#lieskeepyousupernatural

[lieskeepyoualive]

The Maze Gabriel X reader

Summary: Gabriel makes a new mind game and offers cinnamon rolls.

Warnings: none apply

Word count: 200

The Maze

"This is the third time you've kidnapped me this week," I grumbled at the shining walls I was surrounded by, "It's getting old, Gabriel."

"I've made a new mind-game." his voice boomed around me. I smiled a little at my boyfriend's voice and accepted the challenge.

"I can see that." I looked around the mirrored maze, "There's too many copies of my face in here, babe."

"There's that cinnamon thing you love at the end." I wasn't sure that was an accurate enough description of cinnamon rolls but I accepted it.

It took me over an hour to find my way through the twisting pathways and hidden passages behind mirrors. When I reached the end I saw the grinning angel.

"You were faster than Maisie," clearly satisfied by my ability to navigate a maze faster than our five year-old, Gabriel walked towards me.

"Oh good, I beat a child." he didn't pay any notice to my sarcastic tone but rather leaned down to kiss me. I pushed him away, "Payment first, archangel."

With a roll of his eyes he had the cinnamon rolls in a takeaway bag by my feet and I smiled, kissing his cheek before making my way back into the maze with my food. He could catch me if he wanted. And by the sound of wings behind me, he definitely did.

[lieskeepyoualive]

Hell Puppy Crowley X faery!OC

Summary: The Winchester’s friend, a faery from another dimension, can apparently see hell hounds. One particular pup becomes rather attached to her and the King of Hell follows his lead.

Warnings: mentions of collaring

Word count: 1000

Hell Puppy Part Three  (Part Two here)

Mascara stained my cheeks as I lay on my bed, wings burning less than they had been before but they remained tender. The scene surrounding me looked like one straight out of a teenage heartbreak movie. There were scrunched up tissues surrounding me, my bed was as unkempt as it possibly could be and I was sure my hair was messily strewn across the pillows. I suppose, really, it was my teenage heartbreak; a mate who couldn't have me.

I'd never thought I'd find my mate. I'd never thought I'd kiss the king of hell. Then I discovered the two were so delicately intertwined that all I wanted to do was kiss him until I couldn't breathe. All I wanted in the world was to be with the king of hell. Every fibre of my being yearned for it, as if it was the only thing that could stop the ache spreading throughout my body.

Accepting I wouldn't find my mate had been infinitely easier than accepting I couldn't be with him once I'd found him. I didn't know how to reject a demon mate, not that I had to- Crowley would do that for me. The likelihood of ever seeing Crowley again was, hopefully, low. Albeit briefly, leaving the country seemed somewhat plausible, maybe hunters in Australia needed my assistance. But the king of hell would find me either way.

As hard as I tried, I couldn't remove the dark haired demon from my mind. His teasing and presence were suddenly more welcome than they ever had been before, not that they'd ever been particularly discouraged. The gravel in his voice suddenly seemed far more comforting, the red glint that sometimes appeared in his eyes seemed warmer, more endearing than threatening. Even the demon he was, the somewhat human demon, had found a way into my heart, passed the initial attraction and sexual fire and into the pits of the embers of love. Now he was making me sound like a lovesick puppy of a poet.

I wasn't sure how to live without him.

I didn't have time to query the question of eternity without a mate as a floorboard in the entrance way of my bedroom creaked. The sound of scampering against oak floorboards came ever closer and a small smile graced my lips. Then I remembered who would accompany the one scampering and a chill ran through my body.

I felt a wet nose nuzzle my hand and my wings began to tingle once more, "He was worried about you, pet." The tips of my wings twitched with elation upon hearing his voice but I stayed lying on my back. I moved my head to the side so as to see the puppy licking my hand but I kept my gaze from straying to the presence of the king.

"Go away, Crowley." I murmured, not enough spite in my voice to sound angry or wronged. I sounded deflated, as if the weight of the world now sat on my shoulders in the small bedroom. Despite the calming smells of lavender, I felt on edge; the panic of rejection slowly rising through my stomach.

"I'm worried too, darling." his voice was smooth, deep and he spoke in the way you speak to someone who seems so suddenly fragile. I didn't want to be fragile and yet I felt it.

"Well don't be," my eyes stayed on the puppy but they'd glossed over and I could no longer focus on anything other than him.

"I'll be worried about whoever I want," he took a carefully calculated step closer to me, "Don't tell the king of hell what to do, pet." A shiver ran through me as I looked up at him through tear soaked eyelashes.

I didn't move, just watched him, the way his eyes scanned over me as I lay there, my dress pushed up further than was decent. I looked and felt like a mess but the closer he got, the less I cared. All I wanted to reach out and touch him, as if he may not be real and the being in front of me may simply be a figment of a mourning imagination. The latter idea seemed so probable, because why would the king of hell have followed me home.

Crowley didn't watch me for long, only long enough to ascertain I was still breathing, before he took another step forward. Then he stood over me, his aura more tantalising than it had been previously. I couldn't help myself as I reached my hand towards him, shy and scared to touch him again. Then he spoke.

"Never thought I'd be a faery's mate." there was a smirk in his tone, and one on his face but it was kind, somewhat lighthearted, "Not complaining, darling."

I didn't make eye contact as I drew my hand up back to my side and mumbling an apology for his inconvenience as I stroked Stormy. For all it was worth, I was trying to show him he could walk away. Though, he was a demon, he knew he could do whatever he wanted. He definitely knew he could do whatever he wanted to me, even if he asked first.

I stood up and made my way to the doorway, in an attempt to lead the way. Instead of following, he sat on the edge of the bed and a sharp intake of breath passed my lips at the view. From the doorway I could see the way his eyes were watching me and how they'd look to my wings, studying their anxious fluttering as they felt his proximity. He didn't speak at first, just patted his knee and the somersaults in my abdomen started once again.

"Come here, pet," he opened his arms to me, a small smile on his face and his eyes were soft, "Your wings must be sore." The demon held me to him, his hellish warmth radiating into me as he lay down. His hands wove through my hair as he kissed my forehead and somewhere in the bliss of it all, I fell asleep.

When I awoke the next morning, the debris of my previous trauma had been cleared and, in the place of my demon, sat the velvet black bag. The bag held one item: a collar.

[lieskeepyoualive]

Six Months To Go (AU) Bobby Singer X pregnant!OC

Summary: Bobby Singer’s much younger wife is pregnant but Bobby has said he doesn’t want children. It ends in fluff, I promise.

Warnings: age gap between Bobby and OC and talk about pregnancy

Word count: 1400

Bobby referred to other people as 'princess', in a hopes to insult them and make them listen to his sanity; but it was always softly and sweetly when he said it to me. As if talking to me with anger could make me melt away from him forever. Instead of anger, I got nurturing and calming words from him, though they were occasionally stern. Nevertheless, I often experienced the elder man's anger towards others - Dean, occasionally Sam.

Sam had been accepting of me immediately upon our first meeting; Dean had been a little hesitant, clearly uncomfortable with someone only a year older than himself kissing a man who's been a father figure to him. I hope my understanding for how odd he may have found the situation came across when we first met at the turn of the century. John Winchester rarely commented on our relationship, not that anyone expected him to, his silence was blessing enough.

When John had sacrificed himself Bobby had suddenly realised he was the only father figure the boys had left. He'd looked panicked, turning to me and pouring out the worries he had of fatherhood. Even once I'd calmed him, Bobby Singer had stilled declared adamantly that he never wanted children. I didn't give much of a response other than kissing his cheek, I understood what he meant and I knew he didn't need words in that moment.

A week later my period never came.

I didn't tell Bobby, knowing how likely it was, in his line of work, for me to make it through the first trimester. The best idea, or at least I believed it to be, was to hide it from him until I was sure. I blamed morning sickness on anxiety, odd cravings on the culture I grew up in and I blamed the longing looks at baby clothes on thinking children are sweet. He bought it, which was a great shock to me.

It also seemed to be a surprise to Sam who'd noticed I was pregnant the moment I sat with Dean eating cherry pie accompanied by an entire avocado. He'd not mentioned anything at first but later in the day he pulled me aside, demanding to know why Bobby didn't seem to know. Very little came out of my mouth, other than my fear of Bobby's anger at the idea of a baby. Sam's eyes had held sympathy and I felt as if he agreed with me, my husband didn't want this and yet I still did.

After our conversation, I sent Sam back to his brother and Bobby where they were sat discussing a case over more alcohol than I'd probably ever consumed. Once in a while I'd poke my head into the room, checking they had what they needed, sustenance and research wise. However attractive Robert Singer could be while discussing hunting and however much the dominance in his tone to made me shudder, the pies I had committed myself to cooking took priority over all else.

The part of my mind that was stuck in the decade Bobby grew up in had made me into a somewhat competent housewife. Cooking was a hobby, something I truly enjoyed and poured my heart into - that was most likely why I spent an hour creating lattices for the tops of all of the apple pies in my kitchen. The cleaning aspect of a traditional wife also came naturally, cleaning relaxed me, it was satisfying and rewarding. The previous era's expectation of my ability to entertain guests and appear ladylike was my downfall, not that I cared; Bobby, if anything, relished my sarcasm and incapability to let an insult go without an equally sharp remark.

The final time I entered the room to ensure none of the men had done something foolish with the loving irritation that frequently reared its head in their meetings. Sam noticed my presence immediately and met my gaze, his eyes held a secret that made my stomach twist. Dean and Bobby, their backs towards me, didn't notice me before my husband had finished his sentence.

"We don't want children," he patted the brothers' knees with fatherly affection, "We've got you two."

Sam's face said it all, the sympathy and apology that crossed his face was met with my own smile, "And aren't they the most handsome boys ever?" Dean grumbled, Sam watched me as if he was expecting more.

Bobby barely made eye contact with me while I was in the room, not that that was unusual, it just felt like he was trying to hide something too. In front of the Winchester's was not the time to bring it up, especially when I had pies to finish making. And so, I'd returned to the kitchen and my previous state of mindless cooking and becoming lost in my own thoughts.

I spent the better part of an hour baking and washing up before the anxiety hit me; a sudden tidal wave of stress like a punch to the stomach I was becoming increasingly protective of. I stared out of the window, onto the salvage yard with a fond smile as my inner turmoil fought its war. I'd not lied to him, more withheld the truth that he wouldn't like.

Bobby Singer didn't want children. In less than six months, Bobby Singer would become a father. Bobby Singer was going to be angry.

Arms wrapping themselves around my waist distracted me as my panic increased, my hands gripping the side of the sink.

"Hey princess," his voice was low, close to my ear and causing a blush to spread over my cheeks and neck, "The idjits are leaving." For a man trying to tell me to say goodbye to the brothers, he seemed awfully reluctant to let go of me to allow me to get to our front door.

As we stood at the door his hands had settled on my hips as he pulled me against his chest. When Sam had mentioned how cute our kids would be, Dean had accused him of being a gossip magazine reader but Bobby hadn't said anything, simply pulled me closer and waved the boys off.

"Idjits." he'd muttered under his breath as we retreated away from the cold night air and into the warmth of the house. It was the next part of Bobby's sentence that caught my attention as I walked through the kitchen doorway, out of what he seemed to have perceived as my earshot, "Women like her don't have children with men like me."

I stood frozen in the doorway, slowly turning on my heal to stare at my husband, "What?" If he noticed how my eyes were surprised he didn't mention it.

"Nothing, princess." he seemed to think that that would distract me from the situation as he made his way towards me, clearly intending to enter the kitchen, "How're the pies?"

"The pies are fine, Bobby." I remained in the doorway, blocking his pathways to the fresh pies, "You avoided my question."

"You're not an idjit, you know you don't want to have children with an old man like me." Bobby was looking down at me and I lost all ability to speak as I stared at him, wondering how he could think that. Words didn't come to me and instead I place his hand on my stomach, hoping he'd feel the bump that was forming.

"You'll be the best father." I whispered against his lips, my fingers playing with his shirt collar, worried he might not understand what I was saying. I added, "Six months to go."

Bobby Singer understood every word. I could see the confusion leave his eyes as he watched me, clearly believing it was a joke of some epic proportions. A part of me thought he might up and run, but it was Bobby, he'd stick it out and I knew that deep down.

He pressed our lips together softly, "I thought you didn't want children until you were old enough." I could see him contemplating his next words, his age clearly playing on his mind.

"I'm twenty-eight, Bobby." my hand drifted over the beard he'd been growing as I smiled softly at him.

"You're still a baby." his accent was thick and his voice low and I felt safe. I rolled my eyes and kissed him once again.

Elizabeth Karen Singer was born 21st September 2007.

[lieskeepyoualive]

Mac n Cheese Sam Winchester X female!OC

Summary: Sam is left alone with Mattie, the OC’s son, before a fluffy love confession. Short but sweet and homely.

Warnings: none apply

Word count: 800

art credit to @lizleeillustration​ isn’t it just the cutest? (original post)

Mac n Cheese

I'd left him alone with my son in the morning, kissing both their cheeks as I left the bunker to escape the suffocation of the concealed hideout. The anxiety of feeling trapped had been building for days before Sam told me to leave for as long as I needed. Although I was hesitant at first, I'd agreed to it at the mention of him spending quality time with Mattie. So, I'd exited the bunker, waving goodbye to the gentle giant and messy haired toddler.

Three hours later, I returned, conscious that without dinner Mattie would go from golden boy to gremlin in a heartbeat. As I neared the doorway into what was now my home, I mentally planned my next actions and apologies if Mattie had already become the nightmare he could be without food. It wasn't that I didn't trust Sam with my son, it was that the two had never been alone together for more than ten minutes. Even then I was never far away. Now they'd spent eighteen times as long without me near and I hadn't really considered the shock it could cause Sam when the little angel he knew would turn bratty.

I entered the bunker with caution and upon hearing silence, my eyebrows knitted in confusion, "Mattie? Sam?" The almost eerie silence barely lasted a second before I heard the giggles coming from the kitchen. Breathing a sigh of relief, I made my way towards them.

Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn't to see the man I'd fallen in love with and my son eating mac n cheese and watching Looney Tunes with adorable grins on their faces. Sam looked up at me first, causing Mattie to spot me, sending a grin my way.

"Mommy!" his little legs scrambled off his chair to hug me as I picked him up and kissed his nose.

"You been good for uncle Sammy, baby?" I asked, resting him on my hip as I glanced over at Sam. I received muffled mumbles about their day and cooking adventure through Mattie's fist as he yawned against his hand, rubbing his eyes, "Is it bed time?" The sentence that was usually met with protest was instead met with a pointed look to Sam.

"You pwomised." Sam metaphorically paled at the mention of whatever secret promise he'd made to my son. Mattie seemed to quickly decide the man hadn't heard him and went to repeat himself when the man rose from his seat and looked down at us, "You pwom-"

"I know, I promised I would," he looked at me hesitantly, before whispering to Mattie, "But this is hardly the time for a love confession."

I stared at the two of them, trying to grasp the inside joke that had the two year-old in my arms giggling through his drowsiness. Shaking my head, I aborted that mission and made my way towards my room, ready to put my son to bed.

Upon returning from reading four bedtime stories to quash Mattie's excitement, Sam met me with a bowl of their mac n cheese and a glass of water. The kind, caring smile I'd fallen for was across his lips and made me feel at ease as we settled next to one another on the sofa. Few words were exchanged beside appreciation of the food from my own lips and Sam's decision to watch something other than Looney Tunes. As cliche as it will sound, the silence was comfortable, almost reassuring and I welcomed it. I welcomed it until curiosity got the better of me.

"What did you promise him?" I asked a few minutes after I'd taken my bowl back to the kitchen and had resumed my position by Sam, now resting my legs on his lap with no objection from him.

"I promised I'd kiss you." Sam had answered, not looking up from his book as his free hand rested a little higher on my leg than I'd class as friendly. If he felt my staring, he didn't flinch at it, "He wanted to plan our wedding." that was when Sam looked up at me, "Who gave him that idea?"

"Crowley?" my feeble attempt at avoiding embarrassment ended as quickly as it started. Sam took a hold of my thighs and in some feat of super strength, pulled me to straddle his lap, "Sam-"

He placed a finger on my lips to keep me quiet, as if I was about to object to whatever he was about to do. I wasn't, I definitely wasn't. No part of my body wanted to object to Sam Winchester's hands caressing my thighs or his eyes hovering over my lips as he leaned towards me. I could feel his breath on my lips.

[lieskeepyoualive]

Fluffy Baby Dean Winchester X shapeshifter!OC

Summary: Dean is left in the bunker with a shapeshifter baby and flirts like hell when the baby’s mother returns.

Warnings: none apply

Word count: 700

Dean had persuaded me to leave him and Meghan alone in the bunker while I helped Sam with a hunt; for once my shape shifting ability was more useful than Dean's "shoot now, talk later" tactics. Throughout the previous hours I'd felt my anxiety steadily rising. It wasn't that I didn't trust Dean with a child; it was that I knew Dean didn't particularly like children, especially a babbling toddler.

The fact he hadn't frantically called me before or during the hunt was somewhat reassuring but that ended once Sam and I arrived back at the bunker. My phone began furiously ringing until I finally found it and answered his call.

"The baby's a kitten." the normally nonchalant man suddenly seemed panicked and I had to stop myself from snorting as I ran up to the door, "A tiny, fluffy, black kitten."

"I'm coming, calm down." never in all my months knowing the Winchesters had I imagined that my child's uncontrolled shifting would panic the elder brother quite so much. I made my way through the bunker, following Dean's voice as he continued to panic.

The scene I was met with when I entered the living room made me smile. Dean Winchester was lying on the floor, surrounded by cushions and blankets with my fluffy kitten of a daughter on his chest as she licked his face. Disney music was playing through the room and, as I moved close to the two of them, they looked up.

"You made a blanket fort?" I watched him, starting to doubt that his claims about hating kids were at all true. His eyes met mine and my heart fluttered and he grinned sheepishly at me. I tried not to notice the way his shirt had ridden up to expose a strip of muscled torso above the waistband of his faded jeans. I tried even harder to not let a blush settle on my cheeks, especially when I saw the smirk making its way onto Dean's lips as he watched me.

"She asked me to." he shrugged, as if making a blanket fort with the daughter of someone you'd previously hunted was all in a day's work for him.

I rolled my eyes, picking Meghan off his chest I resolved to ignore the way his muscles flexed as he pushed himself up onto his elbows as I set my daughter on the cushions across the floor. Placing my hand on the kitten's head, she slowly transformed back to the excitable, raven haired infant I loved.

"She can't talk, she can't ask you to make a blanket fort." I raised an eyebrow at Dean while I wrapped her in a blanket, "Did you want to make one and were too shy to ask?" I leaned down to Dean, Meghan held perched on my hip. I pinched his cheek, "You're such a good big boy."

"I'm years older than you." he grumbled, clearly amused as I stood back to take Meghan to her room to get some clothes for her, "I have more experience than you."

"In what? Blanket fort making?" I mused, an amused smile gracing my face as he followed me down the hallway, "Hardly something I lack experience in myself."

"I prefer other types of experience" his voice was lower, closer than before as I placed Meghan on her changing table. I realised he was stood directly behind me, his chest almost against my back.

I hummed in response, "Your experience all seems to rotate around bedding," after seeing him cooing at Meghan as she giggled, I added, "And being a big softie."

Dean grinned at me, kissing my cheek and wrapping his arms around my waist, "She's almost as cute as her mother." I scrunched up my nose, hardly appreciating being compared to a toddler, even if Dean's voice was smooth and could make anything sound attractive.

The baby on the changing table happy babbled at us as I leaned into Dean's embrace. The scruff on his face rubbing against my neck as he tickled her and I watched my two kids, my baby and my man child, happy and content.

[lieskeepyoualive]

Hell Puppy Crowley X faery!OC

Summary: The Winchester’s friend, a faery from another dimension, can apparently see hell hounds. One particular pup becomes rather attached to her and the King of Hell follows his lead.

Warnings: age gap between immortals and innuendos

Word count: 1600

Hell Puppy Part Two  (Part One here)

Crowley had left quickly the first time we'd met, not waiting for my answer to his question before transporting the puppy and himself back to hell. In the coming weeks, the hound - who I'd named Stormy - made regular appearances wherever I went. His invisible scampering had scared the Winchester's more than once and I'd had to resolve to making him visible to all whenever the brothers were around. Dean was still against his presence, which was understandable.

Every time the puppy had wandered off, a demon would appear to return it to their king. The ruler himself seemed too busy to retrieve an adolescent hell hound from the likes of a young faery and I'd quickly resigned myself to never seeing the man again. At least, never seeing him outside of my dreams again unless I did finally sell my soul. The thought had crossed my mind.

In certain moments, when the alcohol I'd consumed with the two Winchesters was clearly more than I should have gone near, I'd create little plans. Selling my soul to have control over the king of hell for ten years was my personal favourite. No demon would allow it, but I still enjoyed the idea. On the other hand, using the king of hell as the replacement for a mate hardly seemed like a reasonable thing to do. I was hours away from coming of age, there was no need

Stormy and I had been sitting in the Men of Letters bunker for the past few hours. He was game-fully employed with a ball that I'd charmed to bounce around the room as I researched the ghost the boys were tracking. The smell of old books surrounded me mixed with the lavender scent I had as a flower faery. The room smelled like a summary of my life - nature, books and animals, though those animals were rarely hell puppies. I felt in my element, Earth, but somehow I was still attracted to fire.

My adolescence, of an immortal, rather than a mortal seemed to make me lust after a man I could not allow myself to desire. Over two hundred and thirty years is a large age gap, even for us immortals. Even if demon and faery friendships weren't frowned upon- in both of our dimensions- I was most likely still a child in the eyes of Crowley. Although, when I'd mentioned my age to Dean, he looked mildly panicked as he choked on the beer I'd previously given him.

"I'll be one hundred and eighteen tomorrow." I mused that evening, while stirring the broth I'd been lovingly attending to in the kitchen. That was when I'd heard the spluttering.

"What?" Sam had asked as he entered the room, probably curious about his brother's sudden coughing fit. He petted Stormy on the head, clearly more welcoming of the enthusiastic hell hound in their safe house than Dean was.

The puppy had spent the majority of the day with me and, despite the elder Winchester's adamant refusal whenever it was mentioned, Dean had scratched his belly once he'd whined enough. Puppy dog eyes got to the best of us at times. Stormy's puppy dog eyes spent most of their time getting to me as I gave in to however many cuddles and scratches he wanted.

"Dean's just shocked that I'm not twenty five," pausing to add my chopped carrots to the pot, "One hundred and eighteen tomorrow, Sammy." I smiled at the mild shock on Sam's face before he nodded and resumed reading the book he was carrying.

Seeing the opportunity almost immediately, Dean declared the need for a bar trip the next evening; neither Sam nor I protested, our enthusiasm for the trip was simply less than that of the aforementioned burger lover. The prospect of a night out kept him happy for the rest of the night as Sam and I researched in peace and Stormy curled up at my feet.

By the time I was getting into bed I was somewhat surprised that no one had come to retrieve Stormy. Though my unanswered questions didn't stay in my mind long as I let the giant puppy curl up on the bed next to me. Upon my waking the next morning, there was no sign of him except a letter on the covers of the bed.

Happy birthday, pet

Something about the king of hell referring to me as pet had my insides doing somersaults as I got out of bed. If I hadn't been so naive, I would have said the ruler of the fiery pits below was flirting. But I was a creature of naivety and instead assumed he was merely trying to punish me for regularly taking his hellhound. So, for the rest of the daylight hours, I pushed Crowley from my mind and continued with my day with little thought of his teasing.

***

It wasn't until the boys and I were sitting in a bar, drinking and eating in celebration that I had to even consider the existence of the world below. We- Sam and I- had decided to make it an occasion for fancy dress, more so I could allow my wings to be visible, than to annoy Dean. Although, the irritation was enough of an amusement. The three of us sat, dressed as a fairy, a literature character I hadn't heard of, and a cowboy.

Sam was repeatedly interested in the physics surrounding my wings, though I had failed to explain it multiple times. I'd resorted to making the translucent and shimmering wings change colour whenever he asked, which in turn had caused Dean to ask for his own amusement. His appendage related entertainment continued until, through the window, I could see a fluffy, hyperactive hellhound with his tongue out and ruby eyes on me.

"Excuse me, Stormy is outside." in slight fear that, if I didn't take myself outside, the excitable canine would find a way in, I slipped through the entrance and into the cold night air. The puppy jumped at me immediately, almost knocking me over as I stumbled back. I led him round a corner so as to not confuse any humans at the existence of an invisible giant puppy.

Once away from the people I crouched down to ruffle his fur, retrieving the collar from my pocket and placing around the puppy's neck.

"What are you doing to my hellhound, darling?" the deep voice made me spin around instantly, staring at him before I could reply.

"Nice of you to make an appearance. Am I suddenly important enough to visit?" I didn't look at him too long, knowing I wouldn't be able to look away if I did.

"You avoided my question, butterfly." my eyebrows raised at the new nickname, not that I had any objection to it. My heart had anything but an issue with it as it hammered against my chest.

"He needed a collar." I cooed at the puppy as he rolled around on the ground, using magic to pet him as I stood up to face the king of hell.

"So does the little girl faery." if looks could kill, Crowley would have been dead all over again. Not that I didn't appreciate how his voice had my insides burning and my face blushing like a school child.

"Less of the little girl, I'm older than the queen." my voice was meant to sound more sassy and carefree than it did which seemed to only make him smirk more. My wings began to flap gently as a sign of my nervousness.

"Oh yes," he paused to click his fingers, a black bag appearing in his hand, "Your birthday."

"What about it?" somewhere in my head, the wires for feisty comebacks and submissive questions had clearly become crossed. If he'd told me to kneel for him, I'm not convinced I would have even bothered to resist. Not that he needed to know that.

"I got you something, pet." he stepped towards me, "Maybe it'll persuade you to like an old man."

"What sort of persuasion do you have in mind?" I wasn't sure I needed any persuasion from him; even if I didn't find my mate, the king of hell was a more than worthy substitute.

"You'll see." he held out the small velvet bag to me and I examined it.

"What is it?" I asked, hesitant to take anything from a demon, even if the demon was the most attractive man this side of my dreams. Upon reflection, even inside my dreams Crowley was the most attractive person that ever made an appearance.

When a faery finds their mate, the person they're destined to be with forever, their wings glow and burn like a thousand suns. When I'd left my dimension, I'd accepted the chances of me finding my mate were as likely as the king of hell kissing me. Though one now seemed far more likely than the other.

"A surprise." Crowley's voice was growing more gruff and irritated the longer I stalled taking it from him, "Come on, pet, I won't bite."

"Is that a promise?" I leaned towards him, suppressing a giggle, "I like a man who bites."

That was when I made the mistake, I touched his hand while removing the bag from it. Everything was normal and then my wings surrounded us in dazzling light. Crowley stepped back in shock, Stormy whined and hid behind his master and I, out of fear of what it meant, transported myself immediately back to my cottage.

(Part Three here)

[lieskeepyoualive]

Hell Puppy Crowley X faery!OC

Summary: The Winchester’s friend, a faery from another dimension, can apparently see hell hounds. One particular pup becomes rather attached to her and the King of Hell follows his lead.

Warnings: none apply

Word count: 1200

Hell Puppy Part One

There's not much to do in a log cabin in a clearing in the middle of the woods other than read and take long, ambling walks. Not that I'm complaining, there was a reason I was living there to begin with. The woods seemed, originally, like a therapeutic getaway but had slowly turned into a comforting place to be whenever the stresses of life got to me. The Winchesters needing research was exactly the sort of thing that could send me into the woods for a week.

Halfway through the week my anxieties had slowly melted away and all was well in the world. The bathroom was filled with the scent of rose and champagne bubble bath, something Dean had greatly judged me for buying, but I enjoyed it. A wine glass of lemonade sat on the edge of the bath and bubbles surrounded me. I was reading a novel by candlelight and felt as relaxed as I thought physically possible.

Then there was a knock at the door. Then there was a crash. Then a scuffling of large feet. And then there was a hell hound in my bathroom doorway.

Besides the initial surprise, the sudden visitor was grossly unwelcome on my 'me time' and was growling at me like I'd greatly offended its owner. Granted, my sarcasm had offended so many, it was highly possible I had.

I smiled softly at it, "Hello." Slowly, cautiously, as not to startle him, I rose from my bath and stepped out. Wrapping an immensely fluffy towel around myself I approached him, "You okay there, bud?"

He snarled at me, a threat that merely made me stop in my tracks, not retreating but rather outstretching my hand. The hound looked slightly confused before he sniffed the hand, eventually nuzzling it. I smiled and scratched behind his ears.

"What're you doing here, hm?" leaving the bathroom and walking downstairs in my towel, I ensured he was following, "Are you hungry?"

While he couldn't answer, I decided giving him chicken couldn't hurt and so retrieved some from my fridge. After placing it in a dish on the floor I nodded to him and sat at the table as he ate, drinking the remnants of my lemonade. The growling seemed to have been the result of hunger; after he'd eaten he approached me, nuzzling my hand before curling up to sleep by the fire.

I considered returning to my bath but thought better of it and instead took a pair of cotton shorts and a strap top from the radiator and replaced my towel with them. After adding a pair of fluffy socks to my questionable ensemble and placing more chicken in the dish, I settled down underneath a blanket to keep an eye on the dog. Within an hour, I'd finished the novel, within two I was fast asleep.

Within six I was woken up by a hell hound licking my face. I stood up, giggling at him as he continued to lick me. I didn't bother to consider or question what I was meant to do with a hell hound, particularly an overly affectionate one with an apparent love for chicken. I didn't bother to consider who might own the hell hound either, although maybe I should have. Nor did I think about why a hell hound might have found me.

No question other than "where did I put that other chicken?" entered my mind as I searched through the fridge I'd magically extended when I'd first come to the cabin. In exasperation, I summoned the chicken. After catching it, I turned to the hell hound with a triumphant smile, placing his meal in the dish.

After we'd both had our breakfasts, I made my way outside to tend to my flowers. I didn't bother to get dressed, I wasn't expecting anyone to see me, other than the oddly affectionate hell hound. The two of us set about watering the flowers; at least I did the watering, a squirrel distracted the large puppy on more than one occasion.

By the early afternoon, I was laying in the grass, charming an illusion of a squirrel to run around to entertain the hell hound. The warm sun was comforting and welcome as I sipped my coffee, watching his excitement. Sometimes he'd come over to nuzzle my palm or lick my face but he mostly let me be while I read my next novel. Eventually, he tired and curled up by my feet, contented and quickly asleep.

Some while later I was startled by a cough behind me and I spun around to be met with a face that wasn't canine. I yelped, less out of surprise and more out of shock at the sight of quite such an attractive demon. I looked back to the dog at my feet in an attempt to hide my blush.

"Is he yours?" glancing back up at the man, if I could call him a man, I desperately tried to look anywhere but directly at him.

"Yes, that's mine." I didn't expect his voice to be so gruff and deep and it made my insides twist, "He's meant to have eaten you."

"Wow," I raised an eyebrow at him, "You really know how to make a girl feel special."

"What are you doing with my hound, darling?" avoiding the gaze of the slightly intimidating demon, I allowed my eyes to skim over him. His dark suit looked classy, attractive, mysterious and the kind of suit a man wears on a date when he knows where it's heading. That would be assuming the way it's heading involves ropes and cuffs though. Not that those thoughts filled my head as I looked at him, silently approving of his beard.

There's something awfully personal about the king of hell himself coming upstairs from the burning embers just to enquire what you're doing with his hell hound. Not that petting them was an answer really worth the trip.

"You didn't sell your soul, darling?" he was somehow charming and somewhat sexual as he said it, hands in his pockets causing his jacket to move away from his body, not that I was complaining.

"You tend to remember selling your own soul." I paused, stroking the puppy at my feet briefly, "Actually, you tend to remember selling any soul, yours or not." I scratched behind his ears, earning a satisfied growl and whine when I stopped.

He didn't say anything for a moment, merely stepped towards where I was sat in amongst the moss. Crouching, as if talking to a child he whispered, like it was only for me to hear, "How are you stroking my hell hound?"

"Wasn't aware the king of hell was so possessive." I leaned towards him and smiled, biting my lip and ensuring he caught me. Then I lay back on the ground and rubbed the hell hound's back.

"Not if something isn't worth being possessive over." he held my gaze when I looked back at him, I felt my heart flutter as he uttered his next words. His voice was gravelly, making a certain tingling sensation hit me in my stomach and I realised the king of hell was about to become a regular visitor to my cabin, "Are you worth being possessive over, darling?"

(Part Two here)

[lieskeepyoualive]

Supernatural Masterlist

By character, in alphabetical order (by first name).

Bobby Singer

Six Months To Go -  Bobby Singer’s much younger wife is pregnant but Bobby has said he doesn’t want children. It ends in fluff, I promise. 1.4K words and  age gap between Bobby and OC and talk about pregnancy.

Castiel

Calm Down -  a crying baby leads to a worrying angel and a late night confession, sort of. 1K words and no warnings apply.

Crowley

Hell Puppy -  The Winchester’s friend, a faery from another dimension, can apparently see hell hounds. One particular pup becomes rather attached to her and the King of Hell follows his lead.

Part One 1.2K words and no warnings apply

Part Two 1.6K words and age gaps between immortals and innuendos

Part Three 1K words and mentions of collaring

Dean Winchester

Kiss It Better -  OC gets hurt on a hunt and black outs, fluff and a light suggestion of later smut. 1.5K words and blood and injury - central to the plot but not majorly gory.

Drunken Stupor -  Dean ends up drunk and injured at the roadhouse and the reader helps him. 800 words and spoilers up to season 5 within the first line, as well as some swearing towards the end.

Fluffy Baby -  Dean is left in the bunker with a shapeshifter baby and flirts like hell when the baby’s mother returns. 700 words and no warnings apply.

Destiel

Allergies - Castiel thinks he’s allergic to Dean... Turns out he’s not. 700 words and almost completely sfw, reference to the pizza man porn in Episode 10 Season 6 "Caged Heart".

Gabriel

The Maze -  Gabriel makes a new mind game and offers cinnamon rolls. 200 words and no warnings apply.

Sam Winchester

Mac n Cheese -  Sam is left alone with Mattie, the OC’s son, before a fluffy love confession. Short but sweet and homely. 800 words and no warnings apply.

[lieskeepyoualive]

Drunken Stupor Dean Winchester X reader

Summary: Dean ends up drunk and injured at the roadhouse and the reader helps him.

Warnings: spoilers up to season 5 within the first line, as well as some swearing towards the end.

Word count: 800

Drunken Stupor

After the fire, after their deaths, I rebuilt the roadhouse Ellen had nurtured me in. The place that always had a hot meal and a bed for me when I needed it; the place that held my family. I didn't dwell on what had happened, swimming in sadness never helped me. The pain they'd left behind wasn't as strong as the memories I held.

The roadhouse is different now. The inside is always lit, electric candles and lights chasing away the shadows that threaten us. The regulars slowly returned to the bar stools and worn down tabletops, chugging poison as if it was their last night on Earth. Sometimes, it is their last night on Earth and I never see the hunter again then a few months later I hear about it on the grapevine.

Once only customers, drunks and those who need to forget are the people I serve. Hunters passing through and those in search for information often find their way to me. Then some get stuck in the devil's trap on the floor, others don't. Gunshot wounds, stabbings and bites frequently appear in my doorway. But in this bar we don't use old rags and whiskey to clean wounds, I use clean dressings and antiseptic - this is to be a safe place.

Fights aren't tolerated unless they're necessary, not that they usually are. I've kicked more people from the building than I'd care to mention. Dean Winchester was amongst the ones I had had to boot out tonight, not that I hadn't done it before. Not that I thought I'd never have to do it again.

I'm used to the stragglers at the end of the night, the ones who want another shot before they go- often one I refuse to give them for their safety. Tonight, there were no stragglers, the bar was empty as I cleaned - rock music playing over the sound of chairs scraping against the floorboards. The room smelt of citrus cleaning products and spilled beer, the smells that had come to mean home. All was well.

Then the door crashed open, swinging on its hinges.

In the darkened doorway stood the imposing figure of Dean Winchester. Not talking, only coughing to grab my attention. He didn't move either, not until I'd met his eyes; then he began his journey towards me, a slight sway to his path.

"Haven't I already kicked you out tonight, Dean?" I barely looked up at him before I returned to my wiping of tabletops.

"Yeah but-"

"No. Out." I stood up to my full height and made my way towards him, placing my hand on his arm to turn him around.

"Alright, alright." he turned, his hands up in surrender. Dean went once again through the doorway when I noticed the crimson blood on my hands.

"What happened?" my gaze lifted to the man who was now looking over me as my fingers traced the edges of where a chunk of him arm had been ripped out. His flannel was torn, blood staining the fraying edges.

"Werewolf," he muttered through gritted teeth, "Came here. Didn't want to worry Sammy." That's when Dean Winchester had fainted on the floor of my bar.

My heart stopped as I looked at him, pale and bleeding.

***

I'd somehow heaved him to my bed, patching him quickly. Then I had resigned myself to sit by his bedside until he awoke. I'd called Sam, telling him to rest while I watched over his brother. My watching had soon turned to reading and I was soon curled up in my armchair, a blanket over me as the fire crackled. I had been happily transported away from the man in my room and into the world of Northanger Abbey.

"Is that a book?" the groaning that accompanied the gruff voice made me look up.

"Surprised you recognise one." the sarcasm had him rolling his eyes as he sat up.

"No need to be so harsh, sunshine." a wink was sent my way that resulted in the harshest of glares being thrown in his direction, "You can join me in your own bed."

"You're a dick." I mumbled as I stood, going to check the dressing on his shoulder without so much as a glance at him, "You needed stitches."

"Could have done them myself."

"Ah yes, because people who've passed out from blood loss and intoxication are known for tying brilliant sutures."

"Someone's feeling feisty."

"Do you want me to knock you out again, Winchester?" I replaced his dressing and looked at him, "You scared me."

Dean's face suddenly held a cheeky grin, which I did not appreciate in the slightest. Clearly ecstatic for an unknown reason, he pulled me down on top of him, kissing me quickly, "So you do care."

"Fuck off." That only made him grin.

[lieskeepyoualive]

Kiss It Better Dean Winchester X female!OC

Summary: OC gets hurt on a hunt and black outs, fluff and a light suggestion of later smut.

Warnings: blood and injury - central to the plot but not majorly gory

Word count: 1500

Kiss It Better

Somewhere in the midst of killing a wendigo, I'd gained another gash across my stomach. It hadn't bothered me at first, I wasn't completely sure how it had happened or where all the blood had come from but now I could see. My blood soaked flannel shirt was still on, as were my ripped leggings as I slowly manoeuvred my body to lie down on the bed. Groans and small cries fell from my lips as my head hit the pillow and I allowed my hand to find its way to the slash.

The tips of my fingers found the warm liquid first before finding the edge of the wound. It was tender but no so tender that it needed expert attention, my own stitches would suffice, depending on its depth. In my mission to check the extent of the damage, my finger slipped into the wound and a scream of pain left me before I could silence myself; then more blood began to flow.

In an attempt at silent frustration, I pulled my flannel off, using it to stop the increasingly heavy flow as I got to my feet with as much energy as was left in me. Then, with a slight hobble, I made my way through the dingy motel room to the once white, now yellowing, bathroom. The flicking bulb did little to calm my rising anxiety as I removed what was left of my leggings with one hand, the other clutching the now blood soaked shirt. It was beginning to stick to me and I could feel myself becoming evermore faint as the clock by the bed counted every second with an agonising sense of doom.

My pained whines where buried under the beats of the heart lodged in my throat and the sudden thudding noises from the room next door like the moving of furniture. Shouts followed the thuds and I slowly sank to the floor, unable to fully understand any of the words. My need to regain full consciousness became increasingly important as I realised I now sat in a nothing but my underwear, blood covering me as the two brothers fought next door.

Shaking and with limited movement, I managed to pull myself to my feet, predominantly using the sink and the adjacent wall. The noises of my discomfort were no longer registering with me as I made my way towards the shower, twisting the dial to shoot water into the tray as I struggled to remove my remaining pieces of clothing. I never got as far as the shower. A loud crash as my door was kicked through startled me and I fell back.

When I woke up, Sam let me know it was Dean who'd decided to breakdown my door; he'd also, according to his little brother, washed me and stitched my wound before he'd brought me back to their room. And that was where I had awoken, tucked into Dean Winchester's bed, wearing Dean Winchester's clothes with Dean Winchester's smell enveloping me and Dean Winchester's shoddy stitches holding my abdomen together. Yet there was no Dean Winchester, only his little brother and John's journal left on the floor between the two beds.

At first I'd tried to turn onto my side to talk to Sam but had eventually given in to simply lying on my back during our conversation in light of the new evidence of the extreme pain the wound could cause. We must have talked for hours before Dean even made an appearance in true Dean style, at the worst possible moment and surprisingly sober for a man returning in the early hours of the morning.

"I'm not saying I want him to rip his heart out and confess his love for me," I begun to say to Sam before pausing, trying to find the right words for what I was feeling, "I'm just saying I wouldn't object to him ripping his clothes off and showing me more attention than a once over if I ever get a paper-cut." Sam, although mildly disgusted had snorted at that.

"In his defence, you rarely get something as simple as a paper-cut, therefore I don-" the rest of Sam's thought is lost to time as that was the moment Dean Winchester decided to open the door and to stare at the two of us.

Dean looked at us both and nodded towards us in greeting, entering the room carrying a paper bag, "What'd I miss?" I stared at Sam, possibly as a dare to tell his brother what we had been discussing, definitely as a threat. Sam met my eyes and smiled reassuringly before the next few words left Dean's mouth, "I picked up your room key, Sammy"

"We were mainly talking about you." he gave me a knowing look as he said it and then he stood, exiting the room after taking the key from Dean's palm.

Dean had barely locked the door, his fingers still on the spherical handle, when he turned to me. His eyes seemed softer when it was only us, it wasn't the same softness he had with Sammy. I always assumed it was because I was the youngest of the three of us, and as we didn't see each other as often, I'd always assumed the brotherly affection had to be squashed into our brief meetings on hunts before we parted ways. His lips didn't match the softness I had seen. A smirk sat where I'd expected to see a fond smile.

"Talking about me, huh?" his amusement was clearly fuelled by my embarrassment as I rolled my eyes. If I'd been smart and collected, I would have ignored him, or at least would have stilled the rapid beating of my heart.

His eyes changed, not drastically, just a little. Dean Winchester's eyes no longer looked like the pair I was used to seeing, they held another emotion now. A part of me wanted it to be love, and not the platonic kind, the kind I needed from him; another part wanted to see the lust I'd been doomed to feel before; another part of me hoped it was exhaustion in a hopes to avoid whatever he was about to do.

I couldn't bring myself to reply to him and merely nodded, closing my eyes and letting my head fall back onto the pillow with minimal enthusiasm.

"Almost like you don't love me like a brother," he paused, "Those are the words you used last time we met, when we were in the Impala."

"You were drunk" I glared at him a little, realising he'd overheard the end to my conversation with Sam.

"Not drunk enough to forget that pain." Dean watched me as he took another step towards me, as if he thought I'd up and run. I kept my eyes on him too, scared he might move suddenly and cause too much surprise for my already erratic heart.

"I said I love you like a brother when you kissed me, it's hardly a deadly sin." I look away from him as I struggled to sit up on the bed, groaning as the movement made my stitches pull, "You were too intoxicated to even realise you were confessing anything."

Dean completed his journey across the room to me and sat on the edge of the bed with more consideration than I would usually associate with the impulsive man. He looked at me briefly but seemed to decide against words and took my hand into his instead, "I was sober enough to mean what I said."

"Clearly." there was more spite behind my words than intended. Though the spite was mainly directed at myself, a small part was directed at Dean, "Would it have killed you to mention this sooner?"

"I might have been told I'm a brother to you again. You hide the part of you with affection past friend." he paused again, but this pause wasn't considering. This pause seemed like a warning for what was to come as the smirk made its reappearance on his lips, "Saw all of you earlier though. I like your tattoo by the way."

"Shut up."

"Very classy," he continued, "I thin-"

"Kiss me or fuck off." that was the sentence that got his attention and his eyes flicked up to mine with a new glint. It was then that I saw something never before seen, Dean Winchester stumbled over what to do and barely regained his confidence.

"Need me to kiss it better, sweetheart?" the smirk grew as he leaned towards my stomach, pealing back the covers of the bed agonisingly slowly.

I don't know what I expected him to do, maybe a lewd comment or something sexual. I didn't expect him to push the shirt I was wearing away from my stomach and kiss it. My breath hitched.

It wasn't that it was sexual, no; it was sensual, intimate but also innocent, loving, with more care than I could have imagined. His lips were shockingly soft against my tender wound. Their warmth was comforting rather than painful and I felt safe. Whispered I love yous and previously unsaid affections surrounded us.

At some point Dean began to trail his lips and soft kisses towards my neck, lingering briefly at my collar bone. My breathing was shallow and waiting as he finally placed his lips on mine.