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welldonebeca · 1 year ago

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Housewife Halloween (II)

Summary: Sam hates Halloween. When he catches his girlfriend dressed up and playing as his wife, he realises the day might not be so bad, after all. Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female!Reader WC: 1.3k words Warnings: Stanford times. Fluff. Wife kink. Roleplay. Dirty talking. Orgasm control/Delay/Denial. Vaginal sex. Clothed sex.

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The living room wasn't far, but it was enough for Sam to pretend this was the big home you were meant to have, with the comfortable couch and big master room he would make sure to christen by fucking you on every single surface.

He could hear you organising everything, sounding as eager as you always did whenever he dangled something in your direction.

So when you walked into the room, he knew you were trying not to run in his direction.

"Come here," he patted his thigh. "Take a seat."

You strode to him happily, sitting on his thigh, and he could feel the many layers of your skirt patting the spot over your skin.

"You look so pretty," he took a hand up to your shoulder, caressing the side of the sleeve of your dress. "You put so much effort into your outfit, baby."

Your cheeks flushed under his eyes.

"I just wanted to look nice for you," you mumbled.

Sam smiled and caressed your hair.

"Thank you so much, princess," Sam spoke gently. "You are always such a good wife for me, always making me so happy."

He took his lips to your leg, kissing it again as he pushed a hand between your thighs, caressing them and taking his other hands to your breasts.

"Sam," you whined, squirming on his lap. "My kiss..."

He squeezed your thigh.

"Your kiss?" he teased, sucking on the sweet spot on your neck. "But I'm already kissing you."

Sam smirked and moved up again, your noses bumping against each other on the way.

"You gonna keep being a good wife for me?" he asked softly. "Uh?"

You nodded, breathless, reaching for him, but Sam pulled back the littlest bit, just so that you wouldn’t.

"You're gonna keep cooking for me? Have everything ready for me?" he continued. "Gonna keep that pussy waiting for me, just for me? My mouth, my fingers, my cock..."

You whimpered, arching your back and pushing your chest against the hand he still had fondling them.

"I'm yours, Sam," you whined. "I'm your wife."

Finally - fucking finally - Sam covered your lips with his, practically devouring you with his kiss, tongue invading your mouth as you moaned and hand pushing further into your skirt, squeezing your thigh.

You were his wife. All his.

"My pretty little wife," he bit your lip. "Are you wet for me, baby? Is your pussy wet for your husband?"

You panted, but he didn't wait for an answer, pushing your panties to the side and dipping a finger into your folds.

"Of course it is," he whispered against your lips, rubbing your clit slowly and very gently. "Always so, so ready for me."

Sam smirked and raised his eyebrows when you suddenly closed it, trying to soften and muffle your sounds.

"No, no, baby," he pinched your clit, making you jump. "I want to hear everything."

You whined, squirming on top of him.

"Can't," you bit your lower lip, eyes opening to watch his face. "Don't want the kids to hear, can't wake them up."

His voice was still tense, and he had to hold himself back.

The thought of you fat and pregnant, round with his baby, tits full and leaking milk to feed his children... fucking hell.

Sam picked you up, throwing you on the couch by his side and standing on his feet, undoing his belt.

"I'll shut you up with my cock, then," he pushed his pants down, pulling his dick out and watching as your pretty eyes grew big, full of desire.

"Open up," he commanded, voice only a little bit over a whisper.

Your lips parted slowly, and your tongue darted out when his cock approached them, licking this head and making Sam exhale loudly.

"Such a pretty mouth," he whispered, tracing your lips with his dick. "Made right to suck my cock. Maybe then you won't wake the kids with your slutty sounds, uh?"

You nodded, and he watched as you rubbed your thighs together.

"What's wrong, baby?" he teased. "Your pussy's empty?"

You nodded, eyes big and pleading.

"I've filled it too many times, princess," he teased, dipping his cock into your lips.

Before you closed your lips around it, he pulled away.

You pouted, and he chuckled, tapping your lower lip with it.

"You want my cock, princess?" he teased, upping in his condescending tone.

Your cheeks flushed, and you squirmed more.

"Don't make me beg again, daddy," you whined.

Sam shook his head, scoffing.

"Awn, I got such a needy little wife," he tapped on your lips again with his cock. "That attitude won't get you any cock, baby."

He pushed his cock into your lips again and pulled away, too entertained with your desperation. It was truly adorable to see you reaching and chasing for him, trying to get him into your mouth.

You whined loudly, staring with pleading puppy eyes, and he scoffed.

He was surprised, though, when your eyes drifted closed, and you sucked in a shallow breath.

Sam's gaze darted down, and his lips curled in a growl when he saw your hand moving slowly under your dress, playing with your pussy.

He reached down for your hands and pinning them behind your head, earning a defiant look for you, and held your face with his fingers.

"Such a brat," he growled. "Alright, princess. If you don't want to say it, I'll make you."

Sam could see your lips curling in a smile before he pushed his cock into them, fucking your throat and groaning when he felt you moaning around him, sucking him and swallowing down around him.

He fucked your mouth until you were drooling and he was dripping from your saliva, pulling away before he let himself too far.

"As up," he grunted and sat down back onto his seat. "Over my lap."

You complied with a little giggle, lying over his thighs, raising your ass when he flipped your skirt up, exposing your ass in some cute panties that barely covered your ass.

"You want to be spanked, then?" he grabbed your hair, pulling it to make you look at him. "That's why you're being such a brat?"

"I'm your little wife," you giggled, shaking your ass. "I'm a good wife."

Sam scoffed, moving a hand down to your ass, slapping your flesh several times and licking his lips as you arched up to get more of his touch, pretty hands squeezing the fabric of his pants.

He slapped you until your ass was red, and your panties were visibly damp, and ripped your panties, ready to finger your pussy, when his eyes caught sight of something shiny just above it.

A butt plug, with a pretty pink gem on the end.

"I'm a good wife," you raised your ass, exposing yourself more to his eyes.

Sam growled, taking his hand down to it and pushing the toy a little more into your eyes, hearing a soft moan from you.

"Such a good wife," he grunted.

He pulled it back a little and then forth, fucking you with it and watching as you panted, moaning, squeezing his pant legs.

"Did you plan to surprise daddy at your pretty party, baby?" he cooed. "Tease me there by telling me you got your little ass prepared for your husband to fuck?"

You whined, shifting your weight, and Sam spread his legs a little more, letting you readjust yourself to rub your clit on his knee.

"Wanted to give you a gift," you whimpered. "To thank you for coming with me to the party."

Sam watched as you moved against him, precariously rubbing yourself on him as he fucked your ass with the toy.

"But we are not going to the party," he remarked.

You whimpered, and he watched your ass squeezing around the toy, licking his lips at your desperate little sounds and taking the toy back, surprised at its size.

"I'll be too busy fucking my wife's ass all night long to even go there," he pushed it all back in.

Your moans grew louder, any faux fear of waking up the kids lost as you were clearly on the way to an orgasm.

"After all, you were so careful stretching your ass, baby," he continued. "You got such a big plug inside. You really wanted to have my cock in it."

Before you could cum, he pushed you out of the way, lifting you from his knee and slapping your ass.

He watched as you whined and stomped, frustrated, but just kept holding you down.

"Sit on me," he commanded. "Let's use that pussy to wet my cock before I get it in your ass."

You lifted your skirt and Sam held your hips, helping you line up on his cock and moaning when you sat on him, pussy so wet and slicky he just slipped right into place.

"Oh fuck," he grunted.

Your fingers clenched on his thighs as you sunk on him and Sam Sam breathed in and out.

"Seeing you in this dress, God," he moaned. “Just wanted to tear it off of you and fuck you on the floor."

You moaned and Sam squeezes your hip with a hand, steadying you.

"Daddy," you whined.

"The things you do to me," he pulled you closer, and both of your moaned when you sat completely on him, back flush against his chest.

He placed his hand on your chest, keeping you close before taking his fingers to your pussy, playing with your clit.

You fell completely against his chest, moaning as Sam fucked you, holding you as you threw your head back.

"My perfect, slutty, little wife," he sucked on your neck. "That's what you wanted, baby? Your husband's cock fucking you open?"

He knew he was going to mark your whole skin, thankful for the weather going cold. You certainly had a scarf or a turtleneck somewhere, anyway.

"So loud, wife," he pinched your clit.

You yelped, throwing your head back and moving your hips against him, meeting his thrusts.

"Sam," you cried. "Sam, please, please."

Your pussy squeezed around his cock as you panted, growing wetter and wetter, but he just squeezed your clit, merciless.

"No, no," he moaned. "It's husband."

You cried out.

"Please, husband," you begged. "Please, wanna cum."

Sam adjusted himself, fucking you harder. Fuck, he loved to make you messy, get your thighs covered in wetness before even letting you cum, to make you look as dirty as he knew you felt.

"No, baby," he pinched your clit, again. "Not now."

Sam stopped fucking you, holding you close, and stepped your pussy when you tried to fuck back on his cock.

"Daddy," you cried.

"You are gonna cum with my cock in your ass," he bit your earlobe.

…

“Housewife Halloween” was posted on Tumblr on May 2022. To read it fully now (and the prequel, “Plough Pose”), subscribe to my page! It’s just $2 a month and I post 6x a week!

…

Forever Tags: @emoryhemsworth @amythyststorm33 @shaelyn102 @yknott81 @maximofftrash @kgbrenner @thefridgeismybestie @magpiegirl80 @mogaruke @shadowhunter7 @musicalcoffeebean @megasimpleplan4ever @deemoriarty @05spn18 @malindacath @kdcollinsauthor @random-fandom-fangirl2112 @widowsfics @frozenhuntress67 @averyrogers83 @notyourtypicalrose @nerdypinupcrystal @giruvega Supernatural tags: @its-daydreamer23 @imagefanfictionlover @smalltowndivaj @tayrae515imagines @afanofmanystuffs @oneshoeshort @andkatiethings @wakanda-sometimes @akshi8278 @xoxabs88xox @izbelross @isabelle-faith @flamencodiva @lyarr24

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artyandink · 3 months ago

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Let’s Hype People Up

I feel like it’s necessary to do this, I think. Cause I’ve been on multiple platforms and people don’t necessarily get the hyping up that they need. So I’m gonna list what I LOVE about some writers’ work as no pressure tags and see if we can keep it going and hype as many writers as possible. Because let’s be honest, we all need it.

@deanbrainrotwritings - Your characterisation is something I haven’t really seen before, and it’s absolutely brilliant. All of your readers stay true to their personalities and you’ve written some really differing situations and they work. Your writing is so amazing and the description detail is something I aspire to reach. You find ways to shape and write things in a way that really hits home or makes a clear visual and it’s really helpful for people with active imaginations (like me).

@zepskies - How you structure a story and focus on the little, intricate details. You have references and you take inspiration from as many places as possible and that’s what shapes your stories so well. This applies to everyone - you know how the characters you’re writing for act to the T and it’s crazy good. Your storylines are so detailed and well planned and it really shows with how fast you can crank out chapters. You know how you’re supposed to write and you stay true to that style and format.

@dean-winchester-is-a-warrior - The amount of research that you do going into a fic. Where Things Learned and Things Unlearned is concerned, you did an incredible amount of research, cause I’m a history buff and all of what you put in is accurate to the time period. Description, setting, storyline, it’s all so well written. You can adapt your characters to any situation and it amazes me, as well as your ability to change the manner of speaking to the time period but still make it sound like the character itself. I could go on and on, really, and it wouldn’t be enough.

@rizlowwritessortof - Your effect on the reader (in my personal opinion) it’s so subtly written but it’s incredibly powerful. Like it’s the strongest impact by the littlest thing (pressure equation, don’t kill me but it reminds me of it) and reading your work, even some of the smallest mannerisms that you put in there, whether it be in the speech, repeating something or going subtle and then packing a punch at the end- it’s addictive to me. I can’t stop reading it.

Alright, here’s my hyping up done! If you guys want to hype other writers, go ahead and do anyone you want!

Arty 💜

#let’s be nice #arty’s mutuals #arty's rambles

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lizardsfromspace · 8 months ago

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One of the most enduring mythical archetypes is that of the wandering hero: a hero to varying degrees, but always an traveler, always an adventurer, always traveling whether by choice or misfortune. To each culture one is assigned: in ancient times a wayward sailor, such as Odysseus or Sinbad. In modern times the traveler comes in many guises. In Britain, the traveler is the Doctor, the two-hearted alien bearing many faces and a screwdriver, and going about in a blue police box. In Canada, the traveler is the Littlest Hobo, a well-meaning canine who sniffs out danger, but never a home. The same fundamental myth, the same fundamental force of the cosmos, which too wears many faces, many hearts.

In America our incarnation of the immortal traveler is Sam and Dean Winchester and we just have to fucking live with that, I GUESS.

#incredible

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mithrilwren · 2 months ago

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AO3 Fic Meme

Thank you to @thetragicallynerdy for tagging me!! This was a good pick-me-up after being sick in bed the last few days.

Rules: go to your AO3 account and find the following:

What ratings do you write most of your fics under?

Explicit (0), Teen & up (32), Mature (5), Gen (34), Not Rated (3)

(I think every fic I've ever rated Explicit I've since deleted haha, but a few did exist at some point!)

What are your top three fandoms?

Critical Role (35)

Supernatural (15)

Tie between One Piece and Haikyuu!! (3)

What is the top character you write about?

Caleb Widogast (19)

What are your top three pairings?

Caleb Widogast/Essek Thelyss (12)

Caduceus Clay/Fjord (7)

Castiel/Dean Winchester (5)

What are the top three additional tags?

Developing Relationship (19)

Angst (17)

Pining (10)

Does any of this surprise you?

Mostly not! The additional tags definitely make sense, and I don't tend to write a lot of smut nowadays so the ratings definitely track. I think the only thing that really caught me off guard is that the top character I've written about is Caleb, but then I saw my top pairing and suddenly it made more sense haha. Since they weren't my longest fics, I tend to forget how many shadowgast oneshots I wrote!

Tagging @the-littlest-goblin, @saturdaysky, and @okiedoketm if any of you guys feel like doing it, and anyone else who sees this and wants to consider yourself tagged!

#replies

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cuddleswinchester · 1 year ago

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Charles & Honoria, things you said over the phone // OR things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear

Thank you so much for this one!! I went for the phone option :)

Charles is spared five minutes from OR. He sent ahead a wire to ensure Honoria would be home at the intended time. Of course, he didn’t realize he would be operating, but he could have assumed it with the way his luck has been lately. But Potter knows the nature of the call is important, and grants him the break. He needs to ask a favor for his newest, littlest bunkmate, before they resort to surrendering her to the monks.

Charles stares down at his watch, urgently retrieved from the scrub room purely for this task. Two precious minutes and forty-five seconds pass while Klinger tries to patch the call through to Boston on an increasingly long route. He peels off his gloves and throws them in the bin under Potter’s desk. There’s blood on his gown - on the cuff, on the belly - even a bit on his mask, which he has loosened to rest at his chest. He’s trying to trace each drop and each smudge back to their respective patients but it’s all kind of a blur. Then Klinger jolts up in his chair.

“Is this Miss Honoria Winchester?” Klinger asks, and tosses his hands up, ecstatic. He must’ve gotten a ‘yes.’

Panicking, Charles snatches the phone from his hand, nods in place of thanking him… Klinger whispers ‘good luck’ anyway.

“Hello, Honoria,” he sounds like a songbird. “I’m pleased to hear your voice.”

Klinger stays by the door. It’s a rare treat to hear the Major like this.

“Regrettably, I don’t have much time,” Charles goes on. “Yes. Yes, all of the details in the telegram… that is all we know about her. Yes. My name in every relevant field. Never mind my rep— Precisely... Oh, clever, I adore you. I knew one of our fraternities would come through. Well, in my case, I’m the most fortunate brother in the world.”

Klinger wants to ask exactly what web they’re weaving, but time is precious. He leans in, trying to overhear the other half of the conversation, but the connection must be poor, choppy.

“Airfare is no concern,” she says. “Th-th- thank you for… informing m-me of her.”

Charles thinks of the little girl, abandoned by her mother, without a roof over her head. Between their church and the rotary club and the debs’ charitable work, the paperwork should not be a problem. Is there room in all of that for love?

“Yes, I… I was compelled to, I’m sure you understand.”

“I do.”

“I have to go. Goodbye, and thank you.”

He hangs up on the five minute mark exactly, and looks up at Klinger.

“I told you, I would do anything for that little girl,” Charles says, and that is the end of his explanation.

#sometimes I just think yessir that’s our baby needs a happier ending #Beej-machinations #mash #Charles adopts that baby and she is flown safely to Honoria #my writing

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luna-writes-stuff · 2 years ago

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Day 15: Cornelia Street, Sam Winchester

Song link

Fanfic, fem!reader

Follows pilot episode, fluff, slight angst

Word count: 4177

Tw: mentions of alcohol/being drunk, slight pilot divergence. Azazel is a little bitch. Mention/description of violence and blood, but nothing too severe. Stanford!Sam my darling <3

Summary: In which you buy your first house with Sam. However, domestic bliss seems to fade quickly when his brother shows up in your home one night, ranting about their father missing.

s1 sam has my heart pls bring him back

“We were in the backseat Drunk on something stronger than the drinks in the bar.”

The best feeling after a long night of partying and drinking, was the drunken serenity that was the backseat of a cab. All noise of the night simply faded away. It was peaceful; quiet. Something so beautiful about it.

Beside you, Sam was giggling to himself, clinging to your hand constantly. He hadn’t heard you utter an address to the cab driver, nor had he picked up on your tiny grin. He was lost in his own world. You smiled at him, holding his hand up and placing a kiss on it to draw his attention. A happy grin was thrown your way as Sam shuffled on the backseat, seating himself closer to you as he rested his head on your shoulder.

“‘M proud of you, baby.” You whispered, referring to his earlier test results, and his talk with a law firm.

Sam mumbled something under his breath. Something that you could decipher as “You’re beautiful.” Yes, he was completely gone. You knew that fourth drink hadn’t been a smart decision for him.

Houses flew past you as the car moved through streets and roads, the lights of street lanterns illuminating your face occasionally. Sam’s eyes stared out the window, silent realization dawning upon him.

“This isn’t the way home.”

“"I rent a place on Cornelia Street" I say casually in the car.”

You smiled at him, stroking his hair gently. You grabbed a key from your jacket's pocket, placing it on his lap slowly. In his drunken state, he was still able to pick up on the gesture. Toying with the key, his fingers fell over the keychain.

“I bought a place for us,” You spoke up. “We have been talking about it for ages, and we won’t get anywhere with our tacky apartment.”

It was true; You and Sam had been living together for a couple of months now, but everything in your apartment seemed to degrade with time. First, it was the lights, then it was the heating, and now you kept receiving brown water. You both knew buying a new place would be cheaper than fixing your current one.

A look of disbelief crossed over Sam’s features as he stared at you. His eyebrows furrowed together, his eyes squinted, his hair unkempt, a sliver of a smile on his lips. Despite the awful smell of alcohol on his breath, he looked adorable.

“What?” He mustered out.

“It was supposed to be a gift for tonight, but I kind of forgot after all the drinking.” You explained, grinning sheepishly. “Suprise…”

“We were a fresh page on the desk Filling in the blanks as we go As if the street lights pointed in an arrowhead Leading us home.”

After that, the house became a home soon enough. Before the first month was even over, the entirety of the living room and kitchen had been decorated. Even your bedroom has been done. Little boxes were still stacked in the hall, but none that were terribly in the way.

Sam had been clingier than you were used to. Ever since the move, he had been following you around like a lost puppy, helping you with the littlest things, such as giving the toothbrushes a place. The first week the only breakfast you had was in bed, and nearly every night, a warm bathtub was ready for you.

Sam had insisted on paying back half of the home, but you refused, claiming it had been a gift for him. Perhaps that had been why he was following you around constantly. It was his way of returning the favor.

The place was in a calm neighborhood, granting Sam the peace he needed to study. Sunny days were spent in the garden. During the rainy hours, you were snuggled up on the couch together. His nose in a book as your head lay in his lap, aimlessly zapping through tv stations.

It was something so domestic, you hadn’t expected to share it with Sam that soon. But you were glad you did.

“And I hope I never lose you, hope it never ends I'd never walk Cornelia Street again That's the kind of heartbreak time could never mend I'd never walk Cornelia Street again.”

But the honeymoon avenue faded quickly. Too quick for your liking.

You had lain in bed peacefully, your back against Sam’s chest as he clung to your waist. His hands occasionally tugged on your stomach as he dreamt, his head in the crook of your neck. His breath tickling your neck could lull you to sleep at any time. But something was wrong this time. You knew it.

A loud thump was heard from downstairs. Your initial thought was that one of the boxes had fallen over. They tended to do that often. But when a silent sling of curses followed it, you were positive someone was downstairs.

Immediately turning in Sam’s arm, you whispered his name urgently. But he remained asleep.

“Sam,” You repeated, now poking his cheek. That seemed to wake him up.

“Mmh?” Came his groggy response. You had almost felt guilty for waking him. But when another thud echoed through the house, anxiety settled back in. Sam heard it too.

From his nightstand, he grabbed a gun. How that had gotten there, you would have to ask him later. Now, you were simply grateful he had it. Standing up swiftly, Sam neared the door, his footsteps near silent. You immediately followed him.

“And baby, I get mystified by how this city screams your name And baby, I'm so terrified of if you ever walk away I'd never walk Cornelia Street again.”

“Fucking boxes everywhere,” Another curse came as the door opened. Sam held his hand out to you, pushing you back slightly, keeping you out of sight from the hall. Your phone clung in your hand, ready to call 911 would the situation arise.

Sam got the gun off of safety, aiming it slowly as he stepped forward. Anxiously, you patted behind him, keeping your footsteps as silent as possible. As your boyfriend turned the corner, something jumped him. The gun fell out of his hold, a panicked shriek escaping your mouth almost instantly.

Idiotically enough, your first thought was not to call. It was to grab the vase next to you and knock it against the attacker. As the pair struggled on the floor, you raised the object, before colliding it with the back of the attacker’s head. It didn’t break as you had hoped, but it seemed to do the trick.

“Get back!” Sam warned, urging you to run into the bathroom. You obeyed him immediately, locking the door behind you. From the window above the door, you could see the light turn on. Silence filled the air, and for a second you were worried something happened to Sam. That is when his voice sounded.

“Dean?”

“I'd never walk Cornelia Street again.”

Now, that was a name you knew. You never met Dean, but you knew it was Sam’s brother. He talked about him often enough.

Slowly unlocking the door, you peeked out, your phone now opened at the emergency number. One click on the button and you could call. But when Sam did not seem to reach for the gun on the floor, you figured you were safe.

“Hey, Sammy.” Came Dean’s voice, his body now rising from the floor, his hand shooting to the back of his head. His eyes met yours, and in response, you walked closer to Sam, the hold on your phone now tight enough to smother it.

“What are you doing here? Why didn’t you knock?”

“I wanted to see if you still had it,” The older Winchester objected, hissing as he withdrew his hands. “Do you have a towel for me?”

You merely pointed towards the bathroom, letting him find it on its own. He seemed to understand you, and wandered to the room you had hidden in only seconds prior.

“How did you even find me? I moved here three weeks ago.”

“I searched Sam Winchester in the phone book after I noticed you weren’t in your old apartment.” He meekly pointed out, grabbing a white towel to hold to his head. If you had known him better, you would have scolded him for not using the black one. But you were still in too much of a shock.

“Windows swung right open, autumn air Jacket 'round my shoulders is yours.”

“That’s your girlfriend?” He mused, pointing to you. Sam squeezed his eyes together at his brother’s statement, and placed himself in front of you slightly.

“What are you doing here?”

Dean’s eyes shifted from yours to Sam’s, sighing deeply. “I think it’d be better to discuss it amongst four eyes.”

You couldn’t have agreed more. You had already taken a step from Sam when he grabbed your arm gently, halting you.

“No,” He rejected. “Whatever you can say to me, you can say to her.”

Dean remained silent for a moment, visibly contemplating his words. But as his eyes fell back on yours, he exhaled, throwing his head back.

“Dad’s on a hunt. And he hasn’t been home in a couple of days.”

No visible sign of distress seemed to wash over Sam’s face, and you were nearly confused. Dean continued to talk as you slowly kneeled to the floor, grabbing the gun that had still been laying there, safety off. Carefully, you clicked it back on, placing it on top of the tiny desk beside you.

The longer they talked, the more desperate Dean became. And the more you knew, you were going to lose Sam.

“We bless the rains on Cornelia Street Memorize the creaks in the floor.”

That same night he had his bag packed. His brother was waiting in the car outside. It had all happened so fast. You weren’t even sure how to respond anymore. Sure, you were concerned for his father, but from what you heard from Sam, he hadn’t been the best guy.

“I will call you when I get into a motel, okay?” Sam spoke softly, wrapping his arms around you as he pulled you into his frame. His head bowed down as he placed a kiss on top of your head.

Your hands found the back of his shirt, tugging on it gently. “Come back Monday?” You whispered into his chest.

“Promise,” He agreed, parting from you slightly, placing his lips against yours in a loving manner.

You kissed him back with equal fervor. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you pulled him closer, your hands finding the ends of his hair, tugging on them lightly. His hands settled on your hips, pulling you flush against him again, his kisses becoming more urgent.

Before you got carried away, you broke from him, showing him a fake, but believable smile.

“I’ll miss you,” You mumbled, grabbing his hands.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

A final kiss was placed on your lips, before he walked out of the door, offering you a final wave. You had stood in that doorway minutes after the car left, secretly hoping Sam would make up his mind.

But he didn’t. He would stay away for the next couple of days.

“Back when we were card sharks, playing games I thought you were leading me on I packed my bags, left Cornelia Street Before you even knew I was gone.”

After the call from the motel, you barely heard anything from him. No text, no note, no letter. It was as if he had completely forgotten you. You had never doubted your relationship with Sam, but he seemed to go with his brother too easily. You hadn’t even met the guy once, and you knew Sam for at least two years now. Perhaps all he needed was that little nudge to his family.

And that wasn’t bad. Not at all. If anything, you had encouraged him to get in contact with his father again. But you figured you could have at least left with them. Or perhaps get more than a wave and a goodbye. But as the minutes turned into hours, insecurities began to bubble up, and the urge to call him every second became unbearable.

You had spent your nights downstairs on the couch, hoping to hear him the second he got back home. He promised to be back by Monday. It was Sunday night, and he had yet to call. He should have been back by now, right?

“But then you called, showed your hand I turned around before I hit the tunnel Sat on the roof, you and I.”

You had skipped school that Monday, staying home in case Sam would show up. Now, worry began to settle in your stomach. Perhaps something had happened? A car crash? Maybe they found his father and the worst-case scenario happened. And you were worrying about him not loving you? Guilt seeped through your veins at that thought.

It was 9 PM. You had yet to eat dinner. You had ordered fries, but they were turning cold on the coffee table in front of you. The news on the tv filled the room, but you weren’t paying attention. Your eyes were on your phone the entire time. Hoping for some kind of light. Anything, at this point.

Outside, you could hear the rumbling of a car slowing down, before coming to a halt in front of your door.

You shot up immediately, wrapping your cardigan around you tighter, before running up to the door. Through the tiny window, you were able to make out his frame. A sudden jump in your heart occurred, and you found yourself inhaling sharply upon the feeling. You had missed him more than you care to admit.

“I hope I never lose you, hope it never ends I'd never walk Cornelia Street again That's the kind of heartbreak time could never mend I'd never walk Cornelia Street again.”

Before he could even find the key in his pocket, the door opened before him. Your hair disheveled, your posture tired. But you smiled immediately upon seeing him.

“Baby,” He sighed relieved, the events of the past couple of days finally fleeting his memory. His bag dropped to the floor as he walked up to you, wrapping two arms around you tightly, squeezing you lovingly.

Your hands fell upon his chest, clinging to the material of his shirt, as you so often did with his hugs. The scent of his cologne had faded significantly, but it was still there. Hidden, but not faded. Upon the realization, you took a step back, taking in his full figure. A cut was sitting on his left eyebrow, and a bruise began to form below it.

“What happened?” You whispered, already reaching up to touch it gently. “Are you okay?”

“I am now,” Sam reassured, reaching down to grab his bag again. “It’s cold.”

Nodding in agreement, you stepped back, giving Sam room to walk. He looked behind him shortly, sending a wave towards his brother, who took off driving.

“And baby, I get mystified by how this city screams your name And baby, I'm so terrified of if you ever walk away I'd never walk Cornelia Street again.”

The pillows and blankets covering the couch were the first things Sam noticed as he walked into the living room. As he walked closer to it, he found your phone sitting on its charger on top of the biggest pillow. It did not take long for him to connect the dots.

“Did you sleep here?”

You stared at the makeshift bed, shaking your head lightly. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?” His figure walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as his head rested on your shoulders. Almost melting in his hold, your hand found his, resting them on your stomach as your head leaned against his.

“It was getting late, but you’d promised to be home today.” You eventually confessed.

“I'd never walk Cornelia Street again.”

His head rose from your shoulder at those words, his eyes glued to the couch. “You were going to sleep on there?”

He turned you around in his arms, staring down at you with sympathy and remorse. “Baby, you knew I’d always come home, right?”

Forming your lips in a thin line, you nodded at him. Of course, you knew he’d come home. You weren’t stupid. Yes, you had held your insecurities and hesitations, but regardless of Sam’s heart and decisions, you knew he’d show up at your doorstep again. But having him leave for three full days after seeing him every day was something you had wished you were more prepared for.

But you were not going to tell him all of that. Instead, you spoke: “I knew you’d let me sleep if I was upstairs.”

A tiny smile appeared on your boyfriend’s face, his eyes crinkling slightly.

“You know me too well.” He mumbled, pressing his lips against yours as his hands slowly raised to the small of your back. You reciprocated the quick kiss, your hands grasping his biceps to remain your balance.

“‘M glad you’re home,” You muttered against his lips, a smile finally growing on your face.

“I love you.”

“You hold my hand on the street Walk me back to that apartment Years ago, we were just inside.”

That was the last peaceful moment you’d remember for a long time. That same night, you had moved your stuff back to the bedroom. Sam had been unpacking his own stuff there, occasionally helping you with the sheets and pillows.

You were standing in the bathroom, brushing your teeth, when you noticed something strange behind you through the mirror. Spitting out the toothpaste, you adjusted your toothbrush in your hand. Everything hurts if you poke someone in the eye. And ever since Dean had shown up, you became paranoid at night, frightened someone might be watching you, standing elsewhere in your house.

As you turned around, you came face to face with an older man, his eyes glowing yellow. Letting out a panicked yelp, you dropped the toothbrush. The thought of stabbing someone was entertaining; not so much the practice of it.

“Sam!” You shouted, already running into the bedroom. Your boyfriend shot up from his place on the floor, grabbing your shoulders to steady you, his eyes staring intently into yours.

“What’s wro-”

“There’s a man in our bathroom!”

Alarms seemed to immediately ring in his head. Before you could even ask him where he had grabbed it from so quickly, Sam drew his gun, pulling the safety off, and standing in front of you.

“Hiya, Sammy.”

“Barefoot in the kitchen Sacred new beginnings That became my religion, listen.”

The man from the bathroom grinned, an eerie ambiance filling the room all of a sudden. “My, have you grown.”

“Get out of my house.” The Winchester warned, his gun still drawn. The man’s smile fell, his face morphing into a sneer, his eyes now set on you. As he had done with Dean, the boy reached behind him, forcing you behind him completely.

“What a beautiful distraction you have there,” The man went on, though no longer friendly. Without a second of hesitation, Sam shot the man in the leg. But he didn’t budge. He didn’t even seem to be bothered by it. He simply chuckled.

“We cannot allow for distractions to happen.”

Suddenly, your feet were lifted off the floor. One last hopeless look was thrown Sam’s way as your body flew through the hall, colliding with the wall harshly before falling down the stairs. A sharp pain climbed up your spine upon the impact.

“I hope I never lose you I'd never walk Cornelia Street again Oh, never again.”

Jolting awake, you reached for the knife under your pillow, holding it up towards the place the man had stood. But he was gone. And the lights weren’t on either. You weren’t in the hall.

Your heart beat rapidly, your breathing labored as something - or someone - stirred beside you. Slowly, you had begun to realize it had been a dream. A nasty memory. The man you now knew to be the demon Azazel. The house you had left the day after that, leaving with Dean and Sam. It was the only safe solution.

Now, you found yourself in your bedroom in the bunker. It was dark, but a slight luminescence fell from under the door; you were able to make out certain shapes.

“Baby?” A tired mumble came from beside you, an arm lazily landing on top of your lap, as if to test if you were still there.

“Sorry,” You muttered, lowering the knife, but still staring around the room in distrust. “Bad dream.”

Subconsciously, your free hand reached toward your lower back, your fingers brushing the faded scar; still visible, but no longer red, as it used to be for months. A sharp pain shot up through your spine, your shoulder blades reaching back to get rid of it.

A second one brushed over yours, reaching the scar. It was bigger, more calloused, but soothing. “Your back?”

You hummed in response, letting Sam grab the knife from your hand and place it on his nightstand. Carefully, he wrapped a second arm around your waist, leaving his hand to reach the back of your head. Then, he lowered you back into bed, rubbing your back soothingly.

“It’s not as bad now,” You tried to justify, but your efforts seemed in vain.

“And baby, I get mystified by how this city screams your name And baby, I'm so terrified of if you ever walk away I'd never walk Cornelia Street again.”

It was a miracle you were still able to walk after the incident, let alone still feel your legs. Psychogenic pains still happened from time to time, but they could only be described as a sore back these days. None as extreme as the pain used to be.

You were grateful for it, but after nights like these, you wished all the pains would just leave permanently.

Sam’s hand resumed to massage your lower back, pushing your shirt up slightly. His other hand rested against your stomach, pulling you closer to him. Sighing in exhaustion, you leaned into his touch, letting your head fall back against his chest.

Looking up slightly, you smiled at him. And even through dimmed lights, Sam could see. That same goofy grin appeared on his face as he leaned down, placing a sweet kiss on your lips.

“I'd never walk Cornelia Street again.”

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart.” He mused, resting his chin on top of your head.

The movements on your back did not cease, and in all honesty; you did not wish for them to stop. They were too soothing for that. Yet, you could not find peace easily. As you closed your eyes, those same haunting yellow eyes flew in front of you.

It was not that you were terrified of Azazel. Perhaps you once had been. The first year you left with the Winchesters. But the more demons you encountered throughout your life, the less frightened you grew of them. And the more you realized that that was all Azazel has ever been: A demon.

But the last memories you held in that house you grew to adore in such a short time were all bad. From Sam leaving to Azazel showing up. You wished you had parted on better terms. Secretly, you wished you had never left that house. But you wouldn’t tell Sam that. He seemed happy with his brother. And you grew to love his brother as well.

“I don't wanna lose you, hope it never ends I'd never walk Cornelia Street again I don't wanna lose you.”

Swallowing harshly, you grabbed Sam’s hand, squeezing it once. At least you still had him.

“I love you,” You whispered through the calm air. A soft chuckle was heard from behind you, the rumbling of Sam’s chest carrying itself through your body.

“I love you too.”

Silence. Again. You were tired, but could not bring yourself to sleep. It happened often after those dreams. You knew it would take some time, but you’d eventually be able to close your eyes. But for now, the question lay heavier on your tongue than ever.

“Will we ever have our own place again?” You asked hesitantly.

Sam’s hands halted momentarily, visibly pondering over his answers. If you had asked him if he wanted to, he would have said yes in a heartbeat. But with your lives now, everyone and everything hunting you: It seemed too difficult. You knew this, yet always held hope.

“We will,” He ultimately concluded. “One day, there will be a period of peace again, and we will find that house.”

His lips pressed against the top of your head, kissing it lovingly.

“Promise.”

“"I rent a place on Cornelia Street" I say casually in the car.”

#november writings 2022 #sam winchester #supernatural #spn #jared padalecki #sam winchester x reader #supernatural x reader

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xxsovereignsarayaxx · 2 years ago

Text

Detox

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2552

Warning ⚠️ Mentions of drug misuse, if you trigger by this I'm sorry but this fic isn't for you. Why not try one of these?

Living the life as a hunter was difficult but hey who said it was ever easy? Constantly on the road living in and out of motels never really staying anywhere long enough to plant your roots so to speak. Eating either greasy diner food or takeout, can’t really remember that last time you had a home cooked meal. But the one thing you could always guarantee was that fact that your family always had your back, loved and cared about you. Sure you would fall out over the littlest thing but when it came down to it they were there when you needed them.

You were there when Dean went to hell, you tried to help Sam even if he didn’t want your help. You helped Dean detox Sam off the demon blood. Was there every step of trying to stop the 66 seals from being broken. You helped Bobby adjust to being in a wheelchair. And you knew that there would be countless more situations when you would help your family and your family would help you, because family doesn’t end in blood.

And because family doesn't end in blood Dean had probably one of the hardest battles he would have faced to date. You, Dean and Sam were clearing demons from a town. The job was meant to be simple clear out the demons, save the town ect. But like always things didn't go to plan. Yes the three of you did eventually end the lives of the demons but at the cost of you getting thrown out of a second storey window. Your body sprawled out on the roof of a car, the shape distorted and shards of glass littered all around. You don’t quite remember much but you remembered the excruciating pain just about everywhere and then you slipped into unconsciousness.

The sound of monitors and beeping woke you, slowly opening your eyes. Blinking a few times to get adjusted to the glaring hospital lights. You felt light as a feather but heavy at the same time, slowly blinking adjusting to the harsh glare of the hospital light you saw Dean asleep in the chair next to the hospital bed. He looked like he had been here for days and not moved, the stubble had grown thick on his face and you could just make out the bags under his eyes. You weakly reached out to him, just noticing that your arm was hooked up to god knows what.

You tried to speak, but the breathing tube placed down your throat to help you breathe prevented it.

But Dean sensing your movement shot up from his slouched position in the chair, you could really now see how sleep deprived he had been.

“Hey sweetheart, you had me worried there for a second. Didn’t think I’d get to see those gorgeous eyes again.” He said with tears welling up in his already red eyes.

He reached out to your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be right back, baby.”

Moments later and nurses and doctors came, it all was a blur. The breathing tube was taken out and replaced by nasal oxygen, within 30 minutes after your stats had settled Dean was allowed back into the room. He was talking to the nurse before coming to sit back down.

You let out a pained chuckle. “Can’t… get rid of me that easily.” You started, but you immediately started coughing.

Worried Dean reached out and picked up the water jug and poured a cup of water and held it to your lips. “Come on baby, take a sip. It’ll help with your throat.”

The steady flow of water made its way down your throat, and you welcomed it. The dry scratchiness seemed to disappear for a second, but then the relentless coughing started again. Not wanting you to choke, Dean removed the cup and set it back down onto the table.

When the coughing subsided. You rested your head back on your pillow.

“How…Long…Was…I…Out?” you asked, taking steady slow breaths, not wanting the coughing to start again.

“About two weeks. I didn’t think you were going to wake up, you had me worried sweetheart.” Dean replied.

“What…Was…The damage?”

“The fall caused your right leg to basically shatter, docs put in several metal pins to put it back together. You’ve got a few broken ribs and damaged the lower part of your spine. They were surprised you survived the fall, you took a nasty knock to your head.” Dean explained.

After you had woken up in the hospital you insisted to the doctors that you wanted to get discharged and go home, they tried to insist that you stay and even tried to reason with Dean but anywhere was better than being confined to a bed, Dean objected at first and agreed with the doctors but knowing your personality and your stubbornness he supported you. At the end of the day, home was wherever Dean and Sam were.

So after getting discharged, Dean was wheeling you through the hospital in a wheelchair. Crutches in between your legs, you were looking forward to just getting out of the building and into the fresh air. You never liked the sterile smell that came hand in hand with hospitals.

Fast forward 6 months…

You were able to manage the pain for the first few weeks thanks to the medication the doctors had prescribed. But once the pain meds ran out, you turned to alcohol. And when alcohol no longer helped you turned to something a little stronger. You did your best to hide what you were doing, you knew it was wrong but it was the only thing that helped.

You were back on your feet, still suffering with the pain in your back and right leg. Anything that involved climbing or high impact caused immense pain to shoot throughout your body.

You grew up in a household of addicts, it was all you ever knew. At the age of fourteen you swore to yourself you would never walk down the same path as your parents, by the age of eighteen and living on the streets you broke your own promise to yourself. Losing your older brother was the sole reason you got clean, which then led to you meeting Dean and becoming a hunter.

You remembered the high, remembering the feeling of weightlessness and right now you wanted. No you needed to feel that again just for a little to get the pain to stop.

Both Dean and Sam were out of the motel just grabbing some food for a diner. You knew you would have plenty of time to get just enough to last for a couple of days. You called for a cab wanting to head into town. You knew all the wrong areas to get that sweet relief in the form of white powder.

Another day, another case. You, Sam and Dean were currently having a pit-stop at Bobby’s needing his massive collection of lore books to get information for the monster you were hunting. Limping through to the kitchen you headed to the fridge to grab a beer.

“How are you feeling baby?” Dean asked, coming up behind you. Doing his usual affection of putting his large hands in your back pockets.

“Pain is a little more intense today, but I’ll manage.” You sighed, twisting the cap off the bottle of beer.

Taking a swig. “I might go lie down, I didn’t sleep too great.”

“Alright baby, we’ll all still be here when you wake up.

Unknowing to you, Dean had actually pulled out something from your pocket.

Dean watched as you slowly limped back to the couch, he opened up his palm which revealed a small slightly crumpled clear plastic baggy that had a faint trace of white powder. He knew your past and your addiction, he was now saddened to learn that you had slipped back into the clutches of the very same drug that took the life of your brother.

Grabbing his own beer from the fridge, he untwisted the cap and almost downed the bottle. He went outside and headed towards his other baby. The impala shone in the bright sunlight, and he lent against her trunk. Around five minutes later, he was joined by his younger brother, who brought another bottle of beer. Finishing his bottle, he reached out for the second.

The brothers stood in silence until Dean spoke up.

“She’s using again.” Dean said, his voice sounding defeated.

“What? Are you sure?” Sam stuttered, shocked at the news his brother had told him.

“This proof enough for you?” Dean replied, showing Sam the baggy he had lifted from your pocket.

“I thought she was past all that?”

“The fall had more damage than we thought, obviously she’s not coping with the pain, but this isn’t the way to deal with it.”

“I should have noticed sooner, I had a suspicion before but… I don’t know, man.” Dean continued.

“Well… We know now.” Sam started.

You woke from your nap to hear the boys in the basement. Sitting up you stretched your aching joints and got up from the couch. Taking your time you took one step at a time. The old wooden stairs creaked with every step you took.

“What are you guys looking for? I heard your clattering from all the way upstairs?” You started as you stepped foot in Bobby’s homemade panic room.

Next thing you knew the iron door slammed shut, revealing Dean.

“What the hell?…”

“I could be asking you the same thing, sweetheart.” Dean replied in a gruff voice.

“Excuse me?”

“Baby, we need to talk.” Dean said his voice slightly softened, headed over to the metal framed bed with the uncomfortable mattress. He patted his hand for you to sit next to him.

Hesitantly, you sat next to him.

“What the hell is going on Dean? Why are we in Bobby’s Panic Room? And why did Sam lock us both in here?” You asked, not pausing after each question. Your voice started to sound irritated.

Dean pulled out the clear plastic baggy from his breast pocket on his flannelette. Showing it to you, your eyes widen. Partly in guilt because you had been caught and partly in anger.

“Since when did we start going through each other's belongings? That's a new low, even for you, Dean.” You spat.

Knowing you had been caught left you with this itch that needed to be scratched, you wanted another hit. No, you needed another hit. You needed to forget this was happening to feel happy and weightless but with a touch of a buzz. And right now, you could feel your temper rising.

“It’s not like that, and you know it, baby. I would never go through your things without asking. I always put my hands in your back pockets. Always have, and I always will. Listen, I get that the last few months haven’t been easy for you. I get your in pain…”

“NO DEAN YOU DON'T!” You shouted, interrupting him.

You stood up, stumbling as you tried to maintain balance. The pain in your right leg intensified, sending shooting pain up and down your body. You made a bee-line for the door.

“SAM! OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW!” You shouted, banging your fist against the iron door.

“Y/N, I can’t do that right now. I’m sorry.” Sam replied, his voice gentle.

“Sorry! You're sorry? I’m not hearing this right. I must be imagining things because I thought the three of us were a family and I know sure as shit that families don’t do this to one another.” You ranted, your anger had just reached boiling point.

Dean got up and slowly approached you. “Baby this isn’t you, it's the drugs talking. We need to get them out of your system.”

“I don’t need to do anything, Dean.” You snap.

“Baby just look at yourself in the mirror.”

You scoffed and took a glance in the mirror. All you saw was yourself, which is generally how mirrors work. But then, the more you looked the more you started to really focus on yourself. Face paler than usual, bags forming underneath your eyes. You looked thinner, your clothes hanging on your body.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you staggered back to the bed. Sitting down something inside just broke, and you cried your heart out.

Dean gently knocked the iron door with his knuckle. “Unlock the door, Sammy.” He said softly and then made his way to you.

Dean knelt in front, bringing you to a warm embrace. Your cries turned into whimpers, and you bathed in Dean’s body heat and scent. You had forgotten what this was like and how it relaxed you. After a moment in silence, Dean used his thumb to wipe your tears and rested his forehead against yours.

“Listen to me baby, ok?” He said quietly.

You nodded.

“We can get through this together ok? It’s going to be hard but you’ve got me and you’ve got Sam. Whatever happens we’ll be fine, I promise.”

Dean brought his hands to cup your cheeks and planted a kiss.

“I want…” You started, but tears threatened to start falling down your face once more..

“What is it baby?”

“I want…You to lock me in here, like what we did to Sam. I need… I need to ride this out.” You finished.

Dean understood your request, and he just nodded in agreement.

WIthin the next twenty or so minutes Sam had started to bring some of your stuff into the room, whilst Dean started to help get you settled in the bed. You knew that the next few days were crucial. You knew what your body was about to go through and it scared you, you recall the memories from your last detox, the cold sweats, chills, sudden change in mood and emotions.

Initially, things went well. You kept yourself occupied with other things. But as the minutes ticked by those minutes turned to hours and those hours turned into days. You shouted through the door, you swore. Called both Dean and Sam names, wished them both dead, and hoped they’d rot in hell. You banged your fist so many times on the iron door that it turned red and started to bruise and bleed. In the end, Dean was able to slip some sleeping pills into a glass of water, and once they started to work and you fell asleep, he and Sam came into the room. Dean lifted your sleeping form and placed you back into bed. Sam started to apply soft restraints to the end of the bed whilst Dean did the same to your wrists.

He hoped you would forgive him for this, but he generally felt like he had no choice. The way that you were acting, he was worried that you would do some serious damage to yourself. He planted a kiss on your sweating forehead, and both he and his brother left and once again locked the door.

Dean knew that the hard work would start once you woke up and became coherent. But between himself, Sam and you. He knew that even the tiniest steps become progress when it comes to a detox.

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