#maybe a bit before sam left for stanford

[samdeancrimespree]

wincest is so interesting because there are Endless points in their lives where the relationship could go from gen to full wincest and all of them feel equally true. weecest? valid. awkward coming of age? valid. right before stanford? makes perfect sense. pilot reunion? obviously. pre/post hell? Very valid. late season realization? sure. Literally Any Point during the entire run of the show? Yeah.

like that’s… such a unique ship dynamic. they’ve been so Like That for their entire lives that at any point you could slot in a little kiss or whatever and it wouldn’t feel strange. i don’t think it could feel strange. their love runs so much deeper that classic romance/ sexual behaviours just seem like a given

[mizutsugi]

lace-y 𐙚 (sam winchester x reader)

↳ synopsis: you were alone in the bunker with sam and having a movie night with him... while wearing a really pretty white, lace-y lingerie set and one of his oversized tees. what could go wrong!

↳word count: 2,221

↳ cw: nsfw (MINORS DNI!!), smut, fem/afab!reader, fingering, reader is e@ten out, little bit of praise (and this is my first time writing nsfw so maybe that should be its own warning!)

You pushed the door of the bunker open, letting the cold night air whip through your hair before stepping into the warmth and sighing with relief. Sam followed close behind you, closing and locking the door as you made your way down the stairs. You and him were coming back from a hunt alone, since Dean and Cas were busy with their own side mission. You didn’t mind at all- it gave you more solo time with your favorite person. As you reached the bottom of the stairwell, you tossed your bag and keys to the table, noting how your belongings nearly knocked over one of the beer bottles Dean left out. You made a mental note to clean up… tomorrow. You were too spent to do it tonight. 

The two of you made your way to Sam’s room. You had your own room, of course- the bunker has, like, 84 of them after all- but you had agreed to watch some Netflix together after getting back as a little reward for your efforts. As you got into his room, you smiled. His room always felt so cozy. After he moved in, he slowly made himself at home… a couple books piled on his desk, a few posters from his favorite movies, and a whole lot of flannels on a rack that you liked to occasionally steal from. In all fairness, there’s no way he needs all of them. But there he was- shedding his Carhart jacket off just to reveal yet another flannel, this one a nice burgundy color. He threw the jacket onto a nearby armchair and watched as you did the same with yours, now in a long sleeve shirt and jeans. It wasn’t exactly the cutest outfit, but you couldn’t wear your cute outfits out on hunts where you needed to actually be able to bend over or get dirty. You did note some stains on your outfit, and you wanted nothing more then to change into something cleaner and comfier, but your PJs were all the way in your room…

“Hey Sam, do you have a shirt I could borrow?” You asked as he settled into bed, leaning against the bed frame.

“Uhhh yeah, they’re in the second drawer down, take whatever you want.” He smiled before pulling out his phone. You thanked him and went into his wooden dresser to find a shirt. He had a lot of plain white tees for layering, but when you dug a bit deeper you found some of his older stuff. You grinned when you landed on a gray Stanford shirt, and you pulled it out. Sam was tall enough where any of his shirts fit you like a dress. Without much thinking, you started tugging your own shirt off over your head right in front of him. Sam noticed it and tried not to stare- bless his heart, he really did try- but he couldn’t help but notice the lace white bra you had on. He felt his face heat up and he felt bad for staring, his eyes darting back to his phone as you pulled his oversized shirt over yourself and discarded your pants. After you were all adjusted, you climbed into the bed with him and grabbed the remote off the bedside table. 

“What do you wanna watch?” You asked, already beginning to scroll through movies. You were sitting fairly close, curled up beside him with your thighs just inches away from touching his. 

“Uhhh…” He trailed off, trying to compose himself. 

“You’re never helpful with this, you know.” You rolled your eyes but smiled. You landed on some cheesy horror movie with a god-awful cover and clicked on it. You always found those types of horror movies ironic, given your job as a hunter. Some horribly CGI’d ghost haunting a B-list actress who runs away in heels and trips over herself like every seven seconds… sometimes it felt more like a parody movie.

“Interesting choice.” He quipped as the movie began. You laughed and looked over at him, your head resting against one of the propped up pillows. 

“Hey, if you have a problem with it, then your indecisive ass can change it.” You said. He shook his head silently and leaned back a little bit more.

“No, it’s perfect.” He said. You smiled and returned your gaze to the TV as the camera slowly zoomed out on a dilapidated house in the middle of a forest. You both watched in silence, occasionally scoffing at the horrible effects and dialogue. As the movie went on, you both slowly got more comfortable. At some point, you adjusted and ended up with your right thigh touching his leg. He pretended to not notice, but when you lifted your arms to stretch about 20 minutes into the film, your (or rather, his) shirt rode up a bit and the slightest bit of lace peeked through on your inner thigh. Where there were endless comments and critiques from the two of you before, you noticed he started to go silent, and his eyes were glued to the TV like he would be stricken down on the spot if he dared to look away. 

Your little comments went unnoticed, and you couldn’t help but wonder if something was wrong. After another 10 minutes of painful silence, you finally tugged on his arm a bit to get his attention. 

His eyes flicked in your direction before returning back to the TV. “Yeah?”

“Is something up?” You asked, trying to get even a little bit of eye contact. He made a slight frown and shook his head, eyes still watching the shitty flick in front of him. 

“M-m.” He hummed, hands moving to fidget with the hem of his comforter. You furrowed your brows and reached for the remote, pausing the movie.

“I don’t believe you.” You responded. He just kept staring straight, trying to think of something to say. 

“Hey, can you look at me?” You asked, just a bit frustrated as he seemed to have an aversion to turning to face you. 

He took a small breath before turning his head, eyes immediately darting to your bare thighs before dragging up to your face.

Oh. Oh. 

“Oh uhm… Sorry.” You said sheepishly, now embarrassed. You tried to move your hand to pull the shirt down, but his hand caught yours. You looked up to him in confusion.

He held it there wordlessly, and you could see something change in his eyes. Where he was avoidant and cold before, there was a sort of glint in his pupils, and his attention couldn’t be further away from the TV now. You felt your face flush, and you bit the inside of your cheek, attempting to make the tension dissipate. You saw him glance at your cherry glossed lips, and you almost laughed because he obviously wanted to make a move but was stuck like a deer in headlights.

You moved in slowly until your lips connected, feeling him nearly jolt at the contact. You lingered there for a few seconds before pulling back. 

“Is this okay?” You asked quietly, making sure he was comfortable. He nodded slowly, and this time he leaned forward, connecting your lips again. His hand that once had an iron grip on yours now moved to your cheek, holding you gently in place. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss as his calloused hand moved across your jaw. You’re not sure why you decided to go with the white lace lingerie this morning, but you’re so grateful you did- it saved you from a whole lot more of silent pining. The kiss deepened, and as it got more passionate you slowly moved so that you were straddling his lap, never breaking your connection. His hand dropped from your face and as you pulled away you saw him go still, feeling him harden beneath you. 

It wasn’t that he was ravenous... but there was a sudden sense of desperation as he kissed you again on the lips, and you couldn’t help slowly grinding across his middle. He let out a soft groan before his lips slowly moved to your jaw, then your neck. That shy boy from just seconds ago was gone. You threw your head back a bit, giving him more access. He moved his lips all around your neck, occasionally sucking on your sensitive skin. You felt every sense heighten- his mouth marking your neck, the friction between your thin panties and thick denim, his rough fingers starting to pull at the material of your shirt…

Speaking of which, he lifted the shirt over your head, quickly breaking away from your neck to pull the fabric over your face. As he threw the shirt behind you, his eyes roamed over your body. He could finally see the full set of thin lace white lingerie adorned with small satin bows, the underwear riding up your sides as your legs straddled his. His racing thoughts stilled, and he just sat there looking at you like if he moved, he’d lose his perfect view. When you shifted forward a bit, his trance was broken, and the sensation caused him to immediately attach his lips back on to yours. Your small whimpers fueled his hunger, and he gently pushed forwards, sending you backwards so that your head was hitting the mattress behind you. He was now hovering over you, still kissing you and softly pulling at your glossy lips with his teeth. His lips moved slowly down your face, onto your neck where he kissed a few of his marks from earlier, across your chest between your cupped breasts, down your tummy and ghosting just above where your underwear covered you. You looked down to see his face just above your core, looking into your eyes with caution, silently asking for permission. Your short nod was all he needed, and he gently looped his fingers around the waistband and pulled the panties off and down your legs. You felt your heart race when he gently pushed your soft thighs apart, baring yourself in a way that might have felt embarrassing if he wasn’t practically drooling at the sight.

He ignored his urges and started slowly, kissing up your plush thigh. The sensation of him just inches away from where you needed him most, blended with his hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin was driving you crazy. You needed something, now. 

“Sam..” You whimpered, voice shaking with anticipation. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” He looked up with lust-blown eyes, cheek resting on your left thigh.

“Please…” You begged weakly, squirming a bit.

You didn’t have to voice what you wanted. He smiled sweetly at you before moving to your core, gently pushing his tongue past your folds. You gasped and your hands clumsily fumbled around the sheets until they landed on the back of his head, fingers hooking into his soft hair. He lapped at your clit, and you wondered how the hell his brother got all the credit for being a “pussy magnet” when he was eating you out like a damn professional. His breath fanned over your hot, wet core, causing you to grip his chestnut hair tighter. He groaned, causing vibrations that only added to your intense pleasure.

“Fuck…” You hissed, hips slightly rolling. One of the hands that was currently holding your thighs apart slowly moved upward towards your waist in an attempt to keep you (relatively) in place. His tongue, slick with your arousal, was driving you crazy, and your soft moans and whimpers made him work even faster until you were nearing the edge. 

Then you felt one of his hands trail up your thigh, and two long fingers gently prodded at your entrance. You gasped at the feeling as they gathered arousal and slipped effortlessly inside you, his tongue still working at your puffy clit. You were blissed out, softly moaning his name as he worked his impossibly long fingers in and out of you. Your breaths got short and your hips rutted up, and he knew you were close. He pulled his mouth off your core, but kept his fingers at a steady pace, looking up at you for the first time in a while as your hand dropped off the back of his head and onto his shoulder, gripping for dear life.

“That’s it pretty girl, I got you.” He praised, using his free hand to rub gentle circles into your waist. As his pace quickened, you whined his name and felt the pressure in your lower half snap, moaning as you climaxed. Your eyes shut closed, and your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. He slowly pulled his fingers out as you were still coming down, and the hand that wasn’t coated in slick was reaching up to brush your hair out of your face.

“You okay hon?” He asked, climbing up to kiss you on the forehead. Your face was completely flush, and your hair was a bit of a mess from writhing around on the pillow. You looked up into his eyes and smiled at his gentleness, and you nodded slowly. 

“Felt really good..” You mumbled, still somewhat incoherent as you recovered. He smiled back and kissed you gently.

“You look so cute in white, you know…”

↳ a/n: hiii! this is my first time writing nsfw so please be gentle w me :,) i have no idea what i'm doing even though my tumblr history would say otherwise... anyways i have a bit of free time between now and finals- send requests! thank u for reading lovelies <3

[nuemanfilms]

UNEXPECTED || S.W

— He didn’t mean to be a pervert, that's not what he wanted to be, or what he thought he was.

Summary; It’d been four months since Sam was introduced to you as his roommate. In the span of those four months, he was starting to develop feelings. Maybe next time you should close your pantie drawer after you go out.

Content Warnings; Sam’s POV, m!masturbation, obsessive lustful behavior, mentions of teasing, Fem!reader is a sorority girl, pervert!sam, panty stealing, sam’s desires are mentioned, brief mentions of Sam’s time at Stanford.

A/N; Stanford!Pervy!Sam my beloved, just a little drabble, 500+

xoxo, roro <3

After you and your friends left to go to some sorority party, Sam was alone in the dorm.

He’d been roommates with you for four months. It was unexpected, he was settled in the dorm before a knock on the door came and there you were standing there. His first thought was probably how fucking gorgeous you were, his second thought was why did no one tell him he was having a roommate?

You’d distracted him all these months, despite the Winchester keeping his grades up, his eyes still trained on you everytime you walked in that classroom with the shortest skirt on. The frat boys to the playboys all had eyes for you, yet he somehow managed to gain your attention.

You’d been friends since then, he was surprised when you chose your assigned seat next to his for the rest of the year. All of your friends were on the other side of the classroom, but you made no move to switch seats through those months.

Sam eventually found himself gaining a crush on you.

He didn’t mean to be a pervert, that's not what he wanted to be, or what he thought he was. But it seemed like you were always teasing him by bending down in front of him or wearing those skirts knowing how much he liked them. God, the way you bit your lip when he was talking about his major in law. How he would explain his take on criminal justice and the law enforcement system. Your eyes always trained on his, and you always paid so close attention to each word spilling past his lips.

Now that you were gone, the ache in his boxers seemed to strain even more. He was alone. In your shared dorm, with your items. The outfit you wore when you went out the door lingered in his head. He remembered how he could see the tiniest bit of lace from your bra hanging on your shoulder. He wanted to be the one to rip it to shreds. He wanted to be the one to ruin those pretty panties of yours.

God, why did you always leave your dresser open?

He was unzipping his jeans, he’d removed his belt when he got back from a class with you since his jeans felt way too tight. The white lace was laid beside him on his bed.

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he finally freed his length from its confines. Without hesitation this time, he wrapped your panties around his cock, his hand holding it in place as he began to thrust his hips up.

He’d never been this worked up in his life. Even watching those stupid pornos that Dean snuck home, he’d never gotten this fucking hard before. It was painful.

Precum dribbled from his tip that he soon collected with his thumb when the mental image of you came flooding back in his brain. Just using your panties had him on the verge of cumming. He wanted more, he needed more. But this would do for now.

His bangs were messy and stuck to his forehead from the sweat. Each time the lace came in contact with his tip, he let out a whimper. It felt so fucking good, he could only dream of how your pussy would feel wrapped around him.

His hand jerked faster, his mouth going agape as he felt himself edging closer. He didn’t bother in covering his moans. No one was here anyways.

Those pretty, pink lips that were coated with strawberry lip gloss haunted his thoughts, how he desired to see the tint smeared around his shaft. Watching the tears roll down your cheeks as he fucked himself into your throat. God, he craved to see the mascara smudged underneath your eyes.

He wanted to see his cum painting your face. He wanted to see you stick your tongue out as he came down your throat.

He let out a pathetic whine as the thick, white spurts coated his abdomen and the now ruined lace wrapped around his hand. His breaths were heavy. Yet lust still beamed in his eyes.

He was down bad.

[morganwrites12672]

It's Always Been This Way

Dean Winchester x Singer!Reader

Summary: Y/n and Dean have always liked each other. . . Just never at the same time. What happens whenever they fall for each other while working a case?

Rating: PG-13

A/N: I hate the beginning but whatever. Requests are open!

▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣

It's always been this way.

For as long as Y/n and Dean could remember, they had great friends. That was it. Just friends. At various points in their lives, they had had crushes on the other. It had never worked out though. Neither one was willing to admit it.

It was inevitable that they had liked each other (and shit luck that it was never at the same time). Y/n was a Singer, Bobby's only child. She had grown up around Dean and Sam. The three were constantly around each other due to their father's jobs. Bobby refused to outright leave her, and he could only justify it if she was with Sam and Dean.

They aren't kids anymore. Dean's 25. Y/n's 24. Both of them are adults.

It was a solo hunt for Dean whenever he ran into her. Sam was at Stanford and John was working his own case. He ran into Macy as she was leaving the witnesses house. It had been years since he had seen her. She had stopped staying at her father's much. The two had no reason to try and see each other otherwise.

Dean's eyebrows raised in shock as they made eye contact. She was in her Feds threads. Her jaw practically dropped. She couldn't believe who she was seeing.

She tried to walk past him but Dean stopped her.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He asked, as if it wasn't obvious.

"Same thing as you," She replied, her eyes taking him in. "I'm working a case."

He tilted his head a bit as he looked down at her. They were both so different. Dean thought that she looked different, good different. His eyes lingered on the way her skirt hugged her waist. He cleared his throat, looking back up at her eyes as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Alone?" He questioned, wondering if Bobby, or maybe another hunter, was helping her. It was one of the more dangerous cases. It looked like a Vampire. Victims had their throats ripped out, bodies drained of blood.

"Yes, alone."

Y/n wondered why he seemed. . . Concerned, maybe? She could tell based on how his eyebrows knit together. She didn't see a problem with it. She had been trained her entire life practically. She didn't lack experience. She had been raised like Dean. Not much of a childhood, but damn good at hunting the things that go bump in the night.

That was practically the end of that conversation. They exchanged a few more words, just checking up on each other before departing.

It had been decided that they would work the case together. After a few nights of staying up all night together, she had to admit, a bit of a crush had formed. Not like it had ever left really. God, she had been head over heels for Dean as an older teen. He had been too blinded by his lust for practically every girl who walked by him to notice.

If only she knew that it wasn't always a one sided crush. Dean had wanted to ask her out several times in the past. He had always assumed she would say no and never gathered the courage. The one girl who made him a little bit nervous. He don't want to risk the friendship.

Y/n yawned as she glanced at the red letters glowing in the dark: 4:37. God, it was late. She looked down at the careless notes she had scribbled in her notebook. She wasn't much closer to figuring out a plan. She glanced over at Dean, admiring how he looked in the lamp light. Her little crush hadn't stopped growing.

It might only be one vampire, but it wasn't simple. This creature didn't stay in the same place every night. The pattern was practically unrecognizable. Dean had suggested lurking at bars, hoping to see something suspicious. Y/n didn't like the plan but soon realized it was the only option.

▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣

The air reeked of stake cigarettes and cheap beer. The lights in the bar were low as her eyes scanned the people in it. They finally knew what the vamp looked like. They just needed to find him.

This case has been hell so far. Three more people had died since the duo had started investigating. It was all going to shit very fast. If they didn't catch the culprit soon, they would need to call in another hunter.

Y/n glanced across the bar at Dean. As she looked back to the- what the hell? She quickly noticed something. He was here, the vampire. She didn't have time to call Dean as she followed him out the door. She tried to be subtle but there weren't any other people on the street.

As the vampire walked down the alley, she double checked that the vial of dead man's blood was still hidden, tucked into her jeans. She really should have called Dean. She pulled out her phone to text him, only taking her eyes off the vamp for a second whenever she heard a hiss.

Her phone clattered to the ground as the vampire attempted to bite her. She mumbled a curse and dodged. She didn't have her machete with her. She had been planning to use the dead man's blood and then dash back to the car. All she had with her was the gun in the waistband of her jeans and the knife tucked in her boot.

She rushed at the vampire, landing a solid punch that sent his head snapping back. He was quick to retaliate, slamming her into the wall. He had his hand around her throat whenever she kneed him in the groin. She managed to get away, raising her fists again in the alley.

The vampire threw a punch her way, she blocked. God-damnit. She forgot how much these fights hurt. Both of her hands were busy deflecting the vampires hits. She needed an opportunity to grab the dead man's blood. Before she could, the vampire hit her square in the nose. She groaned, feeling blood trickle.

She landed a solid kick to the vampires back as she dodged another hit.

"You bitch!" The vampire hissed at her. "I should have killed you the second you walked into that bar. You think I wouldn't recognize a hunter?" The vampire sneered at her.

"At least I don't rip the throats of innocent people out," She snapped back.

As the vampire rushed at her, knocking her to the ground, she grabbed the vial of dead man's blood. She was seconds away from injecting it whenever the vampire knocked it away. A wave of fear ran down her spine. She was trapped.

"Not so tough now, are you?" The vampire sneered as he cut his wrist. He grabbed her jaw. She tried to fight against him. Before she could be turned, the vampires head fell on her body.

She looked up and saw Dean. He looked pissed.

"You ran after the vamp, on your own!" He exclaimed, helping her up. "Son of a bitch. And you didn't even bother to bring your machete."

She rolled her eyes as she stood, wiping the blood from her nose with her sleeve. "I had it handled!"

"No, you didn't," He snapped back, his voice low. "You should have taken me with you."

Y/n sighed as they walked back to Dean's '67 Chevy Impala. She didn't regret what she had done. It had gotten the case solved. It had saved lives. Sure, she had made a stupid risk. That didn't matter. It had all worked out.

"I did fine," She grumbled as she slid into the passenger seat.

"No, you fucking didn't!" Dean said as he started the Impala.

"Why do you care so much?" She snapped. She was a tad bit grumpy. She had been beaten up by a vampire. Every bit of her body seemed to hurt. She would surely have bruises in the morning.

"God, can't you see? I care about you!" He said as he drove out of the bars parking lot. His knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel.

She could have screamed. "Oh," Was all she said for a minute. The tension in the car could have been cut with a knife. She swallowed thickly. "You could have just asked me out." She said in a reading tone.

Dean let out a slightly tense laugh, "Would you have said yes?"

"Obviously!" She replied. She thought it was obvious that she liked him. Apparently not.

Dean cleared his throat. The rest of the drive to the motel was silent. She listened to the Metallica quietly playing in the background. The night sky was dark and gloomy as they drove. What would happen between them?

As the car was parked, she couldn't get out of the car far enough. Dean walked into her motel room with her. It was where they had both done most of the research. There were still various notebooks and newspaper clippings strewn about.

"So. . . Do you have any plans tomorrow?" Dean asked.

Y/n quickly turned around, "I don't."

Dean gave her a cocky smile, "Then it's a date."

▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Don't forget to comment and reblog!

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Reunion

Dean Winchester x little sister!reader, Sam Winchester x little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: Dean goes to get Sam at college, but things come to a head when he tried to get you too.

“So, where is she?”

The first several minutes after leaving Stanford had been spent in silence, and Sam only broke it after realizing what was missing in the Impala.

“We’re getting her now.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Dean sighed. “Bobby’s.”

“Bobby’s?”

Dean avoided Sam’s searching gaze.

“Yeah.”

“You gonna tell me why she’s there and not with you?”

It was silent for several long minutes, and Sam was about to demand an explanation when Dean finally spoke.

“After you left, she kept begging to go and see you. She wouldn’t take no for an answer, and dad got pissed. After she…after she tried to sneak out to take a bus to you, dad dumped her at Bobby’s. That was about eight months ago, and dad hasn’t even mentioned her since.”

Sam gaped at his brother.

“You let that happen?”

Dean scoffed, “It’s not like I let dad do anything. Dad does what he does, and there was nothing I could do about it.” Dean continued to avoid Sam’s eyes. “Besides, she was safer with Bobby. She’d been asking questions about hunting that neither of us were willing to answer, and Bobby’s better at lying to her than I am.”

Despite John’s better judgment, he’d allowed Dean to raise you with no knowledge of the hunting world. You knew that Sam and Dean helped a lot of people, and you’d figured out that their job had something to do with crime—you’d realized that when you noticed how many of their cases came from reading the newspaper—but you didn’t know about monsters.

“Ok,” Sam did a horrible job of hiding his seething, but perhaps that was on purpose. “So why are we getting her now?”

Dean shrugged noncommittally.

“Well, you’re back, figured I’d make it a full reunion.”

“Right,” Sam scoffed. “And dad’s not here to stop you.”

Dean bit back a smile.

“Maybe that too.”

…

“She’s asleep,” Bobby stood with his arms crossed over his chest, blocking the staircase.

“We’re here to get her,” Dean matched his stance and his stubborn expression.

“You shoulda thought of that eight months ago.”

Sam ran a hand across his face, biting back a groan.

“Bobby, please, can we just-“

“Hush, Sam. My beef isn’t with you at the moment.”

“You can’t just keep us from-“

“I can do whatever I dang well please, Dean. She’s been with me for nearly a year, and she just unpacked her bags a few weeks ago. She kept expecting you idjits to come back and get her, but you never did.”

“Dad thought-“

“I don’t give a crap what John thought, you broke her heart. So if you’re gonna take her and raise her proper, then I’ll let you. But if you’re gonna uproot her again, only to drop her back with me the next time she starts asking questions, then it’d be better if she never saw you again.

“We’re not gonna ditch her,” Sam insisted.

“Well thanks for the input, but last I checked you were trying to leave this life behind, so your vote doesn’t count.”

“I’m not gonna leave her, Bobby.”

The conviction in Dean’s voice silenced him for a few seconds.

“And when John comes back?”

Dean shook his head, “She stays with me. No matter what he has to say about it.”

Bobby gave Dean a long, searching look. He’d never heard him openly defy John before, never even say a word against him. When the time came, would he really-

“Dean?”

Dean’s head shot up at the sound of your voice.

“Dean!” You bounded down the stairs, and when you reached the third step you leaped off, landing harshly into Dean’s arms. He staggered back a half step before steadying himself, laughing as he spun you around once before standing in place, lifting a hand to the back of your head as he held you in his arms.

Bobby watched the scene soberly for a moment, before a small smile lifted his lips. He’d gotten his answer. No one who saw the two of you right now could doubt the truth; you were Dean’s girl, and he wouldn’t abandon you.

“Hey baby,” Dean breathed.

“Are you staying?” You held your breath.

“Nope, but you’re coming with us,” Dean promised, finally setting you down.

“Really? I-“ You turned your head, spotting Sam for the first time, and you froze. “Sammy?”

He grinned, “Hey, kiddo.”

You ran into his arms.

“What are you doing here? Are you coming too?”

“Um,” Sam winced slightly, “For a little bit, yeah.”

Then you asked the question that the boys had been hoping to avoid for a bit longer.

“Where’s dad?”

“Honey,” Dean pulled you away from Sam and knelt so he could see you at eye level, placing a hand on your arm. “Dad…he hasn’t come home for a couple weeks. That’s why I got Sammy, we have to go look for him.”

You were silent for a moment.

“Is he ok?” You finally asked.

“We don’t know much right now, but we’re gonna find him, ok? I promise.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Ok.”

He sighed contentedly, and as he stood you wrapped your legs around his waist, too comfortable in his arms to let go yet.

“I missed you,” you whispered as though it was a special secret for only Dean’s ears.

Dean began to carry you up the stairs, brushing past Sam and Bobby.

Once Dean had reached your room at the top of the stairs, he leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

“I missed you too,” he whispered back, before gently setting you down. “Pack up your stuff.”

Once you’d grabbed your few possessions and packed them in your backpack, you followed Dean down the stairs, stopping to hug Bobby goodbye.

“Take care of yourself, kiddo.”

You smiled, “You too, old man.”

Bobby scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Go on, get. Ya idjit.”

Sam followed you out the door, but Bobby grabbed Dean’s arm before he could leave.

“You take care of that little girl, Dean. I know you look up to your dad, you should. But don’t you be like him. You be good to her.”

“I will, Bobby,” Dean clapped a hand on Bobby’s shoulder.

“I promise.”

[lokigonnakmsforbucky]

Perfect (S.W.)

Sam Winchester x Plus sized F! Reader

Request: maybe some s1/2 sam? it’s the reader's first time, and sam js is really sweet to her, focusing on her pleasure, guiding her through everything, and noticing how she reacts to his touches and teasing her, just like body worship lol. nicknames, Sam being lowkey an oral god🤭 lol. maybe the reader is just a little bit shy because she is more chubby? idk if this makes sense but yeah!! I hope you can do this, have a lovely day <3 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Rating: Mature (minors DNI)

Warning: Some violence, p n v, unprotected (Wrap it before you tap it!), Sam Is an oral god 🤧, talk of insecurities, loss of virginity.

Gif, not mine*

A/N I am accepting requests and making a supernatural tag list!

The lock behind you clicking locked sounded like music to your ears. Working straight after class from 4-12 was exhausting, to say the least, at a bar nonetheless. Annoying college frat boys, creepy old men, prostitutes (get the bag sis), you get it though life is hard.

“Only two more months then Im out of here…” You whispered under your breath. You were right though, only two more months at Standford and you were off to do big things in the world.

The walk back to your small apartment outside of campus was cold and damp. You could feel how moist the air was and the cold breeze hit your face and your legs, yet you loved this weather. Not too hot nor too cold just a bit chilly. The trees around you had orange leaves and every house you pass had pumpkins outside carved with scary or funny faces. Halloween was just around the corner. You were ready for it.

For the first time in two years, you were ready for this Halloween. After everything that happened.

Jess.

You couldn’t believe what happened when you found out that Jessica, one of your closest friends from elementary school was killed in a freak fire accident and her boyfriend Sam found her.

You, Sam, and Jess were inseparable at Stanford. Even days before her death you guys were at a bar celebrating Halloween. Well, jess was. You and Sam were wearing the most boring casual clothes ever. You both didn’t like the attention.

The Party scene, the crazy frat boys, insane sorority girls. Wasn’t your thing. It wasn’t his. But it was all for Jess. Which made the arrangement work.

You lost contact with Sam shortly after Jess’s death. Which stung. Thinking he was one of your best friends and you lost your other to the crazy fire. Yet, life goes on.

The door to your apartment was dull, no sign on the door. No welcome mat. Nothing that indicated a human living there. Thats how you liked it.

You opened the door to find it pitch black in the room before you.

Thats odd. Did I turn the lights off? I swear I don't remember turning them off before I left.

Your mind was racing with questions, you reached towards the left, using the dim hallway lighting to shine just enough for you to see your light switch. You flick it and your apartment shines.

Your apartment was dull. School textbooks on the counter, your backpack on the chair. Your small tv looked dusty in the living room from the lack of use, and the sad couches that hardly were sat on.

You were never home hardly, from working shifts at the bar and school. The only downtime you had was in your bedroom in the comfort of your bed with the latest Stephen King book at your disposal.

You hang your jacket on the hanger and throw your keys on the counter. You sigh loudly, your body was ready for that date to the bed.

A bang in your room made you break your train of thought. You turn your head towards your room and grab a kitchen knife. Slowly making your way towards your room, your heartbeat was picking up slowly.

Your door was open like it was before, but you could feel that something was off. You flicked the light on and nothing was there. But, you discovered that your window was wide open and your books from your end table were on the floor.

You walk towards the window and slide it shut and look out. Nothing seemed to be different yet...something felt off.

You took another breath before you felt arms lock your upper half. You scream and thrash to no avail.

"Please don't be scared...I'm just very hungry. You will come back...don't worry." The voice belonged to a man, you know. You thrashed again and looked up to see yourself looking back. Your mirror showed the man behind you.

He was a kid...maybe only 19? Looked like a freshman in college in his Standford Sweatshirt. But, his teeth were sharp. You kicked the wall and to your surprise, you broke his hold on you as you both fell to the ground.

This was your chance.

You collected yourself quickly running through the door and into the living room grabbing the closest thing to you for cover. Which in this case was a light fixture.

The boy walked through the door, his breaths were heavy. "Look I didn't want to hurt you. "

"Well, I really wanna hurt you."

Sam? That voice couldn't have been him.

A bang of a shotgun went off from your right, you looked to your side to not only see Sam but another guy with him with the shotgun. The man beside Sam seemed to notice you staring at him. His green eyes piercing into yours.

“Get behind me!” He yelled.

You didn’t have to think twice, you ran behind him and Sam while they took care of the deranged man.

“Close your eyes y/n.” Sam finally spoke to you, a machete in his hand. The man beside him was above the man that was kneeling down in pain with a shotgun pointed at his head. You looked back up at Sam, and his face was still just as handsome as it always was.

“Please.”

You finally closed your eyes. Hearing Sam’s footsteps move in front of you. I could hear the deranged man grunting, “Damn you Winchesters. One of these days. We will Kill you.”

“Well, good thing today isn’t the day then.” You could hear Sam’s voice and then a grunt following with a thud.

“Y/n keep your eyes closed. I don’t want you seeing this.”

You kept your eyes closed, tempted to open them. Just to see Sam. He is finally back… after everything that happened. He’s back.

Maybe this is just a dream?

What felt like hours of your eyes being closed was mere minutes as you heard grunting and a door close soon after.

“You can open your eyes now.”

You slowly opened your eyes, your eyes stung from the bright lights, your vision blurry. You reached your hand up and rubbed your eye one by one. The room was still lit with your lamps on the sides of the couch, but you could see the traces of dark red blood on the floor. You could see they were smeared like they were trying to clean it.

“You…. Killed that boy?” You looked up at Sam, the person you hung out with the most, missed the most after everything that has happened.

“He.. wasn’t a human. He was a vampire and he was gonna turn you Y/n.” Sam’s voice was so quiet, like he was afraid you would be scared of him. But, you knew Sam. He would never lie about this.

“This can’t be real…” You looked around and walked towards the couch. Sam following behind. Sitting beside you.

“It is…everything in the supernatural is. My family has hunted them for years…after my mother died from the yellowed eyed demon. Like Jess.” Sam’s voice cracked of mentioning Jess. You slide you hand in his and squeezed.

“A demon killed her?” You didn’t want to believe it, but it explains how weird her death was.

Sam took a breathe and looked at you, “Yes. He did. But, we are going to kill him. The guy that was with me, thats Dean. My brother. He basically raised me while dad hunted to avenge my mother. Now… it’s just me and him.”

Sam never talked about his family much, but he always mentioned his brother a few times. Which explains the facial similarities of the green eyed hunter.

I took a breathe and let his hand go and rubbed my arm,“Why was the Vampire coming for me?”

Sam sighed, “Me and Dean found leads from recent vampire attacks a few towns over. Has to be a nearby the university. Says why a lot of students went missing too.” You grabbed my phone to see it was now 1:45 am, how has it been almost two hours sense this all happened? “The boy that attacked you, went missing a few weeks back. He was sent to take you.”

“To be a vampire?” Your voice cracked a little in fear. Sam nodded, “I wouldn’t have let that happen. You deserve a good life.”

You finally did what you wanted to do for so long, you wrapped your arms around Sam and gave him a hug.

“Sam Winchester you deserve a good life too. Don’t sell yourself short. Thank you for saving my life.”

Sam hugged you back tight, like you were going to disappear any moment.

“Your not safe here Y/n. I got a motel room downtown. Pack clothes and bring a book. I need to know you will be safe.”

————————————————————————

2 weeks later

The last few weeks have been eventful to say the least… Sam came back, you met his Metallica loving brother, they rid of the vampire nest and overall you finally felt at ease after the two years of not knowing what happened to Jess.

Sam and Dean stayed near Stanford to keep an eye on you and make sure all is well. Coming down any other day and eating at the diner or having a drink at the bar, (which meant free drinks while your manager wasn’t working since you were the bartender), and having a new friend and your best friend back. All was well.

Yet, you could feel some tension between you and Sam. You’ve always had a small crush on him, who hasn’t though? His thick hair, his height, his hazel eyes, plus his personality? People would be crazy to not have a tiny crush on him.

But, with this small crush you could feel the guilt in the back of your mind. This man was one of your best friend’s boyfriend.

What would Jess think if she was alive?

“Y/n!” Sam’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You looked up at him, your popcorn still in your lap as you we’re watching Scream on the Tv with Sam.

You came back home a few days ago and Sam wanted to spend a night over, since tomorrow he and Dean will be heading to South Dakota to see a friend of the family’s.

“Yeah?”

“You okay? You’ve been quiet for 30 minutes and you usually never shut up about Billy and Stu.”

“I’m just thinking…”

Sam paused the movie and turned towards me. “Spill it.”

You sighed and laugh a little. “Sam, it’s nothing.”

Sam took the popcorn out of my hands and scooted closed towards me, “Must be something if you are quiet for a long period of time.”

You took a breathe, Sam wasn’t gonna give up until you told him what was on your mind, “I’m just thinking about my future. I guess.” You laughed nervously.

“Your future? What about it?”

“Just thinking about everything, what I’m gonna be doing, Where I will be, If I would marry. Stuff like that.” Sam looked at you seriously after you mentioning marriage.

“Y/n, if someone wouldn’t marry you. I would be very surprised. Who wouldn’t? Your funny, down to earth, strong and plus your personality is amazing.”

You laughed, “Yeah. No. I’m not the looks of someone to be married.”

Moments passed, The silence thickened. You could hear your own breathing and Sam set down the popcorn on the table and took the blanket off of me and him. “Get up and come with me.”

“What?”

Sam grabbed my hands and pulled me up towards him. “Come with me. I have to show you something.” As he said that he took your right hand in his and walked towards your room and opened the door.

Your room looked the same as it always did. Bed maid, your window closed, your books on the table.

Sam took you in front of the mirror, him standing behind you.

“What do you see?”

You look at him through the mirror and give him an odd look.

“What?”

Sam took a breath, “In the mirror, what do you see?”

“I see me…. We done?”

“No. You see yourself, what do you see about you? What do you like or dislike?”

You rolled your eyes, “What’s your point, Sam?”

"I want you to see the beautiful woman, I see."

Beautiful? He was talking about me? Your mind was spiraling in thoughts. Years of self-doubt, men leaving you since you didn't fit into their "desires". Just to have Sam, your best friend and crush call you beautiful looking at you with no makeup, shorts that showed your curve, thick thighs touching each other, and a tank top that didn't hide your bloated stomach.

Beautiful.

"I want you to see how perfect you are to me. Your personality, your smile, how you change the room. " Sam chuckles, "Even your weird obsession with old 90 movies." Sam's hands gently roam down your body to be around your waist.

Beautiful. Perfect.

Not in a million years those two words would fall out of anyone's mouth. Not Sam's at least, You never would have thought that he would talk about you like that.

“Everything of yours is perfect. Your curves, your hips, your smile. " As he said that his hands were all over your body...touching every inch gently. You look at Sam through the mirror, "Sam..." Seeing his hands on your body felt fantastic and right.

"I know the past two years have been hard, I wish I was here for you. Things happened...but I am here now." Sam said his hand was now on my cheek caressing softly. "Let me have this chance."

You took a deep breath, this felt like a dream. Sam Winchester really said that and meant that.

You look up at Sam and nod your head. Instantly his lips met yours.

The kiss was full of passion yet gentle. Like You were a fragile art piece in a museum. His hand was on your waist and he pulled you in closer as he finished the kiss.

"Is this okay?" His hand had my shirt. You nodded your head and he took your shirt off revealing your black bra.

You covered your stomach as Sam looked at you, he wrapped his hands on your arms and moved them away, "I told you that you are beautiful, don't hide yourself from me.

Sam pinned your arms to your side and from your lips down to your stomach near the top of your pants. He kissed every scar, and stretch mark as he went. Whispering all sorts of sweet nothings, while he kissed you.

Sam looked up at you and smiled, "Take your pants off and lay on the bed baby girl."

You took a deep breath and turned from Sam, slipping your pants off and laying down on the bed. Sam was now shirtless and working on his pants.

Once he was left in his boxers he walked towards you and climbed on top of you, his face above yours. He gave you a small kiss on the forehead, the tip of the nose, and finally your lips.

It felt euphoric, the amount of times you never thought this would happen or even think you would be alone for all your life was out of the equation. You were happy.

With his small kisses, Sam cupped your breasts in his hands and softly squeezed them. Making you moan out softly. He lifted you up and unclipped your bra. You slipped out of your bra and allowed him to throw it on the floor. He kissed you once more before fondling your breasts and using his mouth on your nipple, swirling his tongue around your sensitive bud.

You softly moan and hold his head. Yanking his hair softly, Sam releases your nipple and looks up at you, "Better be careful Y/n. I want to take my time, but I will take you right now if you want."

Sam kissed your breasts and went down to your clothed pussy. Kissing the top of your underwear. His dirty talk made you feel excited for what's to come. Your underwear was soaked and Sam knew it, he rubbed your clothed pussy up and down making you moan out loud.

This was really happening. You were going to lose your virginity to Sam.

"Sam... I've never done this before." You admitted to him. He looked up at you and kissed your lips softly, "If you wanna stop we-" Before he could finish his sentence you cut him off with another kiss.

"I want you Sam."

You kissed Sam once more, deepening this kiss. His hands go back to your underwear and easily slide them off.

He breaks the kiss and goes down to my pussy, looking up at you before licking up and sucking on my clit. You moan out loud feeling the sensation of his tongue, Sam licked up and down and sucked on your clit before using a finger and thrusting in your pussy.

His one finger felt amazing inside, yet it stretched you out. If you couldn't take a finger. When he finally goes inside it may not fit. But, no matter the pleasure right now was overwhelming. You didn't want it to stop.

Sam does stop abusing your clit, rubbing your pussy, and adding another finger. You close your eyes and arch your back up, moaning out.

He was paying attention to everything that made you feel nothing but pleasure. He used his two fingers in a scissoring motion and that plus his mouth on you took you over the edge.

Your eyes feel blurry and your breaths are heavy, you could feel Sam's eyes on you. He leans up and kisses you. "Feel good baby girl?"

You smile and nod, "Yes."

You never noticed that Sam slipped his boxers off, his length hitting your thigh. You look down and take a breath.

It's a lot bigger than I thought...I don't think it would fit.

Your mind was spiraling and you could feel your nerves go through the roof.

"Don't overthink, keep your eyes on me. It will be uncomfortable but I am right here." Sam noticed you were in your head. His hands were rubbing your legs comfortably to make you relax. He kissed you gently and pulled you close to him as he rubbed his cock near your entrance.

Sam pulled away looking at you in your eyes, "You ready?"

A moment passed and you finally nodded your head. You wanted it You leaned up and kissed Sam once more. The head of his cock rubbing against your cunt.

During the kiss Sam thrusted in, You gasped in the kiss and he stopped moving while you looked like you were in discomfort.

When your face relaxed he thrusted again slowly until you told him to go faster.

The pleasure felt amazing, nothing felt better than being with Sam. You didn't want anyone else but him, the feel of his kisses, his touch. Was the most amazing thing you have ever felt.

The feeling of his cock filling you up to the brim felt amazing, how you stretched around to fit him and only him.

Sam was grunting as he thrusted, he started to moan softly kissing you while he thrusted into you. He gripped the sheets beside you as you gripped his shoulders filling him into you.

Sam pulled out and came on your stomach, "Sorry.." He chuckled and grabbed his shirt and cleaned you up, You smiled and looked down at him cleaning you up.

The one thing you knew for sure was that not only Sam was your first love, but no matter what he would always be your last.

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 31/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

When she wakes, she’s alone. She touches the sheets on Mulder’s side of the bed and finds them cool, long since unoccupied. The clock on the nightstand tells her that it’s after 10am. 

She scrambles out of the bed, kicking at the sheets that are tangled around her legs. What if he left? What if he went in search of Diana, or his parents, with the intention of confronting them? What if he does not yet understand just how much danger they are in?

She throws the bedroom door open and rushes down the hallway, coming to a dead stop in the threshold of the living room when she sees him standing at the window, his back to her. Her panicked heartbeat begins to settle, and she takes in the neat stacks of paper on the now upright coffee table, then recognizes the gentle notes of music lilting from the stereo. 

Quietly, she pads back down the hall to brush her teeth and use the bathroom, though she cannot summon the will to get dressed. The apartment is already growing warm in the early summer heat, making her cotton shorts and Stanford T-shirt more comfortable than any of the proper clothes she packed in her rush to flee Ellicott City. She examines the purple splotch on her cheek where Mulder struck her, then dabs on a bit of concealer in an attempt to cover it up. When she returns to the living room, he’s right where she left him. 

“Mulder?” she says from the threshold, and he turns around sharply. 

He looks her over and his expression softens, making her belly tumble. He looks happy to see her. 

“Hi,” he says softly, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I figured you could use some extra sleep. Sorry about…”

She shakes her head. 

“You don’t need to be sorry,” she says emphatically.

They are quiet for a moment, the notes of the music filling the void. It’s Sam Cooke, one of the other songs from the album. Show me that river, take me across, wash all my troubles away. Like that lucky old sun, give me nothin’ to do but roll around heaven all day. 

Slowly, she crosses the living room and stands beside him in front of the window, looking out over the drab cityscape. He touches her cheek and she startles, then looks up at him to find a pained expression on his face. 

“Is this from me?” he asks, brushing the backs of his knuckles across her cheekbone. 

“It was an accident,” she tells him, and he cringes. 

“I’m sorry,” he says mournfully, pushing her hair out of her face. 

The graze of his fingertips over her skin makes her shiver despite the warmth of the sun, and Mulder abruptly pulls his hand away.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, reaching out to touch that same hand briefly. “Your dream. Was it about Samantha?” she asks hesitantly. 

Mulder sighs and stares blankly at the horizon for a beat. 

“The details are hazy,” he says, then shakes his head like it may knock something loose. “All of them, not just the dream. I remember little snippets here and there, but there are massive blank spots between them.”

Scully turns and sits gingerly on the sill of the window, crossing her legs at the ankle. She sees Mulder briefly glance down at the exposed skin on her thighs before he quickly looks away. 

“What are the snippets?” she asks. 

He looks off in the distance again, absently dragging his thumbnail back and forth across the stubble on his chin. 

“I remember sitting in my bedroom as a child while a police officer was interviewing me. I can’t remember what he said, I just remember looking past him and seeing a man in the doorway, watching,” he recites rotely. “I remember a party of some kind, and a woman with short brown hair talking to me.” He sighs again, then shrugs. “It’s less of a memory of an event and more of a feeling. I can remember feeling afraid when the police officer was interviewing me—I actually feel nauseated just thinking about it now. And when the woman was talking to me, I remember feeling embarrassed or humiliated. Maybe ashamed, I’m not sure.”

“Are all of the feelings associated with the memories bad?” 

He turns away from the window and looks at her, letting his eyes wander aimlessly across her cheeks and chin, her nose, her mouth. Finally he meets her eye and she feels herself flush. 

“No,” he says simply.

The song ends, and the album starts over. The first few notes stir up a maelstrom of emotion, though she’s heard them hundreds of times over the last several days. His presence, his proximity, the weight of his eyes on her, overwhelm her with nostalgia and longing.

“This song is meaningful,” he says, and her chin quivers as she nods. “I can feel that it is, but I don’t remember why. Tell me,” he requests. 

She lowers her head, remembering. His arms around her waist, the way he looked at her. So content. So in love. 

“It’s the first memory of you that I had. We were standing in a kitchen, dancing to this song,” she says quietly. 

Mulder listens to the notes for a moment, then reaches past her and hits a button on the stereo. She feels his fingers brush against her palm and she looks up at him. 

“May I have this dance?” he asks with a nervous smile, threading his fingers through hers. 

She can’t speak, so she just nods and allows him to lead her to the open area in front of the patio door. His free hand finds her waist, and hers his shoulder, and they begin a slow waltz. She’s so overwhelmed by the familiarity of it, by the crushing need to feel him closer, that her eyes immediately well up. She stares at his chest, not wanting him to take her emotional response as an indication that she’s upset and they should stop. 

At first I thought it was infatuation, but oooooh it’s lasted so long. Now I find myself wanting to marry you and take you home. 

In an attempt to conceal her distress, she turns her head and rests her bruised cheek against his pectoral. She’s sure he can feel her tears wetting his T-shirt when he pulls her a little closer and begins to brush his thumb comfortingly across the side of her wrist. Her heart aches so acutely it feels as though it’s actively breaking, crumbling under the realization that she may never get him back, not really. She clutches the fabric of his shirt in her fist, wondering if he will stay with her if she falls apart. Wondering if he will comfort her while she mourns the loss of him. He heaves a sigh, and her head rises and falls with the expansion of his lungs.

“I don’t remember dancing to this song,” he says, his voice tight. 

“I know, Mulder,” she consoles him, and herself. “It’s okay.”

He rests his chin on the top of her head. “I don’t remember what happened, the events,” he continues, the bass of his voice vibrating in her ear and his breath tickling her scalp. “But I do remember how I felt. I know that I loved you.”

Adrenaline flashes through her like a lightning strike, and her eyes fly open. Slowly, she lifts her head off his chest and looks up at him. Hooded, mossy green eyes, the plush pout of his bottom lip, third day stubble dappling his cheeks. Recognition. The part of him that loves her looking right back. 

She feels her face contort into something that is surely very unattractive, and she cannot find a single word to say that feels adequate. He releases her, then cradles her face in his hands and swipes his thumbs across the tears streaming down her cheeks. They just keep coming, a deluge of relief, and sadness, and hope, and fear. 

“I’m sorry, Scully,” he whispers, agony on his face. “I’m sorry I don’t remember.” 

She opens her mouth to respond, but then his lips are on hers and she forgets what she was going to say. His kiss is firm and chaste, an act of impulse fueled by bravery. Both her hands are on his waist, clinging to him desperately, afraid to let go. He pulls away just as suddenly as he initiated, and they stare at each other for a moment, awestruck. 

You thrill me. Darling you, you, you, thrill me. You thrill me, honest you do. 

She doesn’t allow herself to consider the risk. To think about how she will feel if he rejects her, if he tells her it was a mistake. She brings one hand to the back of his neck and tugs him down, pushing up onto her tiptoes and pressing her mouth fully against his. Mulder hums in surprise, stiffening briefly before his hands move to her waist and he pulls her flush against him, nearly lifting her off the floor. His mouth tastes like heaven, like coffee and sunflower seeds and confessions whispered across rental car consoles. She doesn’t hold back, couldn’t if she wanted to, as she laps hungrily at his tongue, threading her arms around his neck and then her legs around his hips. She feels his hands cup her ass cheeks to hold her steady and her brain short circuits.

Please, please, please, she begs him with her body. With the flex of her hips against his belly and the needy whimpers bubbling up from her throat. She feels herself falling, and then she’s collapsing into his lap as he sits heavily on the couch. Their hands freed, they claw at one another’s T-shirts, interrupting their kisses only long enough to strip the offending items off and toss them to the floor. When her breasts meet with the bare skin of his chest, he groans and grabs her hips, pulling her firmly against him. 

“Is this okay?” he asks breathily, the bulge of his erection pressing against her vulva through her shorts. 

“Yes,” she whimpers, fumbling with the fly of his jeans. “God, I want you so much.”

She feels like she’s on fire, like she could die from the heat of the wanting. Like she’s been dying, suffocating under the loss of him, and she can breathe again for the first time in months. 

He stands and sets her on the floor before tucking his fingers under the waist of her shorts and sliding them down her hips. They puddle around her feet, along with her already soaked panties, leaving her nude. She already had his jeans unbuttoned and the fly lowered, and he shoves them roughly to his knees before he sits back down and she climbs into his lap. Her clit throbs expectantly when she wraps her hand around his shaft, giving him a few pumps before she lifts her hips and lowers herself onto him. 

Time slows as she sinks down. The sweet stretch, the tickle of his pubic hair as she sits fully in his lap, the heat of his balls pressed against her. She sighs and kisses him deeply, leaning the full weight of her body against his, connecting every inch of skin that she possibly can. Mulder runs his palms over her back, her hips, her thighs. The tips of his fingers skirt along the crack of her ass and her desire flares again. She arches her back, drawing her hips away from him, then thrusts her pelvis forward until she feels the head of him collide with her cervix. 

Mulder sucks in a breath and his fingers dig into her hips. “Do we…are there condoms here?” he asks through gritted teeth, and her heart sinks. 

“I can’t get pregnant,” she murmurs against his mouth, and while she’s sure that they are words she has uttered before, they feel painfully fresh. 

“Oh. Sorry,” he says, and she desperately does not want to go there right now, not when this is the first time she has felt good in weeks. 

“It’s okay,” she assures him, grinding her hips against his lap to bring him back to the moment. Back to her. 

He moans, and she begins a steady rhythm forward and back, the length of him dragging across her clit on each downstroke. They kiss sloppily, intermittently just holding their open mouths against one another, and one of his hands finds its way to her breast. He captures her nipple in the webbing between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing and kneading so perfectly in a way that he could not have intuited. She collapses against him, tucking her face into his neck, and he moves both hands to her ass cheeks. Though she is on top, she becomes the passive party as he flexes his pelvis and pulls her down, then pushes her away, fucking her from his inferior position. And it feels so devastatingly good, not only physically but mentally, because they have done this so many times. Because even if his mind cannot remember, his body does. He knows her in his bones, in his heart, in his cock. She melts into him as it builds, and builds, and builds, and he grunts when he feels her quiver around him.

“God, I love the way you smell,” he mutters, burying his nose in her hair. “The way you feel.” 

“I’m gonna come,” she whispers, so full of love and pleasure that she wishes this moment would never end. 

His head drops back against the couch as she explodes around him, shortly following her over the edge. She lets it all wash over her, the oxytocin and the dopamine, the love and the relief, the desperation for more, even though she’s still in the thick of it. They start kissing again, moaning and writhing and coming with the impending afternoon heat beating down on them through the uncovered windows. She feels the slick of them both pooling in his lap as her hips begin to slow, then he throbs for the final time and slips free of her. 

She rests her head on his shoulder, sighing contentedly, and he wraps his arms around her waist. They sit there for minutes, basking in the afterglow and the bliss of being held. 

“That was fun,” he says shyly, breaking the silence, and her mouth stretches into a wide grin. 

She sits up, looking at his swollen mouth and blown pupils, and the knowing smirk that’s as familiar to her as her own name. 

“Yes, it was,” she agrees playfully, and then they just look at each other.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says with wonder. “How’d I land someone as pretty as you?”

She laughs, which adds to the mess beneath them on the couch.��

“It took a very, very long time,” she says emphatically, and he reaches up and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. 

“Worth it, I bet,” he says softly, and this time the tears that threaten her eyes are tears of joy. 

“Very.”

Tagging @today-in-fic

[mxltifxnd0m]

I'M LATE BUT I WANTED TO DO THE CHARACTER ASK GAME WITH YOUUUU !!

i'm gonna ask a shit ton sorry not too sorry because i just love when you talk about things and i'm selfish and in love with you!!!!

5, 6, 9, 12, 13, 14, and 21 with sammy ???

bonus answer any of those questions you want about isaac !! (idk if i ever said this but i had a huge crush on him as a kid when my sister was obsessed with teen world would explain the whole entire plot of it in detail to me every night before bed LMAO)

character ask game !: [send something in my inbox and ill answer honestly]

ARGHH I LOVE YOU MARI SO MUCH (be as selfish as you want hehe) <33

(im going to answer for both of them bc i love both so much and OMG??? you're so real for crushing on isaac bc SAME i love stiles as well but isaac 😩😩 why are we literally the same/made for each other??)

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

sammy: ooh summer child by conan gray or a little death by the neighborhood isaac: daddy issues by the neighborhood or j's lullaby (darlin' i'd wait for you) by delaney bailey

6. What's something you have in common with this character?

sammy: errr i would say my passion to learn about obscure topics or the amount of sass we have isaac: the way we both care a lot of about our friends/ our loyalty to the people who we love

9. Could you be roommates with this character?

sammy: ooh i think to a certain extent i could but sam feels like the type to leave dishes in the sink and id probably get irritated at him for it LOL isaac: i feel like he'd be a good roommate but would have a habit of not taking his shoes off in the apartment

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

sammy: i have plenty in my head but i have one where he actually had a birthmark at the base of his spine that foreshadowed his first death at the end of season 2 but disappeared after he was brought back :) isaac: that he still kept in contact with the pack after he left to france at the end of season 3B 🙃 (i have so many thoughts and feelings about isaac not coming back for the rest of the show because we were ROBBED)

13. What's an emoji, an emoticon and/or any symbol that reminds you of this character or you think the character would use a lot?

sammy: ooh the emojis that remind me of him is probably these ones: 🧩🩸🍁☕️🎻 also i don't think sam would use emojis while texting he might just use emoticons or if hes gonna use emojis, he uses them like a millennial 💀 (i feel like we forget that sam is in fact a millennial LOL) isaac: the emojis that remind me of isaac: 🐺🐚💐🌕🌀 but i don't think isaac would use emojis either but if he had to it would be this specific combo 😐😑😐 (idk why it feels like isaac to me lmaoo)

14. Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

sammy: if we're talking like a modern stanford era sam, then like downtown boy or dark academia for mr. law boy loll isaac: ooh isaac was hard to pin down but i have to say like downtown boy or maybe even soft boy (im thinking grandpa sweaters)

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

sammy: mmm my fav thing to do when im writing for sam is probably writing his mannerisms that i've noticed when watching the show or describing how absolutely gorgeous he is @_@ then my least favorite thing as of late is writing dialogue for him like idk why but he's been sounding ooc to me when i write him T_T isaac: my fav thing to do when writing for isaac is exploring his personality more in depth, i haven't written a lot for him just yet but i still want to explore his character (because the writers didn't) so idc if he seems ooc in the potential fics i write LOL i don't really anything that isn't my least favorite thing to write since i haven't written for him that much, but that'll change soon! (i just have to get out of my sammy brain rot just the tiniest bit)

ARGHH THANKS FOR SENDING THIS IN MARI I LOVED EVERY SECOND OF IT AND FOR LETTING ME YAP ABOUT MY LOVES (other than you ofc <33)

[ardentpoop]

your a person who I feel really understands Sam and I always enjoy seeing your opinions on the show so i hope you don’t mind me asking a bit of a specific Sam question. In s8 Sam says that the time is he found with Amelia was something unique that he found for the first time in his life. I’ve always found that line to be a bit weird considering Stanford and Jess but I’d like to see what you think Sam means and is saying by this line. Have a good day.

hi :)

I have mixed feelings on the amelia arc leaning more positive than negative bc I’m a contrarian and I thought the fandom disliked that arc for the wrong reasons lmao - as usual dean’s inescapable perspective aggressively dampened ppl’s ability to empathize w/ sam. also as usual this fandom hates women as much as the show does.

anyway bird’s eye view: sam’s “break” with amelia pre-s8 followed the extremely traumatic events (for sam more than anyone) of s4-s7. he spends literal years dealing w/ one catastrophe after another, his and dean’s relationship suffers its first major breakdown in s4 that imo they never truly recover from, he sacrifices himself to save the world bc it was “his fault” it nearly ended, he suffers an eternity of torture in the cage and loses those memories then regains them then loses them again, nothing feels solid to him least of all his own body and mind. and then dean dies in the s7 finale! or at least, sam thinks he does - he has no reason to believe otherwise. and sam looks for dean, we see that he does, we see him spinning out and suicidal again, but then he stops. bc he hits a dog! and he meets A Girl. and this girl, like him, is drifting and grieving and desperate for something solid to hold onto for just a while. and she’s prickly and unapproachable at first and sam finds that comforting.

my overall point is that sam’s headspace going into stanford era and sam’s headspace pre samndean reunion in s8 are like…. impossibly different. he goes through shit his teen self wouldn’t even have the words to describe. he and dean hit lows that he would’ve never thought possible when they only had each other for comfort under john’s roof.

stanford era sam was blessed with ignorance; he was trying to be Normal, he left his stifling family unit behind and started planning a stable future without them, he was doing everything you’re Supposed to do to be a happy successful person per american individualism - and at the time, it WAS making him happy, bc everyone had kept him in the dark abt the nefarious plot he was smack-dab in the middle of; he didn’t know his freedom was an illusion and that he’d never stopped being watched.

pre-s8 sam on the other hand has long since given up on normalcy. he views himself as a freak who will “never be okay” and hunting as a burden that he deserves to bear. it takes dean being gone for the veil to lift a little and remind him that A) it’s maybe okay that he’s a freak lmao bc amelia’s kind of a freak as well and they can help each other specifically because they’re broken in similar ways, and B) he CAN feel okay when he’s not hunting.

like we know sam’s always hated hunting lol his introduction as a character is centered on this inner conflict. however sam “running away” from “the life” before he knows abt what azazel did to him and before he’s made to shoulder the burden of the apocalypse in s5, among countless other burdens, and sam making an Informed Decision to step back from hunting are 2 entirely different things. to me.

also btw sam turning away from hunting is inextricable from sam turning away from dean, and punished accordingly. bc sam’s Place is at dean’s side whether he likes it or not. he is reminded of this the very instant dean gets back from purgatory and bombarded with guilt abt it for the rest of the season until he cracks.

[preseriesdean]

happy wincest wednesday<33!! do you have a headcanon for why they haven't spoken in 2 years according to the pilot or do you accept that as a continuity error and assume they haven't spoken in 4?

happy wincest thwednesday!! 💞 i do think it’s a continuity error (isn’t there also this thing where according to john’s journal, which isn’t really canon, sam actually left for stanford at 19, not 18? let’s disregard the journal though and say sam left for stanford in ‘01) but i’m running with it.

there are so many possibilities here: of course there’s the drunk 1am phone call somewhere in the middle. but WHAT IF they actually just ran into each other by chance - at least seemingly? not in palo alto, but on a trip sam took. he’ll walk down the street, maybe even in san francisco or somewhere far away, and see the impala parked right there and he’ll go, okay, this could be anyone’s car. theirs wasn’t one of a kind. except the plates match, so it’s definitely dean’s. sam’s friends will gush over the car and sam is sort of stuck, until he sees dean round the corner with a to-go coffee cup and bags under his eyes and his hair longer than sam has ever seen it and there’s this split second of both of them just staring before dean slaps on a grin and gets all smug about some other guy making heart-eyes at the impala. and it takes sam a little while longer to get his brain back online where he recognizes dean’s tough-guy act for exactly what it is but also doesn't know what to say at all

they’d go to a bar and try to catch up but neither of them is telling the whole truth about how they’re doing and they both know they’re lying but neither is willing to call the other one out on it, because they’re not allowed to do that anymore after so long, and maybe they play some darts and try to savor that little unexpected sense of normalcy, of being brothers without this baggage looming over them, and the elephant in the room takes away all the oxygen from around them and there’s this unspeakable tension that’s somehow part anger part longing part something-else until they part ways again because dean’s case is dealt with and sam has exams soon.

and sam is left wondering if it actually was a coincidence because of course mr. dean “i thought you’d tell me to get lost or get dead” winchester wouldn’t admit to following him, right? his face was startled enough when they saw each other, but sam hasn’t seen dean in two years and he’s horrified to realize that he might be out of practice when it comes to reading his brother’s expressions, something he’d always been stellar at, so that’s also a whole issue that breaks sam’s heart a little bit. and he should feel outraged at the possibility of dean following him instead of just calling him and asking how he’s doing but he can’t quite make himself actually feel that rage because it’s dean and there’s always been this part of him that secretly liked how dean loved him in that obsessive, entitled way, because it's what he knows best and it makes him feel safe. so he accepts it.

then it’s another two years of radio silence because dean saw that sam was happy with his friends and fitting in with them, and sam assumes that dean’s still angry at him for leaving, and they’re still young and stupid and trying not to act on how obsessed they both are with each other, so they go right back to not talking. 🙂

this, i think, also works with how dean appears in the pilot and throughout the first season: cocky at first but then earnest and honest, too, communicating more clearly what it is that he wants and needs, “i can’t do this alone / i don’t want to” (only five minutes in and he’s already letting himself be vulnerable. i love him so much) because that first time two years ago didn’t work out so well, did it? so this time he tries to do it right, because the stakes are higher and because he needs sam.

(obligatory fic rec: i’ll take my chance on a beautiful stranger by fleshflutter)

[diminuel]

SPN Jennifer’s body au where after Sam left for Stanford and John left to find azazel dean was kidnapped by a cult at a bar he was visiting as a virgin sacrifice and he was killed but since he wasn’t a virgin he came back an incubus/succubus and now has to seduce and feed on any man he can find. What would Sam think if he ever found his brother like he is now? What about John? How would Dean deal with this

Before I get into it: why would the cult abduct Dean as a virgin sacrifice? What gave the cult the idea that he was a virgin? Seems like a somewhat odd conclusion to reach considering they must spot him in a bar - where he usually goes to pick up women and hustle pool.

As to what Dean might do if he found himself in a situation where he's a monster that needs to feed on men? (I suppose the succubus/ incubus thing implies that the feeding might involve sex.) I'm tempted to say that Dean would try to starve himself.

Because we're in the early 2000s and this is Dean. I can imagine that Dean would try to repress or at least try to hide if he had a desire for men. Sure, he's away from his father and his brother, so maybe nobody would have to know, but it would still be a part of himself that he would not openly or comfortably share.

Now, add to that being a monster - where his desire might be forced due to his need to feed and where his desire is actively harmful to others. So it turns to something shameful and morally wrong.

(And John and Sam are off doing whatever, would Dean even want to involve them? Would he not be too ashamed of what happened to him? I don't know. But say they do find out; John's a hunter and we've seen how hunters deal when one of them turns - it's usually a "you are a monster, you must deny your nature or die" kind of situation. Sam would probably be more level headed about it because it's his brother so he would try to find a cure. Though Sam's a bit more "grey" about the morality of things - he will make allowances for his family he wouldn't make for normal people who find themselves in this situation. Though trying to find a cure would probably be his priority.)

[dimplecki]

Tides are turning - Chapter 2

Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!hunter, Sam winchester X Fem!hunter

Rating: R (tagging angst, violence, death, language, light smut, mentions of substance abuse)

Summary: When Sam died the first time, Dean brought him back to life. He didn't tell me about the deal he made with that demon until Sam forced him to tell me. We all knew that Dean only had one year left to live, and we all tried to prevent that from happening. The second time he died, Sam was attacked by a demon close to Lilith and fought against it. he lost. one year after his mysterious death odd things start to happen, and I realized things are not quite as they seem.

Authors Note: this story takes place post season 3(with the exceptional flashbacks to the past), difference being Sam died and Dean never went to hell. we experience the story through the eyes a female hunter who went to Stanford with Sam and joined Sam and Dean in their revenge quest after jess’s death. she is Deans girlfriend but there are things happening with Sam as well.  

Chapter 2

When I opened my eyes, Dean's face was no longer in front of mine.

I turned and looked at the time. half past six in the morning. It wasn't strange for Dean to wake up before me, but it was strange today. 

The fifteenth of December. Today.

I took a deep breath and sat up. My skin shivered and crawled. It was extremely cold, even for winter, but maybe that's just me.

I went downstairs to find Dean in the kitchen, his face buried in a cup of coffee with his back hunched forward. I approached him and laid my hands on his shoulders, leaning him back into a hug.

"Hey," I said in his ear. Dean put his free hand on mine, and held it. I could smell his breath, and it smelled strongly of whiskey. I guessed Dean added a spike to his coffee. 

We stayed like that for a few moments and then I let go of him to go and make my own coffee. Without whiskey. 

"Why are you up so early?" I asked. Although I guessed why. Dean was silent for a few seconds.

"He's dead." he said huskily. "He's been dead for a year."

I did my best to ignore the suffocating lump that settled in my throat and refused to let me breathe, and I didn't let the tears come out. I need to be strong for Dean. I finished making the coffee and sat in the chair next to him. He was still looking at the bottom of his glass, as if he would find solace there.

"And that fucking demon's still walking around, Dee." he added, burying his head in his hands.

"Which means it's time to call it quits." I said and I was right. Dean has been obsessed with finding this demon for a year now and he hasn't even come across a clue.

"Never." He said and finally looked at me with a stern look. His eyes were full of tears but none of them escaped. "I'd rather die."

"Maybe that's really what will happen in the end."

He started to raise his voice. "My brother is dead! That fucking demon killed him! And I'm supposed to just do nothing?"

I lowered my gaze to avoid his angry eyes, biting on the inside of my cheek. I would usually glare at him until he realized he needed to lower his voice. Not this time. 

"I will avenge my brother's blood, my blood..." he said in a quiet voice, with a dark glint in his eyes. "Even if it's the last thing I do."

"It's bad for you, Dean. Look at yourself. You talk like—"

"I don't care. If you do, then live with it."

I leaned forward and kissed his head. He was surprised but not deterred."I live with it every day." I said in a whisper. 

~

Bobby, Dean and I gathered together around Sam's grave at noon. The green field was gray now, and a cold wind blew across our faces as we raised a glass of whiskey to Sam's memory. There wasn't exactly a tombstone, but there was a large stone with the initials S.W engraved on it, Dean's handiwork.

Dean's necklace, the amulet Sam had given him when they were kids, was hanging there from a large screw Dean had drilled into the stone. 

To be honest, I thought it was a bit humiliating. Sam was a hunter, and he deserved to be buried like one. But Dean by no means agreed to cremate his body, as if fantasizing about the day when Sam would come back to life, and need a body to return to.

"To Sam," Dean said hoarsely and a single tear fell from his glistening eyes. He raised his glass in the air.

"To Sam," Bobby and I repeated his words, the three of our cups making a 'click' noise as they touched each other.

Dean ducked down towards the grave and held the amulet between his fingers. "Don't worry, Sammy. I'm taking care of Diana. Or she's taking care of me, I don't know anymore..." He let out a sad chuckle. "All of us here miss you, man…" His voice broke as he sniffled. It was hard to watch. I tried as much as possible to detach myself from my feelings, to be present and strong for Dean, but even I couldn't stop the tears from coming. I quickly wiped them off. Sam was the glue that made us a family, united our destinies, and now he's gone.

"I will avenge you, brother." he whispered. I bent down and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. We remained silent for a few moments.

"Sam was a good hunter, and an even better man." Bobby said quietly. "He was wise, a kind soul, he cared about people, more than anyone standing here. He was our heart, our moral compass, our humanity. We miss you, son." He finished and drank all the whiskey in one big gulp.

I didn't say anything. I was not good with words, and frankly, I felt that my grief was somehow more intimate, and belonged only to me. If Sam is still up there somewhere in heaven, watching us, he knows how much I love him, and how much it hurts to live without him.

~

Tonight is Monday. After a hard and busy day of investigating after suspicious cases and spending too many hours in the office; I was on the bar stool in the kitchen, eating Chinese food and watching with amusement as Dean barked at someone on the phone. Bobby, I would say.

After Saturday he acted as usual, as if nothing had happened. It's always been that way. Dean is the king of repressed emotions, and I'm the queen. Really a couple of cuties, to my opinion.

My cellphone started vibrating on the table, I looked at the screen. blocked number.

I wiped my hands on my jeans and picked up my phone.

"Hello?" I said, swallowing the last bite of food. Dean spoke loudly, but I could vaguely hear breathing of the person on the other line. They didn't say a word.

"Hello?" I repeated myself again, louder and more slowly this time. Dean finally hung up, and now I could clearly hear someone breathing. But no one spoke yet. After a few seconds the person hung up.

I put the cell phone on the table and resumed eating. It didn't particularly intrigue me.

"Who was that?" Dean asked. I shrugged.

“No one.” Dean raised his eyebrow but didn't ask any further questions. He knew that if I had something to say I would say it.

"Right... anyway, I talked to Bobby. I have to go to Washington, there are complaints of interference with phone lines, and a suspicious murder case of a married couple, they both died in their bed for no apparent reason, at the same time. Could be something."

"Washington is far," I said, allowing myself a slightly whiny tone to my words.

"Yeah, and I'll probably stay there until the day after tomorrow if I don't kill something today. Try not to go crazy without me, okay?"

"I know it’s hard to believe believe I'll find a way to go two days without pizza leftovers on the couch and stinky socks on the floor, Dean Baby. But I'll try and survive." Dean chuckled and walked up to me, clinging to me from behind and kissing my neck. I closed my eyes and purred in pleasure.

"Maybe something can be done to make you feel better," he whispered into my ear.

"I've had a long day, Dean…I'm tired." I said and I knew that there was not a trace of truth in my voice.

"Well, and what better way is there to end it?" he asked, his hands traveling teasingly slow up my body and lightly squeezing my breasts. I smiled to myself and knew I couldn't stop even if I wanted to. And I didn't want to.

Dean grabbed my face with one hand and turned it towards him, trailing his kisses from my neck all the way to my lips. His lips were delicious and juicy against mine. I couldn't resist and bit his lower lip, running my tongue over it, tasting him.

I shivered as he slid his hand under my bra. His hands were cold and my nipples hardened under his touch. He caught one of them between two fingers and pinched. I let out a small, high-pitched moan of surprise. I felt him smile against my lips, and then without warning he picked me up and carried me all the way upstairs to the bed with no effort.

When we got upstairs he threw me on the bed and took off his shirt. He got on his knees on the bed and paused for a moment. I looked at his body with admiration, at the big shoulders, covered with freckles, at all the scars that adorned him and told his story. Dean was beautiful.

He gave me a dazzling, loving smile, and I felt my heart fill with warmth that spread all over me. He lifted my legs and leaned his body over mine. Our lips met again. His breathing became heavy as he pressed his hips against my core and I could feel his bulge through his jeans. My nails dug into his skin and I pushed my hips up, increasing the friction. He slipped his hand under my back and arched it towards him, I could feel the heat radiating from his chest, and his heartbeat which started to speed up. His hands worked quickly and before I noticed my bra was already on the floor, and my shirt was next to it shortly after. Dean lowered himself towards my chest with sloppy, wet kisses. He grabbed one nipple in his mouth and gently licked and sucked it, while his other hand grabbed my second breast, massaging it. I let out a deep, long moan and ran my hand over his hair, grabbing where it was long enough to tug. I felt hot surges of arousal from all the spots on my body that Dean touched and I wanted more, thrusting my hips up in his direction in hunger.

Dean laughed in a low voice, the bass of his voice vibrating around my nipple. He positioned himself between my thighs again and looked into my eyes with a drunken, dominating look. "You want more?" he asked, moving his body over mine at a slow, maddening pace; running his fingers over my lips, letting me taste them. I nodded pleadingly. He leaned down and whispered in my ear, running his tongue all over it. I gasped. "What do you want? Say it."

"I want you to fuck me," I panted, my voice trembling with desire.

Dean growled in an animal-like sound and continued to quickly unbutton my jeans, while I unbuckled his belt. When we were both only in our underwear, and our bodies were rubbed against each other with growing hunger, I gave myself into the intoxicating feeling and let Dean have sweet, sweet control over my body.

~

Dean slumped off from me onto the bed, panting heavily. Apparently making me experience multiple orgasms is really an effort.

"Wow," I said, gasping for breath That's the only word I managed to get out after I was completely drained of energy. in a good way.

I turned my gaze to him and looked at him, he smiled his satisfied and tired smile, his chest rising up and down along with the rapid rate of his breathing.

I turned to him, running his fingertips back and forth on his arm, looking at him closing his eyes and smiling his goofy smile that I couldn't stop looking at.

I felt sensitive, exposed and vulnerable. Like I always feel after sex. But it was okay, because I was with Dean, and I was safe.

"I wonder what Sam would say about me being with you for so long, relatively," Dean said suddenly after long minutes of peaceful silence, looking at the white ceiling. "He always knew, me and long-term relationships don't work together."

I kept silent. Dean bringing Sam up for a conversation was a very rare occurrence. He smiled a little sadly. "He would probably ask how is it that put up with me for so long."

I hoped that wasn't a question Dean was asking himself. But I knew there was such a possibility.

"You're not that bad," I replied with a smile. He chuckled briefly and fell back into his thoughts. I turned his face to mine with my hand. I wanted so badly to get into his head for five minutes and know what was going on there.But more than that, I wanted to wipe that tormented expression off his face.

"Dean, I love you. So much." 

He smiled warmly, small crinkles appeared at the sides of his eyes "Thank goodness for that." He caressed my cheek, and I melted into his touch, closing my eyes. "I love you too Dee. You’re my girl."

He kissed me one last time, then got up to take a shower, get dressed and drive to Washington.

[ripcrispyblonde]

** This will likely continue to expand with further development. This verse is closed to @azrahel and my Mick Davies on @bleakfated. Other than that it is fair game to other characters **

Seasons 10/11

Before Metatron was broken out of Heaven, he convinced one of the angels that were still partial to his side to resurrect souls that had been important to the Winchesters. Metatron had a sinking feeling that the Winchesters and Castiel would come back for him and he wanted to have some leverage. Naturally, Jess became one of those souls as she was one that Ash had taught to break out of her section of Heaven and was often found in Ash's Heaven that only consisted of The Roadhouse. The souls being yanked out of Heaven hadn't gone unnoticed and the angel was quickly killed for their crimes against the new order of Heaven. Around this same time, with the help of Bobby, Metatron is taken back to Earth and loses his grace, thus losing any potential to use those he resurrected against them because he no longer had any allies.

Jessica woke up at her headstone in San Francisco. Terrified of what this meant, she quickly worked on fleeing the city in the off chance that anyone she had known in her human life would see her, especially her parents or sister. Little did she know that her parents now lived in Palo Alto and her sister was attending Stanford Law School. She bummed a ride off of a guy to Concord, at which point she ran off while he was inside a gas station. Having no idea how many years had passed since her death, Jessica was terrified of the potential of being brought back by demons to be used against Sam. She found her way to a Catholic church in hopes that she could remain safe there. The taunting of the demon inside of Tyson Brady had come back to her in waves. As he pulled the knife out of his chest, unbothered, he had let her know that she didn't stand a chance against him without salt, iron, or a devil's trap.

If that were the case, she needed a vessel to steal some holy water in and maybe something iron to protect herself, because she was still far too close for comfort to where it was most likely others would recognize her. She stole a water bottle off of a bike chained up outside of a coffee shop and quietly took some holy water from another church. It was at this moment that an unknown woman appeared not too far from Jessica. Azrael, the angel of death, was investigating why souls had been taken from Heaven. At first, Jessica immediately assumed danger and the idea of dying again with the potential of being intercepted on her way back to Heaven terrified her almost as much as being used as a bargaining chip against Sam. When the angel assured her that she didn't mean her any harm, Jessica relaxed enough for little bits of her personality to shine through and Azrael took a quick liking to her.

After this, Azrael assured Jess that she would help her get on her feet... but this turned into a rather strong friendship. Hunting came pretty easily with an angel by her side, but Jessica honed up her self-defense skills and knowledge of the supernatural. Azrael would often need to return to Heaven or solve other crises and this left Jessica with some time to integrate herself into the hunting community. Sometimes with other hunters, she would give her main alias name Vanessa, but she became more comfortable with some of them to give her her first name alone. Sporadically, she would spend some time at The Crossroads and became pretty friendly with Teddy and Cam, sometimes taking cases with them when Azrael was away on business. They were a few of the hunters that she had grown to trust, but she still wouldn't let on to anyone about her true identity other than Azzie who had obviously figured it out on her own.

Nightmares had plagued her since the moment she had first been brought back, mostly about her death and demons at first, but they quickly developed into ones about Sam. Were they no longer compatible because of how much they had both changed since 2005? Would he not want her as a memory of not being able to escape the hunting life for one that was normal? Had he met someone else, maybe a hunter that was way more badass than she could ever dream to be? Even the thought of him having met someone else and being ready to drop them for Jess made her feel sick to her stomach. Ultimately, all of these thoughts messed with her head enough to believe that leaving Sam in the dark about her resurrection would be what was best for both of them, so whenever she did go to The Crossroads, she made sure to message Cam or Teddy to see who had been around.

Season 12

About two years after Azrael and Jessica had become friends, they were on a case when they met Mick Davies. Mick had picked up hunting in the American fashion after he had not returned to the British Men of Letters compound where he knew they would kill him for breaking the code. He was a bit clumsy as a hunter, after being part of the brains of the operation of the BMOL for so long, so Azrael and Jessica were already in town when he had gotten there. The man was rather terrified of getting caught, because he knew they would have other members on the case of finding him to make sure he met his demise. Azrael and Jessica took a liking to him and promised to help keep him safe from what little of his story he was willing to share at first. After a month of being on the road together, Azrael was made aware of the carnage that took place when American hunters had stormed the compound.

If the agents weren't killed, they fled back to England. Doctor Hess was confirmed among the dead. It was at this time that Mick felt comfortable enough to use the key that he had to unlock all Men of Letters bunker. He knew where all of them were located because he had brought out the information on the defunct chapter as they set their eyes on the Winchesters from overseas. They settled in to the bunker in Missoula, Montana. Mick and Jessica developed a playfully friendly bond and the three were all pretty honest with each other. Jess had told Mick about who she was and that she was resurrected and Mick had let her know that it seemed that Eileen Leahy and Sam had some sort of romantic bond at least starting to form. This was something he quickly came to regret, because it only solidified Jessica's decision to not tell Sam about her further. Mick had grown to like the Winchesters and would often try to prod Jessica into changing her mind, because he believed that Sam deserved to know.

Season 13+

The tranquility of having a real home base only lasted for a few moments, however. A few weeks after settling in the Men of Letters bunker, Arthur Ketch picked the same bunker to regroup himself. He had found out from Doctor Hess before her death that she had gotten information on Mick from Crowley. He was paling around with an archangel, Azrael, the angel of death. Completely separate from the organization himself because they demanded he returned, he had started hunting under the alias Alexander after he had been resurrected from getting killed by the Winchesters with his resurrection seal. It became apparent that the bunker was lived in and he quietly made his way to the garage and made some noise, attracting the attention of Azrael and Mick. Rather effortlessly, he lit a match and trapped Azrael in the ring of holy oil he had made.

When Mick rushed at him, he rendered him unconscious and tied him up to watch the show as he strapped Azrael to a chair with straps etched with angel depowering and suppressing sigils. For a few moments, he considered killing both of them, but it didn't really seem fitting. He wanted Mick to suffer for being a weak point in their plans against the Winchesters. Instead, he decided that archangel grace was something that would come in handy in a lot of ways. For a few painstaking hours, he removed Azrael's grace with grace extracting syringes. The rest of the grace was extracted through a cut to the throat into a vial. This was a very painful process and the tortured screams of Azrael were enough fuel for Mick to break free of the binds placed on him. The two men fought it out for a long while, leaving the bunker in a state of disrepair. Eventually, Mick lost the fight and Ketch left the bunker after telling Mick that he hoped he enjoyed the rest of his pathetic existence.

Jessica was not home this night and instead had been staying in a motel in Smith Center to spend a few days at The Crossroads to unwind and catch up with some of her hunter friends. When she returned home, she immediately knew something was wrong when she saw a ring of soot left in the garage of the bunker. Gun drawn, she made her way inside the bunker screaming for Azrael and Mick. The scene she was met with only further twisted her stomach as the bunker was in a complete state of disarray. Shattered glass, knocked over bookcases, and broken chairs were scattered everywhere. A rather beaten up Mick left his bedroom to meet her, telling her to stop screaming because Azrael needed her rest. He did too, but he told Jess about all that had happened when she was gone. Distraught, Jess tried to pick up what she could while Mick worked on adding a secondary lock to the bunker's entrances.

When Azrael and Mick both felt well enough to travel, they set their sights on the bunker in Roswell, New Mexico. This bunker became their primary place of residence, but they would stay at the Missoula bunker as well when they were more northern. Mick and Azrael got a lot closer in the time that Azrael was human and with a lot of goading form Jess, they began dating. What she hadn't thought about was that she would become the third wheel. It didn't bother her, most of the time, but sometimes it made her heart ache for Sam. Mick had since stopped pushing her toward telling Sam after a particularly large blow-up by Jess. Her visits to The Crossroads became a bit more frequent and she hooked up with some hunters from time to time, usually one night stands apart from Cameron Ambrose. They entered a friends with benefits sort of relationship and he would sometimes stay at the bunker after a case before heading back to Smith Center.

The three remained a trio, hunting and taking time off between the two bunkers, both with secondary locking systems and more updated technology for nearly a year without incident. Mick and Jess helped Azzie adjust to a human life and they were all a little more cautious with the cases they took. During this time, Mick helped Jess learn how to document accurate information about the supernatural on a website for hunters, complete with the vast amount of information the British Men of Letters had compiled. However, this all came to an end when Dean Winchester himself knocked on the bunker. He and Ketch had witnessed humans being lined up for slaughter by the angels in the apocalypse world and as a sign of good faith Ketch had given him Azrael's grace and told him where to find her. The three were at the Missoula bunker at the time, but with the secondary lock, Dean was unable to get inside.

Jolted into action by the sound of banging on the door, Mick and Azzie answered it with their guns drawn. Jessica was about to join in investigating the disturbance when she heard Mick say Dean's name. That made her run back to her room and quietly shut the door. Azrael was given back her grace and agreed to help fight in the apocalypse world, because the humans deserved peace from the onslaught of misery the angels were inflicting on that world. The mere thought of angels lining up humans for slaughter infuriated her. Mick agreed to help as well and they traveled back to the main bunker in Kansas. Jess on the other hand was completely torn on what to do, but she eventually joined in on this fight as well when apocalypse Michael was brought to their universe.

[letmedeleteitplz]

This will likely continue to expand with further development. This verse is closed to @azrahel and my Mick Davies on @bleakfated. Other than that it is fair game to other characters. Jessica is resurrected in late season 10 by Metatron.

Seasons 10/11

Before Metatron was broken out of Heaven, he convinced one of the angels that were still partial to his side to resurrect souls that had been important to the Winchesters. Metatron had a sinking feeling that the Winchesters and Castiel would come back for him and he wanted to have some leverage. Naturally, Jess became one of those souls as she was one that Ash had taught to break out of her section of Heaven and was often found in Ash’s Heaven that only consisted of The Roadhouse. The souls being yanked out of Heaven hadn’t gone unnoticed and the angel was quickly killed for their crimes against the new order of Heaven. Around this same time, with the help of Bobby, Metatron is taken back to Earth and loses his grace, thus losing any potential to use those he resurrected against them because he no longer had any allies.

Jessica woke up at her headstone in San Francisco. Terrified of what this meant, she quickly worked on fleeing the city in the off chance that anyone she had known in her human life would see her, especially her parents or sister. Little did she know that her parents now lived in Palo Alto and her sister was attending Stanford Law School. She bummed a ride off of a guy to Concord, at which point she ran off while he was inside a gas station. Having no idea how many years had passed since her death, Jessica was terrified of the potential of being brought back by demons to be used against Sam. She found her way to a Catholic church in hopes that she could remain safe there. The taunting of the demon inside of Tyson Brady had come back to her in waves. As he pulled the knife out of his chest, unbothered, he had let her know that she didn’t stand a chance against him without salt, iron, or a devil’s trap.

If that were the case, she needed a vessel to steal some holy water in and maybe something iron to protect herself, because she was still far too close for comfort to where it was most likely others would recognize her. She stole a water bottle off of a bike chained up outside of a coffee shop and quietly took some holy water from another church. It was at this moment that an unknown woman appeared not too far from Jessica. Azrael, the angel of death, was investigating why souls had been taken from Heaven. At first, Jessica immediately assumed danger and the idea of dying again with the potential of being intercepted on her way back to Heaven terrified her almost as much as being used as a bargaining chip against Sam. When the angel assured her that she didn’t mean her any harm, Jessica relaxed enough for little bits of her personality to shine through and Azrael took a quick liking to her.

After this, Azrael assured Jess that she would help her get on her feet… but this turned into a rather strong friendship. Hunting came pretty easily with an angel by her side, but Jessica honed up her self-defense skills and knowledge of the supernatural. Azrael would often need to return to Heaven or solve other crises and this left Jessica with some time to integrate herself into the hunting community. Sometimes with other hunters, she would give her main alias name Vanessa, but she became more comfortable with some of them to give her her first name alone. Sporadically, she would spend some time at The Crossroads and became pretty friendly with Teddy and Cam, sometimes taking cases with them when Azrael was away on business. They were a few of the hunters that she had grown to trust, but she still wouldn’t let on to anyone about her true identity other than Azzie who had obviously figured it out on her own.

Nightmares had plagued her since the moment she had first been brought back, mostly about her death and demons at first, but they quickly developed into ones about Sam. Were they no longer compatible because of how much they had both changed since 2005? Would he not want her as a memory of not being able to escape the hunting life for one that was normal? Had he met someone else, maybe a hunter that was way more badass than she could ever dream to be? Even the thought of him having met someone else and being ready to drop them for Jess made her feel sick to her stomach. Ultimately, all of these thoughts messed with her head enough to believe that leaving Sam in the dark about her resurrection would be what was best for both of them, so whenever she did go to The Crossroads, she made sure to message Cam or Teddy to see who had been around.

Season 12

About two years after Azrael and Jessica had become friends, they were on a case when they met Mick Davies. Mick had picked up hunting in the American fashion after he had not returned to the British Men of Letters compound where he knew they would kill him for breaking the code. He was a bit clumsy as a hunter, after being part of the brains of the operation of the BMOL for so long, so Azrael and Jessica were already in town when he had gotten there. The man was rather terrified of getting caught, because he knew they would have other members on the case of finding him to make sure he met his demise. Azrael and Jessica took a liking to him and promised to help keep him safe from what little of his story he was willing to share at first. After a month of being on the road together, Azrael was made aware of the carnage that took place when American hunters had stormed the compound.

If the agents weren’t killed, they fled back to England. Doctor Hess was confirmed among the dead. It was at this time that Mick felt comfortable enough to use the key that he had to unlock all Men of Letters bunker. He knew where all of them were located because he had brought out the information on the defunct chapter as they set their eyes on the Winchesters from overseas. They settled in to the bunker in Missoula, Montana. Mick and Jessica developed a playfully friendly bond and the three were all pretty honest with each other. Jess had told Mick about who she was and that she was resurrected and Mick had let her know that it seemed that Eileen Leahy and Sam had some sort of romantic bond at least starting to form. This was something he quickly came to regret, because it only solidified Jessica’s decision to not tell Sam about her further. Mick had grown to like the Winchesters and would often try to prod Jessica into changing her mind, because he believed that Sam deserved to know.

Season 13+

The tranquility of having a real home base only lasted for a few moments, however. A few weeks after settling in the Men of Letters bunker, Arthur Ketch picked the same bunker to regroup himself. He had found out from Doctor Hess before her death that she had gotten information on Mick from Crowley. He was paling around with an archangel, Azrael, the angel of death. Completely separate from the organization himself because they demanded he returned, he had started hunting under the alias Alexander after he had been resurrected from getting killed by the Winchesters with his resurrection seal. It became apparent that the bunker was lived in and he quietly made his way to the garage and made some noise, attracting the attention of Azrael and Mick. Rather effortlessly, he lit a match and trapped Azrael in the ring of holy oil he had made.

When Mick rushed at him, he rendered him unconscious and tied him up to watch the show as he strapped Azrael to a chair with straps etched with angel depowering and suppressing sigils. For a few moments, he considered killing both of them, but it didn’t really seem fitting. He wanted Mick to suffer for being a weak point in their plans against the Winchesters. Instead, he decided that archangel grace was something that would come in handy in a lot of ways. For a few painstaking hours, he removed Azrael’s grace with grace extracting syringes. The rest of the grace was extracted through a cut to the throat into a vial. This was a very painful process and the tortured screams of Azrael were enough fuel for Mick to break free of the binds placed on him. The two men fought it out for a long while, leaving the bunker in a state of disrepair. Eventually, Mick lost the fight and Ketch left the bunker after telling Mick that he hoped he enjoyed the rest of his pathetic existence.

Jessica was not home this night and instead had been staying in a motel in Smith Center to spend a few days at The Crossroads to unwind and catch up with some of her hunter friends. When she returned home, she immediately knew something was wrong when she saw a ring of soot left in the garage of the bunker. Gun drawn, she made her way inside the bunker screaming for Azrael and Mick. The scene she was met with only further twisted her stomach as the bunker was in a complete state of disarray. Shattered glass, knocked over bookcases, and broken chairs were scattered everywhere. A rather beaten up Mick left his bedroom to meet her, telling her to stop screaming because Azrael needed her rest. He did too, but he told Jess about all that had happened when she was gone. Distraught, Jess tried to pick up what she could while Mick worked on adding a secondary lock to the bunker’s entrances.

When Azrael and Mick both felt well enough to travel, they set their sights on the bunker in Roswell, New Mexico. This bunker became their primary place of residence, but they would stay at the Missoula bunker as well when they were more northern. Mick and Azrael got a lot closer in the time that Azrael was human and with a lot of goading form Jess, they began dating. What she hadn’t thought about was that she would become the third wheel. It didn’t bother her, most of the time, but sometimes it made her heart ache for Sam. Mick had since stopped pushing her toward telling Sam after a particularly large blow-up by Jess. Her visits to The Crossroads became a bit more frequent and she hooked up with some hunters from time to time, usually one night stands apart from Cameron Ambrose. They entered a friends with benefits sort of relationship and he would sometimes stay at the bunker after a case before heading back to Smith Center.

The three remained a trio, hunting and taking time off between the two bunkers, both with secondary locking systems and more updated technology for nearly a year without incident. Mick and Jess helped Azzie adjust to a human life and they were all a little more cautious with the cases they took. During this time, Mick helped Jess learn how to document accurate information about the supernatural on a website for hunters, complete with the vast amount of information the British Men of Letters had compiled. However, this all came to an end when Dean Winchester himself knocked on the bunker. He and Ketch had witnessed humans being lined up for slaughter by the angels in the apocalypse world and as a sign of good faith Ketch had given him Azrael’s grace and told him where to find her. The three were at the Missoula bunker at the time, but with the secondary lock, Dean was unable to get inside.

Jolted into action by the sound of banging on the door, Mick and Azzie answered it with their guns drawn. Jessica was about to join in investigating the disturbance when she heard Mick say Dean’s name. That made her run back to her room and quietly shut the door. Azrael was given back her grace and agreed to help fight in the apocalypse world, because the humans deserved peace from the onslaught of misery the angels were inflicting on that world. The mere thought of angels lining up humans for slaughter infuriated her. Mick agreed to help as well and they traveled back to the main bunker in Kansas. Jess on the other hand was completely torn on what to do, but she eventually joined in on this fight as well when apocalypse Michael was brought to their universe.

[wearywinchester]

Something Old and Something New — Part One

Mechanic!Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When life takes a turn and you take an unexpected break from college in Stanford with your best friend Sam, you return home to your job at your family’s co-owned garage. You return home to work alongside the guy you thought you hated—Dean Winchester.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: mild angst, mentions of death, mild swearing, fluff

A/N: Part one to my mechanic!Dean series!

Kansas.

It’s always been home to you no matter what, even if your time was split between here on summer break and the apartment you shared with Sam while the two of you went to school together. It was somewhere that never changed despite your ever changing life, and that was something you felt you needed amidst everything swirling through your mind as of the last six months. A place that was always there to welcome you back home with open arms no matter how few and far between your stays back there were. It was home and it was familiar.

You sighed as you looked out of the car window, gaze focused on just about everything you could see ever since you landed at the airport just barely half an hour earlier. You had to admit you were happy to be home for more than just a short period of time, you missed it here. But you wished it were under better circumstances.

Sam was still back at Stanford surely with his nose stuck in a book far too thick for you to think about without giving yourself a headache, and while the thought made you smile, you couldn’t help the nagging feeling knowing you should be there too. You were nearing the tail end of your time in law school, having had one year left before you’re expected to graduate and get your degree, though you were feeling a little less excited than you think you should be. You were home instead of over there after all.

“For itchin’ to be back home, you sure don’t look like it,” Benny chuckled from the driver’s seat, glancing at you as your lips pursed and your brow quirks up. He nudges you with his elbow to accompany his words, his amusement only increasing at your grumpy expression.

Benny.

He was your parents best friend for as long as you can remember, the closest thing you’ve got to family since your parents passed away a few years back. He was an uncle to you just as much as Bobby Singer was to Sam and Dean, and you knew you wouldn’t trade him for the world. Even when he’s giving you a hard time like in that very moment.

“I wasn’t exactly planning on taking this kind of a break either, Benny,” you huff, shifting in your seat. You turned your head at the quiet sound of his laugh, your gaze narrowing. “‘S not funny.”

“You’re right, it’s not. But that pout you got goin’ on is.”

When he looks at you once more it takes all but a few seconds for you to turn your head and look away, eyes rolling as you bite the inside of your cheek to stifle your smile. You shake your head, knowing it’s no use to even try.

But it’s true, you weren’t expecting to take this kind of a break this far into college because you weren’t expecting to fall out of love with your choice in a career. You made it this far—you were twenty-four and on the brink of becoming a lawyer along with your best friend Sam. But somewhere between here and there you found yourself mulling over the possibility that maybe you didn’t quite like this kind of job as much as you initially thought. You chalked it up to burnout at first, a reasonable assumption, but after returning back from summer break last year feeling less than refreshed and ready to start the new year of studies, you weren’t feeling that same spark.

You were beginning to feel like that profession wasn’t quite the right fit for you, and that was when you decided to come home.

“You’ll figure it out, you know. You always do, Y/n/n,” he says after a little while.

The smile his words pull from you is more bittersweet than anything, because you felt so far from figuring it out that it was near laughable. If you weren’t going to be a lawyer, and you were entertaining the thought more and more every minute, you didn’t have a single clue as to what you’d do with your life. Going into the family business wasn’t exactly an ideal option—you knew your way around a car but you don’t think you could spend day in and day out being a receptionist forever either. You enjoyed what you did at the garage when you work, but you wanted to do more.

You knew that, you just didn’t know what.

“Sam doesn’t even know why I’m taking a break, that’s how ‘figured out’ I have this whole thing. He thinks it’s just ‘cause I miss home,” you say with a sigh, slumping back in your seat.

“You don’t miss home?” He asks, humor in his tone as he raises a brow in faux offense.

You flash him a half annoyed glance, lips pursed only momentarily. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Your frown has him smiling all the more as you sulk, your mood only fueling his good one because that’s just how Benny Lafitte is. Not that he likes seeing you in misery, he just sees that everything will work out in time, even if you don’t.

“C’mon, Y/n, lighten up a little, kid!” He says, as upbeat as he can be as he gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. You roll your eyes and smile a little more. “There’s that smile.”

You shake your head as a laugh falls from your lips, huffing out another sigh as you look at him. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Is there any other way to be?”

You let out an amused huff then, feeling just a little bit lighter than you had when your plane first landed, though the tension in the very pit of your stomach still remained tightly coiled in its ever present knot.

There was a lot for you to think about in the time that you had here, your mind always wandering back to how you’d tell Sam. He loved it there and it was clear to see that, it was clear to see he fit the job and was leaps and bounds more enthusiastic about it than you. You thought about the extra studying you’d have to do if you decide to go back, and the studying you should probably keep doing if you want to be consistent and retain what you’ve learned. But the mere thought itself was something that made your head spin, something that made you even more content with the idea to leave that behind and stay here.

Surely Sam would understand it.

It wasn’t more than five minutes before Benny pulled his truck into the parking lot of the garage, the one you’ve been to a million times over by now. It was just the same as you left it last—a little rough around the edges but it was like a home away from home and you’d never think otherwise.

“Dean’s real excited to see you,” he jests, nudging your arm. His laughter is immediate at the sight of your expression, a scoff leaving your lips.

“I’ll bet he is,” you mumble, unbuckling your seatbelt.

“I thought you two grew out of that phase by now.”

“Who said it’s a phase, Benny?” You smile.

Dean Winchester.

The one who stepped on the backs of your shoes as a kid, the one who took the last slice of pie and still will without a beat of hesitation. The one you stole flannels from as teens, especially the ones he wore most often just to hear him shout and complain when they’d gone missing. It was a habit that led you to find the stash of candy bars he’d kept hidden in his closet, snagging them not so discreetly only for him to turn around and get you right back.

The two of you strived to get on each other’s nerves and it showed to just about anyone who had the pleasure of spending so much as five minutes with the two of you in the same room. You bickered even on the best of days, always a constant string of eye rolls and curses mumbled under the others breath in complaint. He was just as stubborn as you, and maybe, just maybe have you met your match.

You hopped out of the truck and closed the door, smoothing your hands over your jeans. You squinted as you looked upward, laughing softly. “You still haven’t fixed the sign?”

The ‘s’ that was supposed to be upright at the end of ‘repairs’ had been dangling crookedly since the last time you were here, looking comical and out of place with the rest of the sign but you can’t say you were surprised that it looked the very same.

“What do you mean still? It hasn’t even been that long,” he defended, scratching his head as he bit back his grin.

“Benny, I was here eight months ago and it looks exactly the same,” you say, brow raised as you squint at him with an amused smile.

When he does nothing but shrug his shoulders and hope you take his smile as a peace offering, you simply shake your head and laugh, pulling open the front door and walking inside.

The familiarity hit you once you walked in, the slightly crammed and cluttered place smelling a little bit like gasoline and a lot like the lunch everyone had on the collective lunch break. The radio in the corner was playing classic rock, the station never having changed from it unless you wanted to get on Dean’s nerves a little bit and switch it to some pop music he swore he absolutely dreaded. You knew better than to believe that when you caught him singing some lyrics under his breath as he worked on Baby after hours.

You leaned over the counter, the desk you called your very own and your pictures were still there, little knick knacks still in there place but everything was just a little bit grease smudged from one of the guys taking up reception.

“Look who’s back in town.”

You stilled, gaze shifting upwards in an eye roll as a huff exhales through your nose. You knew that voice anywhere, it was impossible not to. It was the voice of the very one who strived to get on your nerves with nearly every word he spoke because that’s just how he is.

Dean.

You spun on your heel and met his gaze, the irritated expression you’d held for the older Winchester faltering for just a moment at the very sight of him standing before you before it quickly returned with just a little less annoyance than it once had. The smirk he wore was enough to do just that, a bit of grease smeared across his cheek with some matching stains on his shirt.

“Deanie,” you greet, his expression fading in favor of a more hardened one at the nickname you knew he hated.

It didn’t last very long, the very corners up his mouth quirking upwards in a way that was all too telling that he was undoubtedly up to something. You knew him by now yet you were still too caught up with something about him to realize it before it was too late.

“Y’miss me, sweetheart?” He asks, tugging you in close for a hug. He gave you a squeeze just to hear you whine an fuss over the fact that he’d been sweaty from the heat of working all afternoon, that and the grease that most definitely was getting all over you.

“Dean,” you grumble, shoving at his shoulders halfheartedly, “get off!”

He let go with a chuckle, his head tipping back in a louder bout of laughter at the sight of the grease having smeared on your cheek and the frown on your lips. Fighting your smile was harder than you cared to admit in that moment, and you hated the way that maybe you missed the feel of his arms wrapped around you once he let go of his embrace. You shook your head partly in a bit of annoyance and partly to shake those thoughts away, arms having been crossed over your chest when he looked at you.

“You got a little somethin’ on your face.” He licks the pad of his thumb and reaches forward teasingly to wipe it off, your hand pushing his away.

“What’s the matter, law school too boring for you now?” He jests lightheartedly, slinging the rag in his hand up to rest on his shoulder.

You roll your eyes in response as you look away briefly. That’s when he saw a flicker of something different cross your expression for a mere moment, something he knows is more than just a little bit of annoyance. He knows you a bit better than you realize. It’s different but you quickly mask it with a smirk of your own and he thinks nothing more of it.

“Don’t you have a car to fix?”

“Don’t you have a textbook to read?”

You scrunch up your nose and he scrunches his, and you’re seconds from snagging the rag off his shoulder before the phone rings. You round the desk as he leans his elbows on the counter. He’s got a smirk on his lips as you shoo him away, more adamant the more the phone rings as he reaches over and snags a piece of candy from the jar you always kept. Your glare is one that he basks in as he pops the candy in his mouth.

“Winchester and Lafitte Automotive Repairs, this is Y/n speaking,” you say as you answer the phone, missing the way he smiles to himself and shakes his head as he walks away.

—

You sighed as the old clock on the wall behind your desk strikes seven o’clock, the last customer of the day having just picked up their car to take home. The stuffy heat had cooled off some now the the sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky now that evening rolled around, the fan set up in the corner helping just a little bit. Everything was cast in a golden orange hue as the sunlight streamed in, carrying with it the shadows of the pine trees standing tall on the other side of the road.

Your work day was cut a few hours shorter than it usually was since your arrival earlier that afternoon, but you were still just as tired, body fatigued from traveling. You were more than grateful that most of your stuff was already in your apartment here, the only things you’d brought having been your clothes and things you’d miss if you left it back at your place you shared with Sam.

“This place never runs quite as good without you, you know,” Benny says, nudging your shoulder as he passes behind you to snag his keys from the hook.

You smiled at his words, nodding softly as the sentiment brightened your mood a little bit more. “You ready to go?”

You stood from your chair and pushed it in as you stretched, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. The look on Benny’s face when he’d turned around to face you was one that had you curious, cautious at that. It was apologetic and amused all in one, something that was far too indicative that what he was about to say was something you didn’t want to hear.

“Don’t be mad, but—”

You tilt your head and your expression falls neutral as your lips purse. “Why do I feel like I’m going to be mad?”

He started to pass you and round the corner, almost as if to dodge a bullet, said bullet being just about anything you could throw before he spoke up.

“I can’t take you back home, so…” he takes note of your souring mood and he holds a finger up as you walk out from behind the counter with crossed arms. “So, Dean’s gonna drive you home. I already put your bags in his car earlier.”

“You what?”

The two words were doubly shocked and equally displeased as you and the green eyed Winchester spoke them at the same time. When you turned you saw him wiping his hands on a rag before tossing it to the side, his brows furrowed.

“Do me a favor and try not to kill each other,” Benny smiled, one that was far too innocent for his own good because you knew for a fact he’d done it on purpose.

But he said nothing more as he tossed Dean his keys, kissing the top of your head before he slipped out the front door. You turned to look at Dean who’d looked at you, a mirrored look of pursed lips and furrowed brows shared between you two as silence engulfed the place for just a few moments.

“I call radio,” you say, his brow raising when you head towards the door.

“Like hell you do,” he calls after you.

You were lucky it was only a ten minute drive to get there, the tension thick as you got in the car. He turned the radio up with a sly smile and a laugh at your glare, dodging your swat to his shoulder.

“Do you listen to anything other than the same five songs, Dean?” You huff, elbow on the door as you rest your head on your hand.

“Not a chance, sweetheart,” he says, tapping the steering wheel as he pulls out of the gravel parking lot, engine revving as he sped down the road.

You look over at him to see the content smile sitting pretty on his lips, his arm resting on the edge of the open window as his hand settled at the very top of the door, the other rested loosely on the wheel. That very same Zepplin song was playing on the radio that you were convinced he listens to daily, in fact, you knew he did because that’s how Dean is.

“What?” He asks, amused curiosity in his tone.

“Nothing,” you say as you look away, biting the inside of your cheek.

“The hot shot lawyer’s got nothin’ to say, I’m shocked,” he says, faux surprise coating his tone.

“Will you cool it with the lawyer talk?” You huff, staving off the anger in your words with a soft shove to his shoulder.

To be fair, he didn’t know just why it was that you were back here earlier than you should be, he was just yanking your chain like he always did. But it became abundantly clear to him that there was more to it than just a little annoyance. That, paired with the look on your face earlier made it all the more clear for him to see that.

He looked over at you with furrowed brows, the dimples by the corners of his mouth appearing as he looked at you briefly before turning his attention back to the road. He may have cracked jokes and got on your nerves just as much as you did the same to him, but he knew you more than you realized, knew when something was more than just a joke to you. You’ve got this frown that you don’t even know you have, and you bite your lip. He even notices that you tap your foot too—he noticed the little things but he won’t admit it.

His jaw clenched as he turned the radio down a little, speeding up a bit more down the open road.

You’re quick to get out when you arrive at your apartment. It was a nice little place, a house rather, one split right down the middle. You’ve got the right side and Mrs. Allen’s got the left, a sweet older lady that’s lived there far longer than you. She makes a point to tell you you’re her favorite neighbor, and she makes a point to say something about you and Dean every time she sees him that makes your eyes roll.

You knew for a fact she’d say something in the morning.

You snagged one of your bags from the trunk and he grabbed the other, slinging it over his shoulder.

“You don’t have to carry my stuff, you know. I can do it myself,” you say, but you make no effort to grab it from him.

“I know you can.”

You sigh as you fish your keys from your pocket as you continue on up the walkway and up the steps of your porch, sticking them in the door. You drop your stuff down just inside the door with a sigh, grabbing the bag from his outstretched hand before you step inside and turn the front light on.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets, shifting on his feet as the words sit on the tip of his tongue. The very words he’s been thinking about since you’d gotten upset in the car even if you wouldn’t dare to admit it.

“Good night, Dean,” you say, offering a half smile as you go to close the door.

His palm presses to the door almost before you move to close it, and he steps forward a step or two. Your brows furrow as you lean against the doorframe, watching as his mouth opens and closes a few times, and he’s lost for words for a few moments. You don’t push and you don’t pry as you stand there curiously, arms having been crossed over your chest.

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” he starts, hesitant and a bit quieter as he scratches the back of his neck and clears his throat. “In the car, I mean.”

You stand there, and it takes a beating silence before he meets your gaze. The sincerity in his voice isn’t something you hear all too often in your direction, having always been jokes and witty sarcasm painted over his words but this, this was a little different.

“S’okay,” you say, pushing yourself off the doorframe.

He smiles then, a soft chuckle leaving his lips as he nods. “I’ll uh, I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

You nod at his words, the corner of your mouth tugging upwards. “Good night, Winchester.”

You let out the breath you’d been holding when you closed the door, back pressing to it as you tip your head back. The day you had left you more than tired, thoughts running wild with no end in sight. But the day wasn’t half bad, not really. The two of you had gotten on each other’s nerves every moment you get to do so, but maybe you missed him a little bit more than you thought. Maybe through the layers of wit and remarks there was a little part of you that missed the green eyed Winchester but you’d never admit it.

Unbeknownst to you, maybe he did too.

The rumble of his engine was clear as he pulled away and drove down the street, a huff leaving your lips as you rub your face as you lock the door behind you for the night.

—

Series taglist: @myloversgone @dean-is-sams-apple-pie

General taglist: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @campingmonkey

[autisticandroids]

Okay so this was a while back but im preety sure you had mentioned an au of yours where dean is a serial killer and cas successfully stalks him but i don't think you talked about it more than that and i just really want to hear a bit more bc that idea sounds so tastefully fucked up

okay so. weeks later i finally end up answering this ask. it inspired this post btw. anyway spn is a show that's like. all about justifications, as i said in the post inspired by this ask. it's about having no choice and doing what you have to do. and like there is the phantasy embedded in it, a phantasy that is both indulged and punished. but most importantly it's justified. the monsters are super strong to show how brave our heroes are for fighting them, the main characters let out great wails of grief every time their lady loves are violently ripped from them (even though now they are free to do whatever they want), the narrative twists to show our heroes as correct whatever they do. the fantasy (of being allowed to enact violence, of being free from feminine "control," of being right) comes first. the material construction of the universe of supernatural comes afterward. whatever the fantasy is, the universe of supernatural will provide material conditions to justify its acting-out.

and what this means is that our protagonists, dean in particular, are constantly doing just horrific things, which in any other circumstance would be unconscionable. but the universe of supernatural provides justification for these acts. the point of my serial killer au which i think about so so so much is to ask the question: what if these justifications melted out from under their feet? what if dean was left holding nothing but a lie and the weight of everything he's done?

therefore, the premise of my au is such (under the cut because this baby is long):

john and mary winchester, in the mid seventies, joined a doomsday cult known as the men of letters. the men of letters were rather unusual for a doomsday cult, in that they believed that the apocalypse could be prevented by human behavior. this started as correct living, correct worship, yadda yadda, the kind of behavior and thought control that cults are known for, but with the justification of: if you don't do this, the world will end. eventually, this escalated to human sacrifice. the men of letters managed to untraceably kill two homeless people in the late seventies. but they eventually fell apart. however, a month after john and mary left the men of letters (mostly john's choice, mary still believed), mary died in a house fire. john took it as a sign from god that actually, the men of letters were right, and the world would end unless john himself did something about it. so he took some of the (intensely numerological) theology of the men of letters. and he worked out his own formula. and he applied it to the yellow pages. and started ritualistically killed people to prevent the apocalypse, with his two sons in the back of the car.

now, obviously, this is some kind of grief induced temporary madness on john's part, shaped by the mental abuse he suffered in the men of letters. but the thing is, once you've killed a couple of people to prevent the apocalypse. well. there's this thing called the sunk costs fallacy. john wasn't gonna question his own beliefs after that.

and he raised his boys to believe it, too, or at least he raised dean to. they didn't tell sam what they did until he was twelve, and sam didn't buy it, tried to call the cops on them several times but in the end, they always prevented him. eventually sam ran off to stanford, where he now lives under a cloud of guilt that he's too loyal to his family to rat them out.

john died a few years back of a heart attack, but dean is convinced it's because he messed up a ritual two weeks before it happened, so it pushed him further into this belief system.

dean's killings (and john's before him) are ritualistic and distinctive, obviously the same killer each time. but they happen anywhere in the united states, seemingly at random, there are inconsistent amounts of time between each one (sometimes as short as days, sometimes as long as years), and there is no particular victim profile. obviously, since our killers are following an arcane mathematical formula to make their choices for them, but the police don't know that.

castiel novak is an unemployed shut-in with a small inheritance which he's living off of, a cryptography degree, and an obsession with all things morbid. he spends most of his time on the reddit true crime forums, playing amateur sleuth. by complete chance, he happens to recognize one of the symbols frequently used in corpse displays by the so-called sioux falls satanic slaughterer (so named because the first time three of his victims were in the same part of the country, it so happened that they were all in sioux falls, south dakota. this was in the late eighties.) as being mostly only used by a little known cult group called the men of letters, which dissolved in the mid eighties.

he only notices this because, as a teen, he had a special interest in cults and fringe religious groups. the men of letters weren't a particularly notable or well known phenomenon; they were small, and a lot like every other cult that formed during the seventies cult boom. (no outsider ever heard about the human sacrifice; there were rumors, of course, but they were garbled, sensationalized, and mixed up with satanic panic fodder.)

(the men of letters' two sacrifices were nothing particularly romantic or fantastical. they first lured panhandler josie sands back to their compound with promises of food and a warm bed when she admitted she couldn't get a bed at a shelter, and was thinking of getting caught shoplifting just so she could be under a roof in the county jail. the men of letters' leader, a man who took on the name alistair, forced his inner circle to dress in the ceremonial black robes he had given them when he initiated them into his nearest and dearest, and which his wife had sewn out of old bed sheets and dyed black with home made oak gall dye. these robes still left black smudges on the wearer's skin occasionally if they sweated too much. josie was laid, bound, on the altar, a slapdash thing constructed over the course of two days from scrap plywood and a couple of milk crates. a rich red tablecloth purchased at macy's for $3.99 hid its ugliness and gave it grandeur. alistair attempted to kill the struggling miss sands by bringing a sharpened kitchen knife down on her bosom and piercing her heart, but, having never killed a human or even slaughtered an animal before, was unaware of the problem presented by the human ribcage. after rather ineffectually poking at the area beneath sands' bosom with his knife while she shrieked in pain and terror for about ninety seconds, alistair tried a different tack, and slit her throat, which worked just fine, and she bled out quite nicely. the second and final victim of the men of letters was a local vagrant named larry ganem, an older gentleman who walked with a limp. he was lured back to the compound in approximately the same manner as sands, but instead of being bound, he was fed stew laced with sleeping pills. even if alistair hadn't slit his throat, he wouldn't have woken up. it's actually arguable whether he was still alive at time of sacrifice; mary winchester (eight months into her first pregnancy), who, as a member of the inner circle, was in attendance, actually tried to take ganem's pulse as he lay on the altar (now covered by a different tablecloth; the red one had turned stiff with sands' blood and been subsequently burned) and found nothing, so it is entirely possibly only sands' death can be directly laid at alistair's feet, and ganem's is the fault of mrs. ellen harvelle, who prepared the laced stew. regardless, these two deaths are lessons in the nature of human evil: it is very rarely skilled, suave, or smooth. it's often slapdash, half-hearted, and just plain incompetent. but that makes it no less grisly. alistair may have begun to drink his own kool-aid, as it were, and escalated this far out of genuine belief that the apocalypse was coming and it was up to him to stop it, but it is far more likely that he sensed the imminent collapse of his little empire, and wanted to bind his subjects to him through the horrors of shared guilt, considering two lives a small price to pay for the continued loyalty of his inner circle. and the tactic worked: the men of letters didn't start to collapse in earnest until almost four years later. perhaps if alistair had continued the killings, the men of letters could have lasted for far longer, maybe even up until the present day. but it seems that alistair, a psychiatrist by training and unused to violence, simply didn't have the stomach for it. unlike, say, john winchester, who before his time with the men of letters had done a two year tour in vietnam, during which he had killed three living, thinking human beings with the american government's go-ahead.)

anyway. castiel is the first person, ever, to make the connection between the men of letters and the sioux falls satanic slaughterer. and once that connection is made, castiel begins to research the men of letters far more in-depth. and he notices something: the theology of the men of letters was intensely numerological, filled with patterns, significant numbers, and even spiritual equations.

castiel thinks of the seemingly random selection of the slaughterer's victims, and has an epiphany.

he cracks all his fingers, and gets coding.

six months. it takes castiel six months to discover an equation that could fit the slaughterer's pattern. it's complex, but also clearly based on several of the men of letters' holy numbers, and accounts for every single one of the killings. it also suggests that there should have been two or three more deaths scattered across the years, but more than likely those did happen, it's just that they weren't reported as part of the slaughterer's portfolio.

but much more importantly, castiel's model can also make predictions. there will be two killings, fifteen days apart, in a city seven hours' drive away, six weeks from now.

so castiel waits. and he books a hotel room. and two months later, he's waiting outside 217 oak street when a shadowy figure climbs up a tree and lets itself into the upstairs window.

dean winchester is feeling particularly all alone in the world when he breaks into maisey banks' home (217 oak street). his father has been dead for half a decade, and he hasn't spoken to his baby brother for twice that. it's not like this whole grizzly saving the world business makes him a lot of friends. so once he's done killing maisey (which is easy, she was ninety three and dying of cancer anyway. she doesn't even wake up when he slits her throat) and arranging her corpse in the appropriate manner, with prayers and sigils, he turns around. and sees a man standing behind him.

smiling slightly.

as he watches dean gut this old woman.

dean freezes.

the man takes a step forward.

"you're very attractive for a serial killer who's been operating since the eighties."

dean is silent.

"family business, is it?"

silence continues.

"i'm not here to report you to police. i'm just here to see if my algorithm worked right."

and dean finally breaks his silence: "what the hell is wrong with you?"

what's fun here is that dean knows (or rather "knows") that he isn't a serial killer. so he finds what cas is doing, this amoral serial killer stormchasing, morally repugnant. because cas has no way of knowing he isn't a regular serial killer.

there's also the fact that that cas proceeds to flirt with him. aggressively. and follows him back to his motel.

but the thing is that dean is all alone in the world. and as cas continues trailing him around, he starts getting, well, flattered. and feeling a little bit less alone.

it doesn't take very long before they fall into bed. even if cas is an amoral stalker with a fetish for what dean considers a distasteful yet necessary vocation.

so. they fall into bed. they fall in love. they make a little life together, in dean's big sexy car. dean tries to explain to cas that he's saving the world. that these people's lives are a necessary price to pay. and cas seems to listen.

of course, castiel doesn't believe a word of it. but he's found that he likes dean. really likes him. and he realizes that the collapse of dean's belief system would destroy him.

so he sets about becoming as complicit in it as possible.

even to the extent where, when dean is hit by a car and ends up into the hospital a day before one killing is meant to take place, castiel agrees to take on the job. (he doesn't actually kill anyone, obviously. but he does use his extensive skill with computers to create three fake newspaper articles which make it look like he has.)

but five years later, something goes wrong. really, really wrong. dean miscalculates the formula. and by the time he checks his work, the actual date of the next kill, as demanded by the formula, has passed. in fact, so have three others. and the world didn't end.

dean collapses. he hyperventilates. all those people. all those people. for no reason. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people.

cas seems totally unfazed. dean stares at him in shock. but cas just takes dean in his arms, and whispers in his ear: "oh, dean, i never believed in the equation. i love you no matter what you've done."

and dean buries his face in cas' chest.