#latine sam winchester

[urboymutual]

i need a penny in my back pocket for good luck

this a fic about latine winchesters, more specifically sam’s disconnection from spanish as i headcanon him as not being fluent in spanish as compared to dean. 

sobrenatural day 2: language

the radio is playing some tex-mex song when they finally pass the welcome to texas sign. sam blearily rubs at his eyes, the sun shining down brightly on him. surprisingly, dean is singing along like it’s any old led zeppelin song on the radio.

“i didn’t know you liked this kind of music,” sam says, eyeing dean wearily as he watches him pull off the highway onto a dusty side road.

dean’s in the middle of the chorus singing- “lo que hicistes fue muy fatal”- when he finally replies.

“i’m not that white washed sammy,” dean jokes. “‘sides i’ve hunted a few times in texas, and sometimes you kinda pick that stuff up.”

dean’s joke about being white washed cuts through sam and he frowns. it’s not like he wants to be some type of stuffy, first generation “no sabo” kid. sam wants to know what dean’s singing along to, wants to know what “ya voy a quemar esta ilución” means, and maybe wants to sing along himself. instead, he rests his head on the passenger window and heat stinging his scalp. 

– ☆ – 

they pull into a parking lot of a taqueria with a few ghoul guts staining their shirts. dean pointed out the taqueria on their way to the cemetery, pointed out how the faded “ria” and one broken window meant the food was going to be very good. 

“it’s the hole in the wall kinda place, bet you the menu won’t even be in english,” dean said and sam shifted uncomfortably. 

they enter the restaurant and are quickly greeted by a woman behind the counter. “hola,” she says, a big smile on her face and wrinkles by her eyes to emphasize the authenticity of the smile. she looks very motherly, putting the virgen de guadalupe pictures hanging on the restaurant's walls to shame. 

sam shifts uncomfortably, again, as a weird feeling stirs in his gut. she almost reminds him of his mom. 

“¿qué te gustaría comer, chicos?” she-- sam assumes-- asks. dean’s already turning to sam, ready to ask the same thing but in english. sam beats him to it. 

“just get me three chicken tacos with lime and avocado,” sam tells him. then he awkwardly adds, “and uh- una soda de naranja.” he winces at the way the r’s roll off his tongue and he can see dean has a teasing look in his eyes. sam knows he’s going to be hearing “nar-rang-ha” in a pale imitation of his voice all the way back to the motel. 

dean turns back to the woman with a charming smile on his face and begins to order in spanish for the both of them. 

sam makes his way to one of the empty tables, resting his head in his hands as another virgen de guadalupe poster on the wall stares down at him disappointed. 

dean returns with a cheap table number marker and what seems to be a churro, he’s still eating it when he tries to talk. 

“heespank mosh loge me,” he says. well, this is one language sam knows how to translate. “hispanic moms love me,” is what dean actually means to say. 

“don’t talk with your mouth full, you’re getting cinnamon everywhere.” sam replies, nose wrinkled in distaste. 

dean flashes him a grin, showing off both his teeth and the food piling in his mouth. “you’re just jealous carla likes me more than you,” dean quips, this time without his mouthful. 

sam frowns, turning his head to look outside to hide his frown. “yeah,” he wants to say. “i am jealous because maybe if i could speak to her in spanish, she’d like me too.” 

– ☆ –

“ugh,” dean groans with his pinky in his ear, picking around. “i think i got ghoul guts in my ear.” he takes his pinky out of his ear to inspect it– and yup, sure thing there seems to be black goo on his finger. 

“that’s so gross dude,” sam frowns. he hesitates before putting his own pinky in his ear to see if he has some too. luckily, he seems spared. 

“that’s what happens when you play bait,” dean replies. “you get up close and personal with these douchebags and the next thing you know, your brother is shotting it in the fucking head and it’s guts are all over you.” 

“sorry,” it’s a half hearted reply, a tiny sly smirk on sam’s face. 

“yeah, thanks,” dean rolls his eyes. “that’s why i’m showering first.” he swings open the motel room door after turning the key and beelines towards the bathroom, dropping his stuff as he goes. 

“no wait!” sam calls out, trying to get there first but almost tripping on dean’s discard stuff. he is met with a door slamming in his face. “yeah, well i have ghoul in my hair.” sam mutters under his breath as he makes his way to his bed. 

he doesn’t bother laying down in bed, instead he sets his stuff down and grabs a five out dean’s wallet. closing the motel door behind him, sam heads to the vending machine for a water and small snack. 

unfortunately, a sign posted on the vending machine reads “no funciona” which sam is able to piece together as “not working” with his bare minimum spanish knowledge. so instead he makes his way to the front desk where he remembers the motel desk clerk was selling snacks. 

its a short walk in the warm texan night and sam wonders how much darker he’s going to get from being out in the sun all day. his right hand unconsciously pulls the sleeves of his hoodie down more to cover his skin. its natural, too natural like walking. 

the door of the motel lobby makes a loud ding sound when he enters and the desk clerk greets him with a wave. he nods back, small smile on his face as he reads the snack menu. it’s all in spanish though. the basic words “agua” “papas fritas” “galletas” and “jugo” sticking out to him. 

sam clears his throat awkwardly to get the desk clerk to look up from his magazine. “um puedo- puedas dame un agua y galletas?” he asks in his broken spanish. the desk clerk nods, grabbing a water bottle and a bag from under the desk.

“es-” the desk clerk starts. “is 3.50 dollars” he continues, switching to english for sam’s benefit which only makes sam frown. 

he places the 5$ bill in the man’s hand before hurrying off with his stuff, not bothering with the change. how would he even say it in spanish? es por tu? he shakes his head at himself as he fiddles with the motel key. 

the door to his and dean’s room finally opens where dean is sitting on the bed freshly showered and chewing on some beef jerky. “hey,” he calls out. the television is playing some type of mexican telenovela, a lady screams angrily in spanish and sam doesn’t even bother to tease dean about his television choice. 

instead he just flops down into one of the motel chairs with his own snack, the bag crinkling as he opens it. 

then he wonders why god is so cruelly punishing him for not knowing spanish when he realizes galletas mean cookies. not chips. and all he wanted were chips. 

– ☆ –

sam wakes up to arguing– arguing in spanish and he wonders if dean forgot to turn off the tv last night. but no, it’s just dean and cas arguing in spanish which makes sam frown. he doesn’t like being kept in the dark and dean knows his spanish isn’t good enough to follow the current conversation. 

it’s like rapid fire, once the words are uttered from castiel’s mouth dean is already three words into a new sentence. 

“yo soy! lo estoy vigilando!” dean argues, scowl on his face which just seems to set castiel of more. 

“todavía puedo olerlo.la sangre del demonio sobre él.” castiel fires back.

an uncomfortable feeling settles in sam’s stomach, the feeling usually makes it’s self known when castiel is speaking spanish. he feels almost like… a bratty child of some sorts and spanish is a toy he desperately wants. sam’s internally screaming at cas, “not fair! gimme, gimme!” he just wants to speak spanish too. 

it isn’t fair castiel, with his angelic abilities is able to speak any language in the world. “you can have the others, cas. just let me have this one language.” he thinks.

castiel must of sensed that sam was finally awake because he turns away from dean– dean who is in mid sentence- to say “good morning, sam.” 

“uh, hi, cas. good morning to you.” he says awkwardly, slight red on his cheeks from getting caught eyes dropping. (if you can even call it that.) 

“yeah, uh good morning sam. listen i was just telling dickless here that you-” before dean can finish, there is the slight fluttering sound of wings and castiel is gone. 

“hijo de puta!” dean swears at cas’s disappearing act. 

at least sam knows those words, in fact he knows 10 ways to cuss in spanish because dean thought it would be funny to teach 10 year old sam swear words. sam wishes dean taught him more. 

“just get your stuff, we have another hunt. up in idaho.” dean scrubs at his face, exasperated. he moves to pack up his own stuff and to slide on his boots. 

sam copies him, throwing his dirty shirt in his backpack and pulling out a new pair of socks. he’s almost done when he notices that he can’t find his phone. the last place he remembers leaving it was on the motel nightstand but it seems to be gone. “dean” he calls out while he looks. 

“ya?” dean replies from the bathroom, obviously brushing his teeth. 

“did you see where-” he pauses as he notices a small book in the nightstand drawer. it reads “spanish-english dictionary” in black bold letters against the yellow cover. it only takes him a moment to decide to slip it into his hoodie pocket. and his phone flashes with an incoming email allowing him to notice it fell on the ground beside the nightstand. 

“what did you want?” dean asks, poking his head out of the bathroom. 

“nothing, are you ready?” 

“just washing my hands,” he replies. 

sam heads out to the car, backpack slung over his shoulder and his right hand gripping the spanish-english dictionary tight in his pocket. like it would fall out and alert everyone in the nearby vicinity that he was “one bad latino who didn’t even know spanish.” 

at the car, he quickly opens the trunk and moving stuff around to reach for a crusty looking book that reads “law for dummies” a gag gift dean got him for his birthday once. its large enough to hide the small spanish-english dictionary. he carelessly throws his backpack in the trunk before sitting in the passenger seat. 

“finally putting that book to good use huh?” dean jokes as he slides into the drivers seat and notices sam’s book. 

“yeah.” he mumbles as the car roars to a start and they are back on the road again. 

sam looks down at his spanish-english dictionary, flipping it open to a random page and the first word he sees reads. 

learn-aprender

[kateblankett]

thinking about how the reason why most angel names end in -el (gabriel, michael, samael etc) is because El means God or messenger of god in Hebrew and how Cas is just Castiel without the god part so Dean by giving Cas that nickname is basically separating Cas from his shitty absent dad and giving him own identity and seeing him as his own person rather than an extension of god/heaven and i’m not saying Dean did this intentionally or that he even knows about the meaning of the suffix but it’s just so so correct and perfect i love them so much help

[wendibird]

Ok imagine Sam and Castiel talking about some random angel-related problem, and Dean's half listening but he suddenly sits bolt upright because Sam and Castiel have slipped into Enochian. And are seemingly unaware of this fact. Eventually they switch back to English. They keep switching, all unaware, and gradually Dean realizes that they're switching whenever they need a word that their current language doesn't have. (also imagine that Sam speaks a somewhat archaic form of Enochian because Lucifer wasn't around for the eons during which the language changed - slowly, but it still changed - and Castiel finds his phrasing and accent beautiful)

*practically vibrating* OOOOOMG! This is like at the center of most of my "Sam speaks Enochian" headcanons and imagines!

Okay, but hear me out. (Sorry, about to make it angsty.) Lucifer and Michael were pretty much his ONLY sources for learning it. So he learned what he heard from them. I'd imagine there might be a few gaps in his knowledge, due to some subjects just never coming up when they were all down there.

So, one time Sam and Cas are conversing and Cas uses a word in Enochian and Sam gives him a quizzical look. Cas realizes he doesn't know that word. And he connects the dots and realizes why. And his expression softens with a hint of sadness. "Love. It means love, Sam."

[serendipity0930]

sam winchester almost always recites the trinitarian formula in latin send tweet

[watchingspnagain]

Rewatching On the Head of a Pin

Welcome to “Shockingly Little Soft Shoe: A Supernatural Rewatch Blog” with Lor and Mace!

Up today, s4e16: On the Head of a Pin

“Castiel and Uriel want Dean to help them get info out of Alastair using the, um, very special skills he learned during his residency Downstairs. But the phrase “This hurts me more than it hurts you” has maybe never been more truthful, and Dean is clearly shook by the experience. Also, Alastair manages to escape the demon trap and Smarty Cas figures out it was Uriel who let him. All is fraught in the world of angels and boys.”

Below is a log of our real-time reactions as we watched. Remember that there may be spoilers for any part of SPN’s 15-season run here. Note also that the nature of our conversation is adult and thus it may contain adult language and themes.

 [and we begin:]

Lor:

my god look at him

Mace:

so young

Lor:

all stern and hair and coat flapping and striding

Lor:

YES

Mace:

YES

Lor:

the burnt wing thing is SO COOL

Mace:

it really is

Lor:

oooo Sam is driving

Mace:

yeah that’s weird

Lor:

yeah

Lor:

"I'm tired of burying friends, Sam" oh hon

Mace:

“get angry"

Lor:

"we just got back from needed"

Mace:

he’s so done

Mace:

“good times"

Lor:

he really is

Lor:

and the look on Cas's face

Mace:

he’s so cute when he’s pissed

Lor:

omg Uriel giving Cas the "don't coddle them" look

Mace:

and Cas pursing his lips

Lor:

yep he's not about it

Lor:

he wants to coddle the short one so bad

Mace:

snork I love that he’s the short one at, what, over 6 ft?

Lor:

YES

Lor:

ooooof this whole storyline the asking Dean to torture the demon who taught him to torture I just

Mace:

oh Sammy is pissed too

Lor:

YES

Mace:

yeah it’s a great story line

Lor:

"this is too much to ask, I know, but we have to ask it"

Mace:

yeah

Lor:

the dynamic between them is just chef's kiss

Mace:

yeah, give them some privacy pls

Lor:

BACK OFF URIEL

Lor:

uriel's the funniest angel in the garrison lolololololol

Mace:

SNORK

Lor:

"i've been told we need it" I love how he puts it that it's not HIM that wants it

Lor:

"I would give anything not to have you do this"

Mace:

ooof

Lor:

and Dean's watery eyes

Mace:

yep

Mace:

this dude is so gross

Lor:

right?

Lor:

he's so good at the part

Mace:

too good. it’s gross

Lor:

Sam looks very nice in that shirt

Mace:

he really really does

Mace:

oh Sammy, I adore you, you know that, but you don’t have it in you. Dean… does.

Lor:

John only lasted that long because his heart was already a stone

Lor:

yeah

Lor:

that's kind of the problem, Sammy

Lor:

THAT'S why he's not right since he came back

Mace:

“Daddy’s little girl”

Mace:

I LOVE IT

Lor:

YES

Mace:

he needs a cutoff T with that on it

Lor:

YES HE DOES

Mace:

and Cas needs one that just says Daddy

Lor:

OMG YESYESYES

Mace:

this super shouldn’t be so hot

Lor:

eh

Mace:

yes, Dean LET’S GET STARTED

Lor:

oooof Cas's FACE

Lor:

HOW do people think these two don't love each other

Mace:

they’re dummies

Lor:

spells are in Latin but ending spells is in English?

Mace:

pls don’t get me started

Lor:

I mean

Lor:

I would not be above getting you started

Mace:

i know this, Lor

Mace:

oh Sam

Lor:

weak. he should be drinking it straight from her neck

Mace:

you sweet tall dipshit

Lor:

come on, boy, if yer gonna do it, do it

Lor:

LOLOLOL

Lor:

YES

Lor:

no no Alistair. there may be no going back, but Cas is building him into something so much better

Mace:

besides, he’s more interesting with the torture competence and the being tortured by the torture competence

Mace:

exponentially hotter

Lor:

DEFINITELY

Mace:

“went to receive revelation” = “having a poop"

Lor:

OMG that look on his face when he holds his jaw SO HOT

Lor:

HAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Lor:

YES

Lor:

oh Cas. lean into your doubt, baby

Mace:

oh honey, Chuck is a dick

Lor:

right?

Mace:

oh, we’re calling it doubt now? See, I thought it was Gay Feelings for Dean Dean

Lor:

I do love that the emphasis here is on what the torture does to the torturer. like it's obvious that you shouldn't torture people because of what it does to the victim of the torture. putting the emphasis on how it harms the person doing it is so much more interesting

Lor:

HAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Lor:

I think it's both

Mace:

yeah

Lor:

(I feel like there's an understood but maybe needs to be said "in fiction" here)

Mace:

(nah)

Lor:

(oh good)

Lor:

oh Dean

Lor:

is the hardest part of this for him learning that he was responsible for breaking the first seal or that he was a righteous man?

Lor:

OMG the quivering lip. the twitch in the jaw. HOW does Jensen DO that?

Mace:

How much of it, I wonder, is Moral Law that the torturer is damaged and how much is actually that the damage is self-inflicted, in the sense that Dean thinks he shouldn’t like it, Mr. Black and White no Grey (at this point in the show, at least)

Lor:

ooooo interesting

Mace:

oh look, he’s actually showing damage here - maybe because he believes he deserves this?

Mace:

oooh and look, Cas has no qualms about twisting that knife

Mace:

that in itself is pretty darn hot

Lor:

I am FASCINATED by this question. has Alaistair hurt him in a way that we can see or is he ABLE to because Dean thinks he deserves it?

Lor:

YES

Mace:

I mean, I think that’s the best/most interesting interpretation of the whole idea of Hell: it only exists for those who believe they deserve it

Lor:

and what, exactly, is the differentce between using Dean's torture knowledge he learned from a demon and Sam doing it because he's jumped up on demon blood?

Lor:

so it doesn't exist for turdburgers who think they're okay?

Lor:

hmmm

Mace:

Yes! Sam believes in his ‘cause’ and so isn’t at all tortured by what he’s doing. And as much as I love him, Dean’s anguish is better/more complex.

Lor:

like, I don't think it exists as a literal place, but I have always kind of thought of hell as the twisting up you do to yourself by not being a good human

Mace:

I don’t really think there’s anyone who’s actually that simpleminded

Lor:

the turdburgers bit?

Lor:

oh Cas

Mace:

so for you that version exists.

Mace:

yep

Mace:

aw, he had a good poop

Lor:

the way he loses his faith is so heartbreaking even though it is the thing that lets him become who he authentically is

Lor:

HAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Lor:

I mean one does often feel more clear minded after a nice movement

Mace:

exactly

Lor:

Cas looks so LITTLE and LOST

Lor:

take that boy and run away with him and find a nice place to live together, Cas

Mace:

lost faith tends to do that

Lor:

yeah

Mace:

yes, Cas, do that

Mace:

“I’m considering disobedience” THAT IS SO HOT

Lor:

YES IT IS

Mace:

he’s aiming to misbehave

Lor:

and the fact that it MEANS something to him makes it even HOTTER

Lor:

YAAAAAAS

Mace:

now, fuck off, Anna

Lor:

"please tell me what to do" oh hon

Lor:

yep, think for yourself

Mace:

oh, I’ll tell you what to do, sugarwings

Lor:

yeah, Anna, get lost. and don't ever touch Dean or Cas again

Lor:

YAAAAAAS

Lor:

GOD LOOK AT HIM

Mace:

YES

Lor:

Uriel you lying piece of shit

Mace:

yep

Lor:

I mean. it probably was forever, Cas

Mace:

HA

Lor:

nah. it's the blade

Mace:

angel blades don’t kill angels. angels kill angels.

Lor:

LOL

Lor:

careful Uriel. that's Lucifer talk there

Lor:

also, have you met Cas? shittalking humanity is not the way to get him on your side

Mace:

HA

Mace:

Uriel would be so cool as Luci

Lor:

oh. Uriel knows he's Lucifering. I had forgotten that piece

Lor:

he WOULD

Lor:

I'm cool with Uriel exiting stage left but I wish they had either cast this actor as someone who stuck around or found a way to bring him back

Mace:

yeah

Lor:

(shockingly this is true of many of the Black actors on this show)

Mace:

(NOOOO. I’M SHOOK.)

Lor:

omg his little bloody face

Mace:

YES

Mace:

everyone’s getting torn up today

Lor:

YEP

Lor:

on SPN blood is either silly or HOT

Mace:

yep

Lor:

he goes to sit with him I cannot

Mace:

YES

Lor:

"you need to be more careful" "you need to learn to manage a damn devil's trap" MARRIED

Mace:

AND ANNA IS BANISHÈD

Mace:

YEP

Lor:

"it is not blame that falls on you, Dean. it's fate" OOOOOOOF

Mace:

now THAT’S an excellent debate

Mace:

Oedipal like, and all

Lor:

the one who starts it has to stop it. the CIRCLE of it all kicks feets in stupid symbolism glee

Lor:

YES

Mace:

“then you guys are screwed” oh HONEY

Lor:

"I can't do it, Cas. It's too big" and his VOICE

Lor:

THIS MAN SHOULD HAVE AN EMMY

Mace:

he really should

Lor:

"I guess I'm not the man either of our dads wanted me to be"

Mace:

“either of our dads” oh jesusfuckingchrist that’s good

Lor:

WELL THEY WERE BOTH ASSHOLES, DEAN

Lor:

RIGHT?

Lor:

ooooof that is AN EPISODE

Mace:

CRIPES

Lor:

I feel like you could do a whole semester-long course on THIS ep. the symbolism! the family dynamics! the weird-ass Christianity

Lor:

hello, this is interdisciplinary shit 101. our text is one (1) episode of Supernatural

Mace:

snork

Lor:

how not to do Latin

Lor:

Blood-born diseases and how they make you able to smish demons

Lor:

the possibilities are endless

[supernaturalkickparty]

More latino spn thoughts, mainly samjess and I'm just🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

[neoputo]

sam & dean try to summon a gay demon: a comic inspired by a dream i had the other day

[incesthemes]

i like the implication in 7.03 that sam had to do the research for john and dean, probably to protect him and keep him out of harm's way. which means that he's not necessarily bookish by choice but by circumstance. dad-assigned nerd (sam) and jock (dean)

[sui-sleepingcatk2y]

Favorite scenes in not so favorite episodes

Sam's exorcism

11.18 Hell's Angel

[saltbind]

if I were Sam my autistic ass would have not been able to resist mentioning that Christo was the name of God in Latin as like, A Fun Fact. and then I would be using that shit constantly to figure out who was demons in my surrounds and carrying a holy water spray bottle. Azazel and Luci’s whole plan would have been ruined by the ‘tism.

[sastiel-is-my-serotonin]

Sam and Dean are fluent in Pig Latin and most of their arguments growing up were in Pig Latin.

Sam: Ou-yay re-aye o-say nnoying-aye

Dean: O-nay ou-yay re-aye!

Sam: Erk-jay!

Dean: Itch-bay!

[urboymutual]

third chorus of the national anthem of guatemala (1934) + supernatural (5.22)

sobrenatural day 1: country

Never dodge the rough fight If they defend their land and their home, May only honour be their venerable idea And the altar of the fatherland their altar.

[zepskies]

Hey could I request angsty and fluffy headcanons for Dean having a crush on reader but he thinks she has a crush on Sam but she actually has a crush on Dean back

Hey lovely!

So I kiiiind of already did this type of prompt with "Dean gives you an impossible choice" and its sequel, "Choosing Him."

But I'll do another imagine in this vein for you! ❤️

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 1,000 Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst(ish), fear of unrequited love, mutual pining

Imagine: Dean reads you wrong.

When Dean falls for someone, it's "slow and steady wins the race."

But the spark. That spark is instant.

He feels it with you.

Your pretty smile. Your "get it done" attitude that mirrors his. The way you know all of his references, whether it's movies or TV or music — you grew up learning how to tell time from what was on TV, just like him.

It's the way you laugh with him, share quiet moments of contemplation with him, and even moments of grief with him. Even when it's his grief, you always come. Whether it's to sit beside him, or share a drink with him, or make him something you know he likes, or get him to take a drive with you.

But realistically, you have more in common with Sam.

Both of you are bookish (nerds). You two get into heated discussions about Dante's Inferno and proper Latin translations. (You always accuse Sam of his pronunciations being off, while Sam argues, "At least I remember the whole exorcism. You think the damn demon cares if my vowels are off?")

You and Sam bicker. You playfully tease him, bring smiles to his face just as often as you bring them to Dean's. You're comfortable with him, playfully jabbing his arm or his chest when you mess with him.

Sam takes it with a smile, or a slight roll of his eyes, but always with fondness.

Dean can't help the churning in his stomach. Every time he thinks he has a read on you. Every time he thinks it's safe to maybe, one day, after a hunt, after an episode of Dr. Sexy, after you get out of the shower, after he's made you a home-cooked meal, after you sit with him and talk about everything and nothing while he works on his car — he thinks he might have a shot if he asked you out.

But he always falters, because he just can't fucking tell. He thinks you and Sam have something.

And Dean...he likes you. A lot.

More than he's ever willingly expressed.

But despite his reputation with women, he's never, and will never, step on his brother's toes.

Until he can't help himself.

It's your birthday. Sam got you a series of books he recommended to you last month. (Again, fucking nerds.) Dean got the booze and made the food to celebrate.

But you're surprised, and even a little teary when he brings out the cake he bought at an honest-to-God bakery. He even stood in line, waited 30 minutes to have them write your name on it, with little balloons. The frosting letters are drawn in your favorite color.

"Happy Birthday, sweetheart," Dean tells you. His tone is a little too soft. It's because he sees your unshed tears, and his heart clenches.

It's just a fucking cake.

Does it really matter that much to you?

But he still feels a well of warmth and pride in his chest. He turns to his brother with a smirk. "I win."

It's meant to be playful, but he kind of means it. Sam just eyes him knowingly.

"Sure," Sam laughs.

What the hell does that mean? Dean nearly frowns. But he's soon distracted — by you leaning in close to kiss him on the cheek.

He turns just in time (with slightly wider eyes) to see you blush.

That smile tells him something.

"Thanks, guys," you say to both of them. But your hand lingers on Dean's wrist, squeezing a bit.

At the end of the night, Sam turns in early. You stick around to help Dean clean up.

"Aw, stop. You're the birthday girl. I got this," Dean says, waving you off. You join him at the kitchen counter and lay a hand on his arm.

"Dean," you say softly. It earns his attention. You look a little nervous, your eyes falling from his, then meeting them again.

"What's the matter?" he asks. His brows furrow. He's thinking of your lips on his cheek. Unconsciously he glances down at your pretty mouth.

"Was wondering if you could help me with a birthday wish," you said.

A smile begins to tug at your lips, and Dean can't help but smile back. Intrigue, and a small tremor of something triggers up his spine.

"Oh yeah? What's that?" he asks.

You bite your lip. "Okay...I'm going to ask you this once. Yes or no. And if it's no...then we won't talk about it ever again and you'll have to wipe it out of your memory, because I don't want to make things weird or make you uncomfortable and I don't want to have to do something drastic, like leave the Bunker—"

Dean's smile falls as his brows raise in slight alarm. He also raises placating hands to stop your verbal flapping.

"Whoa, hey. What? What the hell kinda birthday question is this?"

You close your eyes and take a breath. "Okay."

Your eyes open, and as what happens far too often, Dean's captured by them.

"Close your eyes for me," you request.

"My eyes need to be closed to answer a damn question?"

"Damn it, Dean. Just do it, please!"

He lets out a slightly peeved breath, but he obliges you, shutting his lids. He really doesn't know what the hell is going on...until you lay a bracing hand on his chest and press a soft kiss to his lips.

For a moment, he freezes.

He inhales deeply through his nose as the surprise fades.

Relief floods in its wake.

A smile reaches his face.

But soon enough, before you can pull away, he grasps your upper arms to hold you in place. He dips his head down to kiss you in earnest. His lips find yours, gentle at first, and then gaining in passion.

He learns quickly the pattern of your lips, and the heady feeling of that knowing travels straight to his brain, stronger than the whiskey he drank earlier.

It's like you two were made to move together. To end up just like this.

You both are breathless by the time your eyes slide open and meet one another.

Dean's lips curve into a smirk. "How's that answer for ya?"

Your smile is beaming bright.

"Yeah, that works."

Chuckling, he pulls you in closer and tugs a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing your blush-warmed cheek.

And he answers you again.

AN: Ugh, I'm sappy as hell. 😂 Hope you liked this! Let me know what you think. 😉

Read Sam’s version: “Sam reads you wrong.”

Dean Winchester Imagines

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[jasmines-library]

Hey Jude

Summary: When a demon hunt doesn't go to plan, the Winchesters have to rush to save their little sister. Though to make matters worse, once back home in the safety of the bunker her wound gets infected. With their angel friend MIA, Sam and Dean must battle time to find a way to help their sister.

Warnings: (Kinda Graphic) description of injury, Near death experience, infection and illness, one? swear word, angst, fluff,

Word count: 2.8K

Note: this is my first spn fic so I hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

It came from almost nowhere.

You hadn’t sensed it coming, too tied up with the demon before you. She was tall and wore her dark hair slicked back in a ponytail. With much effort, you had managed to pin her up against the wall, away from her three friends who your brothers were occupied with. Dean managed to gank the blonde one with Ruby’s knife. She lit up like a candle before slumping lifelessly to the ground. He glanced in your direction to see that you were managing fine, before slinking off to help Sam who was juggling two demon skanks of his own. 

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritu-” 

The Latin had barely slipped from your lips when shit hit the fan. The woman got a hit on you, sending you reeling away from the graffitied wall, enough for her to slip out of your binding grip. You narrowed your eyes at the woman, reeling your arm back for another punch. She just smirked, her black eyes glistening under the moonlight. And that was when you felt it. A blinding white pain that blossomed across your abdomen and tore its way around body like someone had lit a bomb and your veins were the fuse. You collided harshly with the damp concrete, the sound ricocheting across the narrow street. You could feel the crushing weight of the hellhound above you and feel its hot breath fanning across your neck as you struggled, desperate from some sort of release though you could hardly move, trapped within the agonies of the invisible claws buried inches deep within your skin. Your cry of anguish had your brothers’ heads snapping towards your writhing frame. Their screams lost within your own. You gaped blindly at the dog above you. If it wasn’t for the hellhound’s snarling, or the blood seeping from the lacerations on your stomach, you would have had no clue what hit you. It felt like an eternity before the crushing weight was lifted from you and Dean came into view. The knife in hand was dripping with blood. He quickly discarded it on the floor and was by your side in an instant, pressing down harshly on your abdomen to slow the bleeding. He recoiled slightly when you let out a cry of pain. 

“I know, I know it hurts. I'm sorry sweetheart.” Dean tried to soothe you, but he could already see the blood oozing between his fingers.

You watched him through blurry, pain tinted lenses, eyes moving frantically, struggling to focus on one area too long. Dean’s panicked complexion never left your body. His green eyes trailed your damaged body, swimming with worry.

“De…” what came out of your mouth in between your ragged gasps for air was hardly audible. Dean would have missed it if his senses weren’t so honed in on you.

“Shh,” He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Don’t talk kiddo. Sammy’s coming. Sammy’s gonna get here and then we’re gonna take you back to the bunker and we’re gonna fix you up okay?”

You nodded feebly.

There was a squeal of rubber and the blinding light of the Impala’s headlights filling the dingy alley before Sam’s mop of hair came into view.

The ghost of a smile found its way onto your lips as your breathing began to slow. “Sammy...” you mumbled, watching your older brother move to your side.

“I’m here, kid. ” He reassured as he slid one of his arms under your knees and the other under your back. The brothers shared a silent look before they stood up, shifting you from the cold concrete. You screamed and cried out in pain as you were jostled around in Sam’s arms. Dean’s bloody hands were replaced with one of his flannel shirts which Sam was plastering to your wound as the two of them raced the short distance to the car. It hurt Sam to watch the way that your face contorted in pain with each giant step he took. Each whimper that escaped your lips had Dean shuddering. Once you were secured against Sam’s chest in the car, Dean had never moved quicker than he did to the front seat to press his foot on the gas and send the car hurtling down the road to the bunker. 

Your head lolled against Sam’s chest as he held you close and whispered reassurances into your ear. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure you or himself. A deep pit had settled at the bottom of his stomach. “You’re gonna be fine. We’ve got you.” he repeated like a mantra when you whimpered. When you didn’t respond, he glanced down to see that your eyes had begun to droop closed, the effort of keeping them open had just become too much as you slowly lost sensation across your body. Your fingers and toes had began to go numb, all feeling lost within them

“No, no.” Sam cupped the side of your face with his hand and tilted it gently towards his. Your skin was pale and clammy and your cheeks were lined with tracks of tears that had beaded down your face. “Look at me Y/N, don’t close your eyes.” Sam’s voice seemed to raise an octave as he choked out his worry. 

You tried to keep them open. You really did, but your eyelids had begun to feel like lead and keeping them was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. You struggled, but as the black spots began to consume your vision, you gave in and let unconsciousness claim you.

Sam cursed and tapped the side of your face desperately. Dean glanced back at his younger siblings. He saw the way that your frame was curled up against Sam’s, looking even smaller than you were supposed to in his arms. He pressed his foot even harder on the pedal when he saw the way that Sam’s face ignited with fear as he listened to the soft thrum of your heart; all out of beat and losing time. 

~~~

When you peeled your eyes open, and they had adjusted to the harsh light in the room, the first thing you were aware of was the throbbing in your abdomen. Gingerly, you had tried to push yourself up, much to the protests of the muscles in your shaky arms. You had barely managed to get halfway up before you were being eased back down again by a pair of calloused hands. 

“Take it easy, kid.” Dean said. He had been slumped in a old green chair half asleep when you had begun to rouse. There were dark bags under his eyes and he looked as if he hadn’t slept since he got back. That was something you knew Dean did when he was worried.

You blinked groggily. You looked like you had had a run in with death. I suppose you weren’t too far off. Your head was pounding and your skin was still devout of its colour, besides the dark bags that dropped beneath your sunken eyes. The throbbing around your stitches had quickly begun to feel much worse as the itchiness set in. “How long was I out?”

“ ‘Bout a day.” he told you, tracing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. His skin was rough from years of hands on work, but his tough was gentle and far from what you’d expect for a man in his line of work. “Sammy sewed you up.”

You hummed gratefully, gathering your brewing for a moment. Once you had had a moment to think, it all seemed to come flooding back to you.

“I’m sorry.” You muttered. 

“What?” Dean had to do a second take. “Sweetheart, what are you sorry for?”

“If I had ganked the bitch faster then-”

“No. No. This isn’t your fault.” Your brother said sternly. “If I had gone to you instead of Sam then-”

A tall figure appeared in the doorway to the infirmary, he had to hunch slightly to fit the whole of his tall frame in. He bore two cups of coffee in his hands and too looked as if he hadn’t slept a wink in a few days. Stubble had begun to make itself prominent on his cheeks.

“Dean, for the last time, this isn’t your -” Sam stopped when he saw you staring at him. He was at your side in seconds after placing the coffee on the table by Dean, then pulling you into a hug. You groaned at the pull of your stitches. “How you feeling?”

“Like I've been hit by a bus.”

Sam chuckled, though he furrowed his brows. “That bad, huh?” 

You shrugged. 

Gesturing towards your stomach, Sam asked “Mind if I take a look?”

“Go ahead.”

Peeling back the white sheets and lifting up the hem of your shirt, Sam revealed the white bandage fitted snugly to your body. He then untucked the bandage and gingerly unravelled it to reveal the angry redness and the pus that had gathered around the neat rows of stitches. 

“Shit.” Dean uttered. He was trying not to panic, but the way forehead etched with concern gave it away. 

“What’s going on?” You craned your neck to try and see the damage, but you were hit with a wave of vertigo that made you slump back against the bed. 

“It’s infected.” 

“What…?”

Sam’s gaze followed the length of your stitched skin. 16 stitches in total, all in three rows across your abdomen and down towards you right hip. They would leave a nasty scar, but nothing that a Hunter wasn’t used to. He followed the red lightning-like pattern that the infection had left on your skin. 

“How the heck did it get infected, Sam? Didn’t you clean it?” Dean demanded. 

“Of course I cleaned it.” Sam shuddered at them memory of pouring the alcohol into your wound. He remembered the way you unconsciously flinched as the needle sank into your skin. He remembered the way that your heart and your breathing slowed as Dean raced towards the bunker. 

“Well clearly-”

“Stop.” You whispered. “Please.”

Both men stopped their bickering and turned to you. You looked so small and fragile lying there in that bed; your complexion nearly as pale as the room around you. Sam looked guilty. His eyes found the ground and he fiddled with his hands nervously in his lap. Dean’s furious features softened. He knew it wasn’t Sam’s fault really, he had just let his worry morph into anger. The alley had been filthy and in the rush to stop the bleeding, he wasn’t surprised that some of the dirt had managed to conceal itself. The wound was deep and time was running thin. 

“Come on. Let's get you sorted out.”

~~~

The infection had taken hold of you quickly. Despite the brothers cleaning your wound and dosing you up on antibiotics, only after a day or so; you were now fighting a fever. 

Sam placed a hand on your forehead. Your skin was too hot and clammy, but shivers racked your body like you had just been dunked in an ice bath. Sam moved some of the hair that had stuck to the beads of sweat on your forehead away from your eyes and frowned deeply, his eyebrows knitting together in the middle of his forehead. You were curled up on your bed, trying your hardest to pull the sheets even closer to your body. Your brothers had moved you out of the infirmary and into your room a few days ago after they had discovered that your wound was infected. Dean had insisted that it would provide you with a better sense of comfort than the eerily pristine walls and uncomfy beds of the infirmary. Your room was also a lot closer to theirs, which meant that they could keep an eye on you easier. That had put a small smile on your lips, what took it away however was when Dean refused to let you have your thick blankets. Your protests nearly made him cave and give them back, but he knew that if he did you would overheat and they couldn’t risk that with how high your fever was running.

A dry coughing fit tore its way through you, leaving you wheezing once it had subsided. Since the fever took you in its clutches a few days ago, the boys had watched you deteriorate. It broke them to see you like this; a ghost of the person you usually were. Sam knelt down to face you on the bed. Your eyes were barely open as you struggled against the exhaustion, but the fever wasn’t letting you sleep. “Y/N?” Sam asked gently. 

You pushed your eyes open weakly. 

“Hey.” He smiled at you and reached blindly for the glass of water that was on the bedside table. Easing you up, he held the cup to your chapped lips and helped you take small sips of the water and then another antibiotic. He placed the glass back on the side and moved to pull the covers away from you. You tried to turn away, but whimpered when pain flared through your wound.

“I know, I know. But we have to change them.”

Reluctantly, you allowed your brother to pull the covers away from your body. You felt like the air was stabbing you with icicles when it hit your body. You shuddered and Sam looked at you with pity. Watching your brother work as he removed the bandages was what you opted to do take your mind off of the way you were feeling. Sam’s face scrunched as he concentrated, his hair falling across his eyes. He pinched hs bottom lip between his teeth as he unraveled your wound. Your brothers had tried desperately to stop the infection from spreading, but now the wound had swelled to twice the size and it had become an even darker shade of angry. Sucking in a breath, Sam began to redress it with fresh bandages. 

Sam and Dean had been taking great care of you. You were barely left alone and they always seemed to have everything you needed on hand. The pair would take it in turns to sit by you for hours and make sure your fever didn’t get too high, while the other searched for any way to help you. Dean had tried a million times to get Cas down here, but he was always left with no reply, only a silence that seemed too loud. He had even tried threatening him, but still, the angel never showed. He then moved on to help Sam with the stack of books that he was skimming through. It seemed as though the pile would never end as the two of them searched. Logically, one of the first things they had considered was driving you to the nearest hospital, but they had opted out of it, figuring that it was too dangerous to move you that far in your state and that it would be too hard to explain how you received wounds like that. Of course, then they were hoping that Cas wouldn’t ignore his angel radio, or that they would have found a spell within one of these books much faster.

Sam sat with you for a while, tapping his foot repeatedly and playing with his hands as he made conversation with you, trying to bring smiles to your sunken features. Sam loved it when you smiled; they were pure, golden. you could light up a whole room with one. When the three of you were younger, when you still wore your hair in pigtails and were too young and to go on hunts with your brothers and your dad, Sam remembered how he used to yearn for that smile whilst he was away, how they made him feel whole again when he returned and he’d wrap you up in his arms and you’d greet him with a big smile on your face.

Sam told you stories of his hunts, of embarrassing stories that he swore he wouldn’t tell anyone and of his favourite memories of the three of you until he thought you had finally let sleep take you under. You had stopped interrupting his stories with your own quips, or giggling at his jokes, though when he stood, the old chair creaking as he rose, and began to move as quietly as his boots would let him towards the door, your meek voice spoke up.

“Sammy?”

He hummed at the nickname. 

“Thank you.” You said.

“Anytime kid.” He smiled sadly, placing a kiss on your forehead. “You’re gonna be okay Y/N. I promise.”

~~~

Not too long after Sam had left your room, Dean floated in. He wasn’t sure whether to be surprised or not at the fact you were still awake, gazing vacantly into empty space. Dean knew that sleep had never come easy to you, even as a small child. You used to crawl into his bed at night, seeking comfort. Another cough shook your frame as your eldest brother came further into the room. After ensuring you were okay, he replaced his brother in the seat beside you and took your hand. 

“Can’t sleep, huh?”

You shook your head. That was when Dean climbed in to the bed behind you, tucking you to his chest like he used to when you were just small. He ran his fingers through your hair as he listened to your raspy and short breaths. He felt you shift to look up at him.

“De?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Sing to me? Like when we were little?”

Dean smiled as you pulled yourself closer to his chest. You breathed in the scent of his old band shirt and his cologne as he began to sing.

“Hey Jude, don't make it bad, Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart, Then you can start to make it better.

Hey Jude, don't be afraid You were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, Then you begin to make it better.

And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain, Don't carry the world upon your shoulders. For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool By making his world a little colder.”

Dean was still singing when Sam came back to your room with a bowl in hand. His face lit up at the sight of you curled up in Dean’s arms. When Dean finally lifted his head away from yours and looked up to see his little brother hovering in the doorway, Sam was singing with him under his breath. It only took him a few steps to cross the distanced between the door and your bed and when he reached you, he pulled the book out from the arm it was tucked beneath and placed the bowl on your desk. The book was leather bound, and was at least an inch or so thick. It was once red, though with time and use it seemed to have lost its colouring to the grey fraying around the edges. The pages of the book were dirty too, thinned by age. The bowl, carved from wood and decorated with an ornate gold, seemed to be filled with herbs and other mojo that Dean didn’t even want to know about.

“I found a spell.” Sam told him, a grin sneaking across his face. “She’s gonna be okay.”

[stargazedwinchester]

Protect | Sam

A small one to get me back into writing, will be doing one for Dean also! <3

Summary: You attempt to comfort Sam from his most recent break up.

Prompt: "If she threatens you in any way you tell me, okay?" @promptsbytaurie

If anyone is interested, I have a taglist here! So if you want to be notified any time I post, pls send in a form so I can update it! Been away for a little bit so I’m gonna update it soon if anyone else has applied their interest :)

(Guys pls let me do a part 2 to this pls pls I beg)

Taglist: @girlsforpjm @rowenalovee @amythedoctor

Word count: 1,069

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

The ambience in the bunker is quieter than usual. Usually there’s some weird genre of music playing loud enough so you can hear from 4 rooms away or someone furiously tapping away on a keyboard.

Walking down toward the lobby, it’s dead quiet. Assuming no one’s home, you take a gander at the books on the bookshelves, multiple books about monster lore and latin history, demonic possession and even some without a name. They’re worn down from the use they got from when the Men of Letters were around. Without letting either of the Winchesters know about it, you managed to sneak your own normal book collection in there. What they don’t know can’t hurt them, right? Sam especially would go nuts.

Picking out a light blue book with an intricate flower design running around it, the bolder, darker letters stand out in contrast. You scan the pages before taking a seat in the armchair in the corner of the library. The floor lamp next to you is dim, setting the mood perfectly for a quick comforting read.

A cough breaks you out of your gaze, unknowing that anyone was even inside. You peer round the corner and notice a huge man with long, unruly hair. His head sits in the palm of his hand, his long legs spread out underneath the table.

“Jesus Christ,” you whisper to yourself and make yourself known. “Sam?”

He grumbles, barely turning his body around to acknowledge you. “Yeah?” He clears his throat, his voice croaky and weak. You pad your way over to him and stand above him, examining the empty whiskey bottle and a glass that has remnants. His personal phone is left unlocked, a few texts sent to someone but haven’t gone through. You skim read.

7:04AM

Can we please talk?

8:15AM

Please message me, IDK what I did wrong

17:16PM

Sam, leave me alone. I’m done talking with

you. I will block your number

18:08PM

Sorry

MSG NOT SENT. TRY AGAIN

“How are you feeling?” You question, speaking carefully as he has obviously had a few drinks. You pull out a chair and sit beside him, his head remaining in his hands. You stare at him intently, hoping for a good answer. He takes a deep breath and sighs shakily. He rubs his face and he glances at you quickly. His eyes dark, and the tip of his nose crimson. He wipes his nose and takes another swig, too quick for you to even stop him. “What do you think?” He huffs, trying to show a smile but failing. You look down at the floor, unsure of what to say. He reaches over and locks his phone, then rubs his eyes with his fingers. “I don’t know what to do,” He starts, his voice wobbling. You reach for the nape of his neck and gently caress his hair, “What did I do wrong?” He starts, tears forming in his eyes as he looks at you once more, then breaking contact. “It’s okay, Sammy. Let it out.” You say, stroking his hair as he sits back, looking up at the ceiling.

“I look so weak,” He laughs, trying to collect himself. You sigh quietly. “You’re not. If it hurts you, it hurts you. It’s normal to be sad.” You say, trying to make him feel at least a little bit better. He reaches for his glass again and you place your palm over the top of it. “I think you’ve had enough of this as well,” You slide the glass across the table away from Sam. “Listen. Things like this come and go, you’re more than capable to find someone way better than her. I understand it hurts right now but in a couple of weeks time you’ll feel so much better for relying on yourself and the people that love you than the people that don’t. You’re going to be fine, Sam. Trust me.” You give the speech like your life depends on it, but seeing your close friend so heartbroken made you feel like it’s your duty to ensure he hears exactly what he needs to hear. He looks at you with shining eyes, the red in them makes the hazel pop more than usual. His nose still red and cheeks flushed, his usually neat hair is tussled. “I just loved her so much,” He sighs, straightening himself out. “But she wasn’t for me. We were so different.” He explains, his eyes scanning your face. “How so?” You ask, trying not to intrude.

“Well, I’d want to go places with her to eat, drink, whatever and she’d hate it. She’d never want to spend time with me or show me off. I guess she just wanted to use me, I think that’s the thing that hurts the most,” He admits, shedding new light on his now past relationship with this woman… something that felt like rage and sadness for him built up inside of your chest, and he carries on. “When things wouldn’t go her way, she’d get angry with me. So angry,” He pauses, “She’d threaten things but never actually go through with it, thankfully. I could never say anything because I was scared of her reaction or if she’d leave me for standing up for myself.” He finishes, a tear falling down his cheek and nothing stops you from wiping it away. Keeping your hand gently on his face, you stare into his eyes as he does yours.

“If she threatens you in any way you tell me, okay?” You say, keeping your tone calm and collected, but Sam smirks at the fire that glows within yourself, a passion for protecting the ones you love, or maybe it’s more than that.

“Okay. I will.” He smiles for the first time since this whole interaction started. You slowly start to stand up, shuffling yourself out of the chair. You remove your hand from Sams’ face, but then he unexpectedly takes your hand as you try to turn away, pulling you back. You look at him with concern, and his helpless gaze stares up at you. “Thank you, Y/N.” He says, pursing his lips. “Honestly, it’s what I needed. So, thank you.”

“I’d do anything for you, Winchester.” You say, quickly grooming his hair so its somewhat neater. Glancing into his eyes one last time, he shows you a fragile smile.

A delicate smile is still a smile.

[mystra-midnight]

Girls on Film

summary: sam winchester was a fiend, a downright dirty demon. and that was why, since that day, he'd fucked you every way he could—in every room of the bunker, in the back-seat of the Impala, in some dark, dirty ally, in a church confessional for crying out loud.

warnings: 18+ only. anal. squirting. fingering. taking photos during. brief mentions of subspace. kinda mean sam.

words: 900.

notes: consider this to be in the same world as 'language of lust' but it can absolutely be its own stand alone blurb. honestly this was one a self indulgent; guess i'm just a slut for sam.

This wasn't the first time Sam had had you like this—spread out on his bed with his cock buried in your ass. Ever since your first Latin lesson with him, you've learned Sam Winchester was not as innocent as he seemed to be. Those sad eyes, the ones that looked like he'd just watched his puppy get kicked, were a perfect ruse, and you'd fallen for them hook, line, and sinker.

Sam Winchester was a fiend, a downright dirty demon. And that was why, since that day, he'd fucked you every way he could—in every room of the bunker, in the back-seat of the Impala, in some dark, dirty ally, in a church confessional for crying out loud. In the last few months, you’d cum on his cock more times than you had with all of your exes combined.

It was almost as though your body was mapped for him.

"Come on," he cooed from above you, the drip in his tone positively mocking. You covered your face with your hands to hide the tears ebbing on your lash line and to hide yourself from the bright flash of the poloroid camera. A dozen of them lay on the bed with you, each one showing you in a compromised position: your cunt stretched wide around his mammoth cock, drool and cum dripping from your lips, your tits marked with a tapestry of his teeth, and your ass gripping his cock like a lifeline. But there was one in particular he wanted—one you'd get to let him take.

"I know you want to, baby, pussy's gripping me like a fucking vice. Just let go."

"It's embarrassing," you mumbled into your palms. Both of his hands were busy, one of them keeping the camera steady as he snapped shots of himself fucking your ass, the other hand busy fingering your cunt, the tips of his long fingers abusing that sweet spot that had you straining to close your legs. It wasn't as though this would be the first time he'd made you squirt.

The pressure was like nothing else; the relief was a sensation out of this world. The last time you'd spent half an hour floating in the clouds, his soft voice slowly luring you back to the world when you wanted to float out of your body forever.

"It's not," Sam challenged as he started a slow circle around your clit with his thumb. You mewled at the sensation, your nub sensitive from the previous four orgasms he'd drawn from you. You grappled wildly at his wrist, your hips rolling instinctively to grind against his fingers as the pressure started to mount. "Hottest thing I've ever fucking seen. I love it when you soak my dick, baby.”

As though to empathise his point, Sam pulled out, letting his dick slip from your tight ass with a pornographic pop. The camera went off again with a bright flash, capturing the image of slick dripping from your drenched folds, sliding down the crack of your ass, and pooling beneath you. You would have complained, perhaps slapped at him, had he not thrust back into you with his fingers and cock, hitting that sweet spot from different angles.

Your back bowed into a perfect arch as pleasure seared through your veins and twisted your stomach into knots until you were keening. His pace was hard and fast—merciless. "S-Sam! Oh, fuck, please, please." He knew what you wanted, even when you didn’t know yourself. It was a flash of lightening behind your scrunched-close eyes. It was a static shock encompassing all of you until your limbs were wracked with pins and needles. It was a pressure unlike any other, and the sudden release.

You clenched tight around him, both his fingers and his cock, and then it happened. You spasmed beneath him, a moaning, babbling, incoherent mess as your fifth orgasm ripped through you like a freight train with its breaks cut. You tossed your head from side to side, tears spilling down your cheeks as you gasped, moaned, and grabbed at his wrist in an effort to push him away.

Only after he'd sissorred his fingers inside your gummy walls and felt the first splash of moisture did he pull them from you, watching with greedy eyes as your pretty cunt clenched around nothing, and then again as you squirted. You vaguely heard the click of the camera and saw the flash as you floated into the clouds with your chest heaving.

"That's it, pretty girl, just like that." Sam grunted through his teeth. He fucked your ass with deep strokes, his rhythm stuttering as his own orgasm raced through him. The camera flashed again as you arched, deepening the bow in your back as you continued to cum, your thighs shaking violently as you kept squirting. You came down from the clouds with Sam collapsed atop you, bracing himself on a forearm resting on the bed by your head, his long hair damp, and beads of sweat dripping from his nose and into the crook of your neck.

You were still trembling. You felt his cock softening in your ass and hissed when he pulled out, watching as your hole puckered and leaked and how his cum mingled with yours on the mattress. He took one more picture of you like that, fucked stupid, and made a mental note not to put it in Dean's wallet.

"Swear you hit the fucking ceiling this time."