” Dean shouted, frustration evident in his tone.

You raised an eyebrow in amusement “You need to relax a bit, darling. All this stress and anger are not good for your health” you calmly said, teasing, as you started an incantation.

“And you think being killed by a ghost is?” Dean shot back, glaring at you as he struggled.

You merely shrugged, ignoring his theatrics, began reciting the banishment incantation. Dean was always so dramatic, and teasing him had become one of your favorite pastimes.

You rose from your spot and moved toward Sam, who had just been thrown into the room, entirely unaware of your presence.

“No hello? No ‘Nice to see you again. I missed you, love?’” you said, arms crossed, a mocking grin spreading across your face you watched him struggle against the monster.

Sam turned to face you, grimacing from the strain of fighting “Y/n? When did you get here? And if you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit occupied at the moment” he shot back, offering a sarcastic smile between gritted teeth.

You sighed dramatically, rolling your eyes “Fine. I guess I’ll just have to do everything myself then” you leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Sam’s lips, catching him off guard. “Look out!” you warned him as you broke the kiss.

“Seriously? Now you find time to do this? Hurry up!” Dean shouted from across the room, his irritation growing.

“Such a whiny baby. Fine, there” with a snap of your fingers, the ghosts vanished.

“All this time, and you could’ve just done that?” Dean’s glare was sharp, but you simply shrugged.

“I don’t get paid for this. Besides, you don’t appreciate my talents. So why should I waste them on you?” you winked, clearly enjoying the annoyance written across his face.

Sam, catching his breath, finally spoke from behind you “Hey, I missed you” his voice was softer, and as you turned, you wasted no time jumping into his arms, wrapping your legs around him and kissing him passionately.

“Ugh, could you two please get a room?” Dean groaned in disgust. “What even are you two? Are you official? Just hooking up?”

You broke the kiss just to smirk at Dean “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Dean scowled. “Yeah. That’s why I’m asking.”

Sam interjected this time, glancing at you with a small smiled “We don’t have a label on our relationship…yet.”

—

“So apparently, this guy was very well known back in the day. He prosecuted over a hundred presumed witches” Sam explained as he scrolled further, reading through some website.

“Wait, what did you say his name was again?” you asked, stepping closer, your brow furrowing.

“Uhm, let me check… some Alfred Bancrofft. Apparently the whole family was involved in witch hunting”.

The moment he said the name, your chest tightened, and a cold wave of pain washed over you. That name- that man, who had hunted and killed you when you were human. You were innocent back then, you begged him to at least spare your family, but that man just hated women. Women that did not bend to his will. You swore vengeance just before he burnt you at the stake. When you were resurrected as a witch, it took you some time before you could master your magic. But by the time you were ready to exact your revenge, the man and his sons had already died and you heard nothing of his bloodline, until now.

“Alfred Bancrofft” you repeated slowly “and does it say if he has any surviving descendants?”

“There is one Bancrofft in the area. It appears he was the one who donated that talisman to the museum.”

“Okay, you two grab the talisman. I’ll talk to the family” you suggested, hoping they’d agree with your decision.

“Wait, hold on, hold on. Since when do you volunteer to talk to family members? You HATE talking to people. So who are you? And what have you done to our Y/n?” Dean teased, folding his arms.

“Our Y/n? Aw, so I have started to grow on you, haven’t I?” you smirked “Don’t worry, it’s me, your one and only Y/n. Do you think that if anyone dared to impersonate me, they’d live long enough to talk about it?”

Dean gave you a half-hearted smile “Yeah, you got me there.”

“We still have a problem. Yesterday, when we went to retrieve the talisman, it wasn’t where it was that day. Either someone hid it or the ghost of Bancrofft is playing games. Y/n, did you sense anyone when you came by?”

“I don’t think so. I was focused on finding you two idiots so I didn’t really have time for that”

“I’ll go see if the talisman is back to its original place. Maybe whoever took it just needed it for the night? Sam you go with Y/n and figure out if they’re involved in any way.”

“But I can do this on my own” you objected, crossing your arms.

“I doubt that. Your people skills are as rusty as Cass’s. Besides, if someone is going to investigate, the other one has to entertain the hosts.”

“And who exactly is going to be ‘entertaining the hosts’?”

“I don’t know. It’s between the two of you. Figure it out, lovebirds” Dean shrugged nonchalantly before going out to get some food.

—

The moment you stepped inside the Bancrofft house, rage simmered beneath the surface. Having Sam with you was an inconvenience, but you’ve been waiting for hundreds of years, one more day wasn’t going to make a difference.

As Sam distracted the Bancroffts with polite conversation, you excused yourself to the bathroom. Once alone, you searched the house for anything unusual. You found some occult items, but nothing definitive.”

“”All good, honey?” Sam asked as you returned, his gaze curious but calm.

“Yes. All clear” you offered a sweet, fake smile to both Sam and the Bancroffts “Just one last question. So are you really related to the Alfred Bancrofft? I heard he killed a lot of witches- if you believe in that kind of stuff.”

The man chuckled dismissively “Oh, yes. I’m a direct descendant. Witches, however, I’m not sure about that. We have a couple of items still decorating the house, but witches, come on! These are probably just rumors. I’m more of a ‘gotta see it for yourself to believe it’ kinda guy” the man babbled and you just wanted to stick a fork in his throat.

“I’m telling you, they’re witch hunters” you insisted as the two of you walked back to the motel.

“Have you found proof?” Sam asked, wanting to believe you.

You stopped and turned to face him “No, but-.”

“Then there’s no but. If they’re innocent, then they’re innocent.” Sam interrupted, trying to be reasonable “Hey, listen, I know this might be a little personal to you. You know witch business and all, but these people had nothing to do with it.”

“A little personal?” A flash of anger crossed your face, but you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay composed. He had no clue who this person was to you, what he did to you and your loved ones. You weren’t going to share with him these details, after all, what good are they? He’ll just give you a pitiful look and find a way to convince you to let it go. “You know what? You’re right. This is a bit personal, so you should just go ahead and solve this case with your brother” you needed some fresh air, some time away from Sam.

“Wait- Y/n” he called after you, but you needed to be left on your own. “that’s not what I meant” he whispered.

—-

After receiving a text message from Dean saying he couldn’t find the talisman, you performed a locator spell and found it hidden in one of the museum’s rooms.

“You can come out now, Bancrofft” you growled into the empty room. Seconds later, the ghost of your greatest enemy appeared in front of you. He tried to attack you but you were able to hold him in place with ease.

“Well, well, well. Look at who we have here. Remember me? Probably not. After all, you did kill so many women. I’m Y/n. Y/n Y/l/n, one of the many innocent women you burned alive. I begged you that day, you knew we weren’t witches. Guess what? Turns out enough hatred and anger are sufficient to be reborn as a witch. And now, I’m gonna do to you exactly what you did to me. I’m going to make you watch as I kill your descendant. I remember how sacred blood was to you. I’ll see you soon.” You grinned as his eyes widened, then banished him once again.

—

After Sam revealed to Dean what had happened, Dean grew suspicious

“Are you sure, man? Even when she’s cooling off, she never takes that long.”

“It’s either that or someone or something has her” Sam added.

“And you’re sure these people aren’t witch hunters?”

“Yes. I mean Y/n checked and I could see that she wanted them to be, but even she couldn’t find any proof. They’re just normal people, Dean.”

“Or… has it occurred to you that maybe this was personal to her?”

“Yes, which is why she needed to be off the case.”

“And to think that you actually went to Stanford” Dean shook his head, slightly disappointed in his brother “How long have you known Y/n for, hmm? If something or someone even slightly bothered her, did she ever let it go?”

Sam shook his head slowly. “No? Because she never has. So whatever she’s brewing, it’s not good. Go check the Bancroff house, I’ll take the museum again. And Sam? This time don’t come back without her if you do find her.”

—-

When Sam arrived, the front door was open and his nightmare was realized. You were standing over a man, a knife in your hand, while blood dripped everywhere. Just as you were about to deliver the killing blow, Sam’s shouting stopped you “NO. Wait, Y/n, don’t do this. Come on, you’re better than this.” His voice shook with fear as he tried to stop you.

You glanced over your shoulder, annoyed and tired. “What are you doing here?”

“I came for you. Come on, put the knife down and we can leave right now” he pleaded, desperation seeping into his words. But when you set your mind to something, there was no stopping you.

You turned to fully face him, exasperated “Get out of here, Sam. This is going to get ugly and you don’t want to see me in action, trust me” you warned.

“You can’t kill them. They’re innocent” Sam argued, stepping closer.

“Innocent? As long as that old bastard’s blood runs in his veins, he’s not innocent” you spat, your frustration bubbling over. You raised your weapon again, intent on finishing the job, but Sam stopped you.

“Alright, alright. Tell me about him? What exactly did he do?” Sam asked, hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

Your gaze darkened as the memories flooded back “Oh, you know what insecure men did back in the day. Killed every woman who was smarter than them by branding her a witch and burning her at the stake”.

Sam’s expression softened, sympathy in his eyes “I’m so sorry, Y/n. I truly am. I can’t even begin to imagine what you must have been through, but please. You’re better than this”.

“There is no changing my mind, Sam” you took a step toward him and cupped his cheek with your blood-smeared hand. Then, the wife tried to escape, but you quickly held her in place by your magic.

Sam’s breath hitched as he watched “I know you’re hurt. But revenge won’t stop the pain.”

Your lips curled into a grim smile “Revenge is not meant to ease pain. It is meant to balance the scale.”

“Then you know I can’t let you do that.” Sam said quietly., his face hardened with resolve.

“Try and stop me.” You challenged.

“Y/n, please don’t do this!” Sam pleaded. But you were beyond reasoning now. Your mind was set in stone. As you moved to stab your victim, Sam lunged at you, his arms locking around yours. The force of his tackle sent you both crashing to the floor, the knife flying from your grasp, clattering across the floor.

You both struggled to recover, but Sam quicker in the moment, pinned you down. His hands gripped your wrists, his breathing ragged “Stop this! Please!”.

The wife managed to get free and tried to help her husband up, but he told her to go get help.

You were able to free one of your arms, driving your elbow into Sam’s face. He recoiled, twisting in pain. Just as the woman was about to make it through the front door, you extended your hand and suffocated her with your magic, rendering her unconscious.

“No!” Sam shouted. You were already on your feet again, this time, angrier.

“I don’t need a knife to kill you” you turned to face your victim, slowly approaching.

In the chaos, Sam’s hands blindly fumbled for something- anything to stop you- finding the knife again.

Desperation overtook him as he swung the knife toward you, not realizing the angle, not considering the consequences. He meant to disarm you, but as you struggled, the blade plunged into your side.

A searing pain ripped through you, making you gasp for air. Your body froze, your magic faltering. Sam’s eyes widened in horror, his hands trembling as he pulled the knife back, blood already soaking the blade. He had realized what he’d done.

“Y/n? No, no, no, no” he whispered, his voice cracking, staring at the blood on the blade- and on you. “Stay with me. It’s going to be alright” he slowly lowered you to the ground, cradling you in his lap. “You’re gonna be alright” he repeated, his voice fragile, almost as if he was trying to convince himself. He pressed his hands against the wound, trying desperately to stop the bleeding, but the blood kept flowing between his fingers.

“Hey” you whispered as you looked up at him, observing the movement of his eyes. You hadn’t truly noticed how beautiful his eyes were until now. In this moment, with the world fading around you, you really saw him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. You have to believe me. I- I just wanted to-“ his words fell apart as he sobbed, his grip tightening on you.

“It’s alright… I haven’t felt such peace before. Thank you… for freeing me” you struggled to speak, each word growing more difficult as blood started forming in your throat.

“No, no, no. Please!” Sam pleaded, cupping your face with his hands, his voice broken “stay with me.”

Your breaths grew shallow “I was filled with so much anger…so much hate… that I didn’t realize I stopped living. It’s alright, Sammy. I forgive you” you tried to cup his cheek one last time, but your hand faltered, falling limply to your side as your final breath escaped you. Sam held you close, lowering his forehead to yours as a heart- wrenching scream tore from him, his grief consuming him whole.

Tags: @thisismysecrethappyplace @berruneko09 @simonsbluee @wonderswritings

[sacr1ficialang3l]

†These crosses all over my body remind me of who I used to be.†

SUMMARY: Sam and Dean dress up as priest to investigate some mysterious deaths. What Sam does not expect is to find himself a little sacrificial lamb in the process. 4.7k

WARNINGS: smut (mdni). religious themes. religious trauma. mentions of self-harm. reader is an ex-catholic. one tiny scene of s.a. but nothing really happens. car sex. unprotected piv. blasphemy. priest kink. reader is heavily traumatized. if you're extremely religious or sensitive to religious imagery pls don't read. writer is also heavily traumatized and has a thing for rosaries.

NOTES: here i am again, writing about priest!sam. everyone say thank you ethel cain. as always, english is not my first language. enjoy<3

You knew something was going to happen today, you just didn’t expect it to come in the shape of a hot priest.

Your friend Alex’s cousin died a day ago. He was found in his room, his own wired earphones wrapped around his neck. He didn’t hang himself, instead he had somehow pulled on the earphones for long enough to kill himself. The police couldn’t really explain it, but there was no sign of break in or the presence of anyone else in the room either. 

You had only met the guy once, which made your presence at his wake just a little awkward. It was supposed to be a family-and-close-friends-only kind of thing, but it was being held at Alex’s house, and she had begged you to come.

Alex didn’t have the best relationship with her family. They were all very religious, strict, and… moralistic. Her parents weren’t that bad, but the rest of the family was pretty awful. They never skipped a chance to comment on her clothes, or question her career decisions, and God forbid they saw her even glance at the beers her uncles were drinking like holy water.

You once even had to hear one of her aunts ask what was taking so long for her to get a husband and start having kids. You were both 20 at the time.

Now, two years later, you’re trapped in one small house with at least twenty of them. You convinced Alex’s mom that there would be too many people and she’d be way too busy to serve them all, so you offered to help by passing around snacks and drinks. It worked, and she let you stay. But that means you’re now stuck in the corner of the living room with a tray full of mini chocolate chip cookies, smiling at a bunch of people you really don’t like.

Alex had advised you to dress up for the occasion, and you had to dig deep into your closet to find the clothes you used to wear when you actually attended church. You wore a black dress that was supposed to hit your knees, but since you hadn’t worn it since you were a teen, it now hit almost at mid-thigh. It earned you a few questioning looks from the grand-aunts, but at least it covered what it needed to.

In your search, you also found an old rosary. It used to be your favorite, and the sight of it made you feel nauseous for just a second. Still, just for Alex, you placed it around your neck and pretended it didn’t drag you back to the dark times.

It used to be a comfort to have around your neck. Now, it’s tight and itchy. Like a noose, or a leash, or both. 

It feels like a punishment—like the weight of sins you no longer believe in but still carry.

You’re walking toward a group of gossiping women—so much for “Do not go about spreading slander among your people,” you guess—when two new people walk through the door. You start to dread the presence of more self-righteous old assholes… until you actually catch sight of them.

Two priests enter the living room, followed by Alex’s father. They’re in full getup—suits, Bibles, and clerical collars. And they are insanely hot.

Both guys look younger than thirty, and they’re explaining something to Alex’s parents. You stare for a moment longer than necessary, until the shorter one glances over and catches your eye. 

You immediately turn around and start walking somewhere, anywhere. You try to find your friend, but she’s nowhere in sight, so you just head toward the group of ladies you were originally aiming for and offer them some cookies.

That’s when Alex’s mother finds you and hands you a new tray with the mini-pies you and her daughter made yesterday.

“The church sent their two new junior priests to pay their respects. Isn’t that so kind of them?” she asks, genuinely touched by it. You try not to grimace. “Go and offer them the pies, and make sure to get them everything they need.”

Cool. Now you had to serve two literal clerics. Like this day couldn’t get any worse.

You’re awkward and shy when around people you find attractive, so you walk up to the men with your eyes on the floor and a mental chant of don’t trip, don’t trip, don’t trip.

“Uhm—mini-pies?”

You meet their eyes for a second. First the shorter one’s, who at the mention of pie immediately looks toward the tray and starts digging in. Okay, safe. Then your eyes drift to the taller one. 

And Holy fucking God indeed. 

The guy is absolutely gorgeous. Big hazel eyes, his styled long hair already falling onto his forehead a bit from the heat of the summer, and just so fucking tall. You can only hold eye contact for a second before your gaze drops back to the floor. 

“Hell yeah.” exclaims the first guy, mouth stuffed with mini-pies.

You raise your eyebrows, surprised by his cursing. Some priests, huh?

It’s not the most blasphemous thing you’ve seen a man of the church do anyway, so you don’t comment on it.

The taller—giant, just fucking huge—man sends him a glare and rolls his eyes. 

“Excuse him, he is our newest recruit. I’m Father Frehley.” He presents himself, extending his hand towards you. 

For the smallest second, you’re overcome with terror. That hand, sliding out from a black sleeve, framed by the white, crisp cuffs—it’s too familiar. Too sickening.

You swallow it. Don’t be fucking pathetic. Get over it.

You struggle a bit to grab the tray with just one hand, movements clumsy with nerves, but the other guy helps you by grabbing the whole tray and immediately devouring the rest of the mini-pies. 

You shake Father Frehley’s hand, meeting his eyes again. One, two, three, four… you look away. Okay, an improvement.

“This is Father Simmons.”

The shorter guy shakes his hand in greeting gesture, crumbs and blueberry filling all over his mouth. You frown a little, looking back and forth between the priests.

“Frehley and Simmons? Like… Kiss?” You raise an eyebrow, making both men stare at you, taken aback for a second, before Frehley chuckles and lowers his head.

“Yeah, exactly. Freakish coincidence.”

You’re still a bit skeptical, but you let it go. You already had enough to deal with today. 

“So, are you the daughter of the homeowners?” Simmons asks, using a napkin to clean the remains of mini-pies off his face. 

You shake your head quickly. “Oh, no. No, I am their daughter Alex’s friend.” You introduce yourself.

“So you knew the deceased?” Frehley asks, glancing around the room. You take the chance to study his features. Once his eyes return to you, you look down at your hands.

“Not really. I think I met him once or twice,” you shrug. The priests look a bit confused, so you continue. “The truth is, Alex doesn’t really… get along with some of the people here.”

You glance around the room again, trying to find Alex. She’s alone at the dessert table, looking like she definitely needs a sweet treat. But she doesn’t need rescuing—yet.

“I’m here for moral support. Even though I don’t like them much either.”

“Well, it is in times like this when the Lord wants us to support each other the most,” Simmons begins. “I’m sure He is pleased with you—”

That’d be a new one, he never seemed to be before.

You can’t help the snort that escapes you but you quickly turn to the priests, apologetic.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to disrespect you,” you add quickly. “Thank you for your words.”

You try to sound as genuine as possible, but you’re pretty sure your expression gives you away. 

“So why do they have you handing out snacks?” Frehley asks in a low voice, leaning forward a bit. God, his voice is so smooth and warm. Maybe you wouldn’t mind attending Mass if he were the one directing it.

“That’s how I convinced her mom to let me stay.” You sigh, shaking your head. Come on, girl. That was a Father. “But my real mission is to keep an eye on Alex. The moment some invasive family member tries to interrogate her, I slide in and interrupt the speech with some desserts.”

Both men chuckle at your words, and you study their faces again. What were two sexy guys like that doing in the church? You guess life does work in mysterious ways. 

They continue asking what you know about the cousin’s death. You recount what you’ve heard, always keeping an eye on your friend. At some point, you two make eye contact, and she sends you one of those “those guys are fine” looks. You have to bite down a laugh.

“It was nice of you to come.” you add once the silence gets a bit awkward. “I am sure many here find comfort in your presence.”

“Not you, though?” Simmons jokes, and you can’t help but let out an amused huff.

“That obvious?”

“Just a bit.” Frehley looks at you with the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen. You swear this is divine punishment.

“Yeah, well… my relationship with religion isn’t the best.” you avert your gaze again. “Grew up very Catholic—and I’m talking all-girls, nun-run Catholic school kinda thing.”

And now I feel guilty for breathing… and also kinda wanna fuck a priest. 

“Oh, so the hardcore stuff.” Simmons teases, and it makes you laugh.

“But you’re not anymore?” 

You shake your head. “No,” You had worked for years to keep the apology out of your voice when you said this. “I’m not.”

The eyes of the Christ in the front of the bible being held in Frehley’s arms burn into your skin.

“Let's say my relationship with God is very complicated.” You scoff, taking in a deep breath. “I really don’t mean to offend, but… many things happened that made me—well, not a fan of all things religious.” The scars on your back ache just a little, but you ignore it.

Both priests nod, and they don’t seem angry. They’re young, and seem smart enough to understand. You relax a bit, feeling less uncomfortable than you usually do around clergy members.

You feel both their eyes on you then, so your gaze drifts around the living room. And thank every deity you’ve ever heard of—because there’s Alex, cornered by the man you two had dubbed Creepy Uncle.

You quickly grab the old tray with the cookies (Simmons had finished off all the mini-pies) and turn back to the priests.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Fathers,” you say quickly, walking backward. “I think the mom’s in the kitchen if you wanna talk to her—but right now, I’ve gotta go play superhero.”

Turns out, going to save Alex from Creepy Uncle was a very bad idea. Because the moment she’s out of sight, he latches onto you.

He keeps inching closer, backing you up against the dessert table. His breath reeks of beer, and the way he pronounces every word—slow, suggestive, like he thinks he’s clever—makes your skin crawl. Even the spit flying from his mouth feels calculated. It all reminds you of the men from your old church: the cheating husbands who hovered near high schoolers, that one youth pastor you still try not to think about.

His hand starts to move toward you, and you freeze. Too many years of being taught not to fight back. Your stomach flips as his fingers reach for a strand of your hair—

And then your guardian angel steps in.

“Mrs. Evergreen wants us to pray.” Frehley hovers behind Creepy Uncle. His dark eyes and twisted mouth make him look menacing, almost scary. Like a predator—big, stealthy, quiet, but ready to sink his teeth into your jugular if he had to.

A different kind of fear bubbles inside you. The kind that makes you press your thighs together, heat pooling in your lower stomach.

Creepy Uncle finally leaves, looking bashful in front of the priest.

Frehley gives you a careful yet somehow comforting look before walking away to stand next to Simmons.

You stay in the back, hiding in the corner of the living room as the family begins to pray. You try to keep your expression neutral, forcing yourself to be respectful. Not everyone who believes in God is bad, you tell yourself, over and over.

A few tears are shed during the more emotional speeches. The priests stand in the background, both of them looking a little lost. Did the church really send their newest, least-prepared members for this?

You’re already congratulating yourself for how well you're handling the situation when Alex’s aunt, the mother of the deceased, walks to the front of the room.

“Oh merciful God, I beg for you to forgive me.”

There it is. You see it in her eyes, her trembling hands, the pained tremor in her voice. The guilt, the shame, the self-blame. The same weight that was once tattooed into you, the one you can’t seem to get rid of.

Her son is dead, and she’s apologizing for it.

You shift on your feet, swallowing the lump forming in your throat. It tastes like wine and sacramental bread, the same taste that was forced into your mouth the day of your first communion.

“I confess to almighty God, and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have greatly sinned.”

No. No, no, no, no, no.

“In my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do.”

Your knees weaken, and your throat tightens. Not this one. Not this prayer. Not again.

“Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault;”

You’re drowning, choking, dying. The rosary around your neck tightens. The crucifix on the wall looms over you, ready to strike. God is here, and He demands repentance with blood.

“Therefore I ask blessed Mary ever-Virgin, all the Angels and…”

You run. You did back then, and you do now.

You stumble out of the house, breath ragged, panic clawing at you.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

You fall to your knees on the sidewalk, skin scraping like it did when you spent every waking moment kneeling.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

The church chorus, the smell of incense, the bleeding Christ.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

The fear of punishment, the confessional’s dark embrace, the heavy footsteps of the pastor behind you, the crushing need to repent.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

Sin. You’re a sinner. The snap of leather against your skin.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

The cold floor beneath your hands and knees, the warm blood trickling down your back. Your firm grip on the whip.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

“Hey, are you okay?”

The sudden voice makes you jump. You look up quickly, meeting Frehley’s gentle, hazel eyes. You try to steady your breathing, to rise on shaky legs.

The priest offers a hand. You take it.

It’s the first time you’ve felt the gentle touch of a cleric.

You clear your throat quickly, wiping away a stray tear you hadn’t noticed rolling down your cheek.

“Yeah, Father Frehley,” you choke out, the title catching in your throat. “‘M fine, just—had a moment there.”

You laugh, like you always do in these moments. Because you either laugh, or you lose your mind.

There’s a moment of silence in which the priest studies you slowly, as you try to get your body back in check—pushing the panic back into the little sealed box in the deepest part of your brain, the one you designed for it years ago.

“Sam,” Frehley murmurs, and you look up at him, confused. “That’s my name. You can call me Sam.”

It makes your heart slow a little, your breathing gradually steadying. You nod, running a hand through your hair.

“Sam.” you say it slowly, savoring it. It still tastes religious—but differently.

Like salvation. Like sin. Divine, almost. Godly.

“Aren’t you supposed to be leading the prayer?” you ask once you’ve composed yourself, forcing a relaxed smile back onto your face, even though your hands still tremble and something remains lodged in your throat.

The bite of the forbidden fruit—damning you to be crucified for sins committed long before your conception.

“Father Simmons is on it,” he says with a hint of amusement, and you can’t help but imagine the pie-smudged, cursing priest standing before Alex’s puritan family. You almost laugh.

“You’re bleeding.”

You look down, feeling the warmth of blood running down your legs. Somehow, your knees always end up bloody.

“I’ve been for a while.” The words slip out before you can stop them—too honest, too painful. Sam’s worried gaze catches you, but you quickly try to brush it off. “It’s okay. I’ll just go inside and clean up.”

But the thought of going back inside that house makes your stomach turn. You glance at the front door, where the words “God loves you” on the rug seem almost mocking.

“My b—Simmons’ car is parked nearby,” Sam stutters, and it ignites the doubt in your mind again. “We have a first-aid kit. You don’t have to go back there.”

He nods towards a black classic car parked down the street, and you hesitate for a moment before following him toward it.

You might as well.

If anything, dying in the hands of a psychopathic priest would be the biggest cosmic joke ever written.

Sam, movements slow and steady, opens the backseat door for you.

You sit sideways on the leather seat, legs dangling out the open door, body angled toward the street. It feels exposed, vulnerable, like a patient waiting in a pew. Sam moves to the trunk, retrieving what you assume is the first-aid kit.

Feeling more than a little nervous about being alone with a man who is not only a cleric but also hot as hell, your hand unconsciously reaches for your rosary, fingers curling around the cross like they used to when you were a child.

Your long, slender fingers wrap around the same crucifix your chubby, sticky ones once did. They fidget just like they used to—during Mass, in religion class, or when your mother was screaming behind the door.

A moment later, you realize what you’re doing. You yank your hand away so fast it hits the car doorframe with a dull thud.

After all these years. After you’ve scrubbed your skin raw trying to wash it away. After clawing at your flesh with teeth and nails to purge every drop of holy water you were bathed in.

Your hand still reaches for the rosary.

“Got it.” Sam appears in front of you, white box in hand, pulling you back from the dark void you were about to fall into.

That’s when he kneels, right before you.

Your breath hitches at the sight. Sam, with broad shoulders and a clerical collar, kneeling right before you. 

He leaves the kit on the ground and opens it, first grabbing a cloth and some antiseptic. He leans in, and your legs unconsciously part.

One of his hands—calloused in a way you knew clerics' hands never were—wraps around your calf, long fingers closing around your flesh reverently. His other hand, the one holding the cloth, presses it gently against the wound, cleaning the dripping blood.

Sam moves even closer, getting right between your legs.

It’s too much. The white cuffs and black sleeves of the hands around your leg, the old Sunday Mass dress riling up your thighs, the rosary rising and falling on your chest with every heavy breath.

You feel wetness pooling in your cunt, soaking your lacy panties. You wonder if Sam can smell it, if he can taste your arousal from where he is—so close, yet so far away.

If he does, he doesn’t react. He continues to clean the blood off your knees, some of it getting onto his fingers. He doesn’t notice, and when he goes to adjust his collar, it gets stained.

The impeccable white square, symbol of devotion, of discipline, stained with blood. Your blood.

There’s something deeply metaphorical and insightful to be drawn from that, but your brain is too busy malfunctioning to process it.

Your breathing grows heavier, and you can't help the way your thighs press together.

This time, Sam notices.

"Is something wrong?" he asks, and it almost sounds genuine. But there's an edge to his voice, a sparkle in his eyes, that betrays he knows exactly what he's doing.

He keeps his composure, his serious face and benevolent attitude, but his fingers brush your inner thigh, and his smile is just a touch wicked.

It should make you want to run. Should make you scream for help. Should make you sick with flashbacks. Another perverted priest, another wolf in sheep’s clothing, another rotten apple. But instead, your legs part wider.

Corruption. Sin, dark and simmering. Lust, calling your name, burning like hellfire. Punishment, the good kind. Depravity. Profanation. Temptation. Blasphemy.

You’re not sure who kisses who—whether you tilt your head down or Sam leans forward—but his lips are soon engulfing yours. It’s violent, almost. Teeth clashing, tongues twisting. Carnal. Heretic.

Something fills your chest. A blaze, white and pure, that lights you up from the inside out. Edenic, sweet like the juice of Eve’s apple. Dizzying, like the poison of the snake.

I am kissing a priest. Oh, Alex is going to have a field day with this one.

Sam rises from the ground and leans over you, guiding you to slide deeper into the backseat of the car.

Once you're both inside, Sam breaks the kiss and turns to close the door. You lie back on the cold leather seat, eyes following his figure as he looms over you—so much bigger, imposing, intimidating. He blocks your only way out, and when he looks down at you, his eyes are full of vice.

“Look at you,” he whispers, his hands returning to your soft thighs. He slides them up slowly, carefully rucking up the dress. “So soft, darling.”

You shiver at his touch, licking your lower lip before biting down on it. You aren’t sure what to say, how to act.

Lust, the greatest sin of all. Sex, the doom of humanity. Arousal, something you couldn’t experience without the ghost of guilt tingling at the nape of your neck.

Taught to be virgin-pure. Tainted from birth.

Trained to feel shame in your pleasure. Learned to find pleasure in your shame.

“Don’t be shy, baby,” Sam whispers in your ear, his hands sliding to your waist beneath the flowy dress. “You want this, I can tell.”

Your back arches as his thumbs slip under the waistband of your panties, your breaths escaping in soft, shaky puffs.

You push away the voice—the one that echoes through your mind like a pastor’s sermon—preaching about chastity.

“I do,” you whisper, your hands gathering the hem of your dress and sliding it off your body, tossing it to the floor of the car. You lie there in lacy underwear, bare and exposed. The rosary still hangs around your neck, slithering down the valley of your breasts like a snake.

“Fuck me so hard it purifies me.”

Sam curses under his breath, eyes devouring you—like he’s imagining every way he could ruin you.

He quickly shrugs off his suit jacket, leaving him only in a black shirt and the blood-stained collar. When he goes to take it off, you stop him. 

“Leave it on.” You whisper, pulling him down until you’re chest to chest. 

“Okay, you little heathen.”

It’s only a few minutes—and an orgasm—later when Sam finally slides inside you. Raw. Depraved. Skin against skin. Unholy. 

“You’re dripping, baby.” Sam murmurs, moving his hips with reverence, making you throw your head back and moan. “Your sweet little cunt so tight around me, fuck.”

Sam is big, bigger than anyone else you’ve ever had. He fills you so deep it aches, stretching you open in a way that toes the line between pain and pleasure.

You're acutely aware of every sensation. The ache of the stretch. The sting of old scars brushing against the leather as you rock with every one of Sam’s thrusts. His nails digging into your thighs. His teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your neck—marking you as condemned. The rosary beads biting into your nape when he grabs hold and tugs, pulling you down onto his cock.

You relish the pain—all of it colliding and bursting inside your chest, transfiguring into pure, burning pleasure.

Pleasure. Pain. They’ve always felt like one and the same to you.

Your hands grip his shoulders, back arched, mouth open in ecstasy.

Sam’s thrusts are merciless. Relentless. Unforgiving. His slicked-back hair now falls over his forehead, teeth gritted, sleeves shoved up to his forearms.

When his hand drops the rosary and slides down—south, to where you need him most—something inside you explodes, a strangled moan tearing from your throat.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he whispers, rubbing slow circles on your clit as you come undone. “Fuck, you’re divine.”

Your peak is so high, you think you see paradise, your vision blanking out. It’s an all-consuming fire, wrapping around you, angelic and demonic all at once.

Then you feel Sam’s hips stutter, his warmth flooding you like holy water, filling you up completely.

You’re reborn. Burned to ash and pieced back together. It hurts, like crucifixion for your sins, but then Sam kisses you—soft, gentle—and you’re resurrected.

Washed clean. Ruined to the core.

Moments later, you lie on top of Sam in the cramped backseat. His chest is so broad, he barely fits, his legs tangled with yours. You slot against him like a missing puzzle piece, still boneless, fucked out. Stripped raw, drunk on sin.

Bruises mar your skin—on your neck, between your thighs. Little purple marks you’ll later press on, the ache both punishment and reward.

Sam’s fingers trail up and down your back, grazing the raised, silvery skin. He traces shapes over the crosshatched, uneven texture with such tenderness that it might bring tears to your eyes—if you weren’t so blissed out.

“Can I ask about these?” Sam’s voice is low, rumbling through his chest, sending a deep sense of peace through you. You nod against his collarbone, lips brushing lightly over the clerical collar. “How did you get them?”

“Self-flagellation,” you murmur after a long pause. Sam stiffens beneath you, his hand freezing on your back.

It makes you frown. You know some churches nowadays are a bit more “progressive,” but no priest would ever be shocked at the concept of corporal penance.

You raise your head, perching it on Sam’s chest and looking him in the eyes.

The setting sun filtered through the car window, washing him in warm light. His eyes, green with a rim of brown and just the shiniest golden flecks, wide and shiny, looking up at you like a kicked puppy.

He looked gorgeous, with his eyebrows furrowed and his hair messy. His golden skin glowy and his soft lips pursed. The kind of beauty you only see in stained glass. Tragic. Romantic. Sacrosanct. Godforsaken.

“You’re not a real priest.” It isn’t a question.

Sam’s mouth falls open, but he’s at a loss for words.

Then there's a knock on the window, and—

“Dude, you will never guess whose number I just—”

Yeah, definitely not priests.

It isn’t until you’ve slid back into your dress and you’re sitting on the sidewalk, because Dean would “not get into Baby right after you two profaned it, you little sinners” that Sam and Dean explain their job and what they are actually doing in Alex’s house.

Many things go through your mind. Things like “ghosts are real?” and “demons? Holy shit.” and “I just revealed my priest-kink to a non-priest, that is so embarrassing.”

But most importantly, you think about Sam’s gentle eyes on you, shining with just a bit too much affection for someone who he just met. About how his soothing touch could become so brutal when you needed it. How it had been him that whispered things like “you sweet, mourning lamb” and “let me sanctify you” and “you’re heaven-sent, baby. Made by Him just for me to ruin.”

And you wonder, as Dean rants to Sam about getting a motel room next time, if there’s any chance Sam could sneak you two into a church.

NOTES: this was pretty cathartic to write ngl. VERY self-indulgent but still. fuck the catholic church, guys. while i was writing i kept coming up with other priest/religious ideas and idk how to make myself stop. i might create a whole series of priest!sam at this point. anyway, hope you liked it!

TAGS: @littlesoulshine @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @h8aaz @otteropera @xoswiftieprincess @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @losers-clvb @pieandflannel<3

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

[ambiguous-avery]

Careful Stares

Sam Winchester x fem!Reader/You | WC: 1036

Summary: Sam’s down bad for a girl who isn’t even his. Then again... she’s not technically not his either...

Tags/Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, male masturbation, no use of Y/N, pining, PWP (Plot? What plot?), mentions of Dean (no wincest), no beta we die like men

A/N: I’ve been in a writing slump lately, and the problem I run into with it is that I always get hung up on details. So this is my attempt at writing, not thinking about the details, and just going for it. I’ve got a companion piece to this. Sly Grins, Dean’s version, if you will. The reader is meant to be the same in both of them. Shout out to @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth for inspiration to help me out of my writing funk. Might not be all back just yet. But we all gotta start somewhere. Read about Dean's Sly Grins and Reader's Untamed Soul

Three Hearts, One Flame Masterlist

You weren’t his. Never had been. Never would be. 

Sam had seen the way you looked at Dean. The way you always had a comeback on the tip of your tongue. Like you were ready for whatever ridiculous offhand remark Dean had to say. And you would fire back just as quickly as Sam would’ve. You’d laugh at Dean’s jokes that were not nearly as funny as you made them out to be. He hadn’t missed Dean’s sly grins in your direction. The way you’d catch him, and instead of looking away, his smile would just widen. If Sam had a checklist of all the ways Dean flirted, just about everything would be crossed off of it. It wasn’t a stretch to think that you and Dean would likely become a thing sooner rather than later. 

Sam couldn’t even be upset at it. Hell, he had certainly never made a move on you like Dean had. Why would he? You wouldn’t want someone like him. You deserved someone better than him. Someone who wasn’t as broken as he was. Someone who could match your confidence. Someone who could take care of you better than he could.

But none of that changed the fact that he wanted to be that person.

He gripped himself, long fingers wrapping around his aching length as he chased away the shame and guilt with thoughts of you. Sam’s eyes fluttered shut as he stroked himself with slow, almost tentative movements, trying to imagine that it was your hand rather than his. 

“Sammy,” you’d purr. Because he knew you’d call him that. The nickname only one person had permission to use. But he’d happily extend that permission to you if you asked. Hell, you didn’t have to ask. You had it already. You had just never used it. He wished you would. “Want you so bad.”

You’d kiss him. Sweet and tender. With all the care and gentleness that came with exploring a new partner. He could imagine your skin beneath his fingers as he trailed them across you, dragging them over your collarbone before dipping lower. Over the curves and valleys of you. Finding purchase in the softness of your hips. He groaned, low and quiet in his room, as his mind conjured how you might sound. Your sighs against his lips. Your whimpers as he ground his cock against your center.

The imaginary scene in his head changed, and suddenly you were above him, straddling his hips. Warm, wet, and wanting. He could almost feel the heat radiating from you as you pressed a hand to his chest, your nails gently scratching against his skin. 

“Tell me how you want me, Sammy.” You’d be breathless for him. Because of him. He would’ve been patient. If he actually got the chance to have you, he wouldn’t squander it. Taking his sweet time to rile you up with his fingers and tongue and lips. How many orgasms could he coax out of you before you were rolling on top of him and demanding his cock? 

“Always. Always want you,” he’d say because he’d be too in awe of the fact that he had you. Right there with him. And you’d chuckle. Not cruelly. Never cruelly. You didn’t have a mean bone in your body. You were never mean to him. You’d lean down and kiss the tip of his nose.

“Always doesn’t answer ‘how,’ Sammy. Don’t tell me I’ve got you tongue tied.”

You’d have him barely hanging on by a thread, a laugh of his own threatening to escape him as he stumbled to find the words. He never struggled to find words. His breath stuttered as he swiped his thumb over the head of his cock, the moisture there easing his movements as he slid his hand down his length. He pictured you easing yourself onto him, your wet heat enveloping him and stealing the air from his lungs. Sam groaned aloud, jaw going slack as imaginary-you sank down on him completely, your hips flush with his. 

Sam was big. It wasn’t a brag. It was just a fact.

But he had never seen you back down from a challenge. And he figured he would be no different for you. You’d take him so well. The way you did everything so well. 

He thrust up, imagining his hands on your thighs, his blunted nails imprinting crescents onto your skin. He wanted to leave you as breathless and needy as he felt. Wanted to leave you wanting more. Of him. God, he wanted you to want him. He wasn’t sure how he was going to handle seeing you and Dean together. It was already hard enough watching the two of you flirt.

Maybe Dean would share.

The thought almost stopped him in his tracks. Almost. If his hard on had been any less demanding, he might’ve been completely pulled from the moment. But as it was, he could be at peace with that thought. With how much he and Dean had shared over the years, it was a natural thought anymore. 

Sam’s brow furrowed as he let the thought of Dean sharing his girlfriend slip away, and you were back on top of him, riding him. Hard and fast. Because that’s how you would want him. How you needed him. How he needed you. 

He let out a sound that was suspiciously close to a whine as he came, his release spilling over his hand. The image of you sweating and flushed, panting with pleasure as you came around him burned into his brain. As he caught his breath, the shame and guilt returned in full force, and he cringed. 

He shouldn’t have done that. 

It was hardly the first time he had gotten off to the thought of a friend. But it felt wrong with how close you were. Like he had crossed some sort of invisible boundary. Slowly, he opened his eyes and let himself come back to reality, heart and mind arguing over the morality of it all. And for once, Sam made the executive decision that – in this singular instance – he could let himself have this. This one piece of you that only existed in his mind.

---

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Sam taglist: @jollyhunter @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @voodoochildthings

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[spoontriestowriteandfails]

the youngest winchester » s.w

╰┈➤ comfort from sam after the latest case.

tags : platonic/sibling relationship, not a ship, young sibling reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, not finished

a/n : loosely based on s2e6 but with the reader instead of jo and its siblings instead of a one-off thing, very short :/

word count : 590

this most recent case had been absolutely awful. well, all hunts were awful, but this had been the worst one in a while now.

it had only been a poltergeist, but somehow everything had managed to go wrong as quickly and as easily as possible.

the plan was fairly simple, as always due to dean's expert planning skills; in, raid the house, find out where the body is buried, salt and burn it.

usually, this plan worked out perfectly, which is why it was always their go-to plan for simple hunts such as this one.

however, what the winchesters hadn't accounted for, was that you were the perfect bait for this sort of ghost.

you were still young, "full of life" the poltergeist had worded it, and dean had sort of pissed off the ghost (as dean usually does), which meant that it had all the more reason to snatch you from your brothers and drag you to it's weird creepy people-holding room in the basement of the abandoned house.

you were quiet the entire drive back.

usually, it wasnt odd for the car to be quiet, with everybody exhausted and not having the energy for conversation, but the air was thick with something uncomfortable and tense. something you couldnt help but feel responsible for.

being the youngest in the winchester family wasnt as forgiving as it sounded. from a young age, john had taught you that if something was wrong, it was your fault.

even if it hadnt been you, even if you had nothing to do with it whatsoever, you were always the first to apologise. and for some reason that had stuck even after john's death.

dean had already started turning to park at your bunker but you couldnt take the silence anymore.

"im sorry that i let myself get caught." atlas finally managed to choke out through her mental duress. being alone in the back of the car wasnt as nice as it usually was when she'd done something wrong.

"you what?" came sam's quicky reply, his head practically spinning 180 degrees in the passenger seat to look at you. he reached his hand backward awkwardly for his younger sibling, wanted to provide some sort of comfort.

"you didnt let yourself get caught, you got kidnapped." dean piped in from the driver's seat, pulling the gearshift and yanking on the handbrake of the impala to park.

"i shouldve fought back more," you hummed, taking sam's hand into both of yours and gently tracing patterns into his palm. "shouldve escaped by myself without waiting like a sitting duck for you to come and save me."

sam gave dean a look from the passenger seat and the eldest brother left the car without another word. you and sam had always been closer anyways, but dean was never good at the whole comfort after a hunt thing unless it included arguing.

able to turn fully in his seat now, sam clambered over the centre console and huffed as he dropped down into the usually empty seat beside you in the back.

"jesus, its cramped back here-" he grumbled, having to bend his neck so that his head didnt hit the ceiling. although with the giggle it got from you, sam assumed he was on the right track.

"none of today was your fault, kay?" he murmured, pulling his sibling into his chest and holding you tight. "today went backwards. it was an accident, and it wasnt anybody's fault."

"cmon, lets get out of the car before dean gets grouchy."

w.i.p

[jays-bonnie-on-the-side]

i don’t think y’all are ready for my next oneshot