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sacr1ficialang3l · 25 days ago

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✞︎Did you feel that close to God when you had me on my knees?✞︎

SAM WINCHESTER X READER

SUMMARY: Sam, Dean, and reader are working a case in Nebraska. But when reader sees her boyfriend in that priest outfit, things get a little wild. 4.0k

WARNINGS: smut (MDNI). oral m receiving. blasphemy (lots, please don't read if you're extremely religious or if you don't like things like this). mentions of religious trauma (Catholic guilt folks unite). priest kink (?). the word father is said multiple times but this is not daddy kink.

NOTES: extremely self-indulgent. I feel like there's not enough religious trauma readers. this doesn't focus on that anyway. ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE! this is also my first time writing straight smut, so pls be nice. Enjoy<3

You are trying to act normal, you swear.

It was a quite simple case, a ghost had been hunting down people in a small town in Nebraska. The only connection in between all the victims was that they all attended the same church, which only meant one thing.

Priest outfits.

Sam was standing there before you, hair carefully styled, black suit jacket over his broad shoulders and black pants making him look taller than he already was. But the most important part, the one that made your breath hitch and thighs press together. The clerical collar.

There was something about it, something sinful about the white stripe of fabric against Sam’s tanned skin. You always thought your boyfriend was hot, but watching him carefully talking with the families of the victims, watching people calling him father. Watching him in that church, bible in hand, a cross looming over you as it rests in the wall behind you, it was driving you insane.

Your relationship with religion wasn’t the best, that was obvious, but you had never expected for all that guilt and trauma to transform into… this.

But here you are, sitting on a church bench, watching as Sam and Dean talk to the Pastor. You had refused to put on the nun costume Dean had gotten you. (You were sure he bought it at a sex shop. You went to catholic school, nun’s attires didn’t show that much cleavage. Or any cleavage at all.) Therefore, they had decided you were going to be just a new girl in town. A good christian girl.

You were dressed up in a flowy, lacy white dress. It was delicate, and sweet, and pure. You had added some frilly socks and a pair of mary janes. Your hair was wavy and long, falling over your eyes as you looked down at your hands when Sam was handed the communion wafers. There was a dainty chain around your neck, the silver crucifix almost burning where it touched your chest.

You feel a sense of disappointment when the pastor asks for the communal hosts back. You kind of wished he had made Sam direct the Eucharist. You imagined yourself, walking to the altar to receive communion like a good girl, kneeling in front of Sam. You imagined blinking your big eyes up at him, parting your pouty lips softly, letting him place the host in your tongue. Maybe his fingers would brush against your lips, maybe he’d let his thumb press down on your tongue, making sure you’re receiving The Body of Christ correctly.

You look up quickly when the pastor announces in a loud voice that Mass would start soon. He invites anyone who wants to confess to do it now, so they can be ready for the Eucharist. The pastor looks down at you, having noticed how his sudden words echoing all around the church had startled you. Your hands were folded as they rested on your lap, and your eyes were so focused on the floor under your feet that they looked closed. He thought you were praying. He smiles at you with kindness, almost as if admiring how you were nothing but a sweet little lamb, so devoted to your faith and so easily frightened.

Oh, if he only knew.

Before the shame and something else you refused to name wash down your spine, someone stands up behind you. The lady, her shoulders hunched and her eyes red, walks directly into the confessional. You and Sam seem to realize at the exact same time who she is. The widowed wife of one of the victims. You watch as your boyfriend quickly walks into the confessional, his big frame squeezing into the priest's compartment.

The door quickly closes, but not before you can admire Sam’s face, beautiful as ever, being covered by geometric lines that criss-cross his face, the shadows created by the small window in the wooden panel that separates him from the woman.

Dean comes over to you to give you a quick rundown on all the information they had gathered. Which is to say, not much. You had to admit that Dean also looked good in the costume, but not as good as Sam. But to be fair, you were a little biased. The older Winchester tells you about how he met one of the victims’ daughter, a young woman that was very distressed and asked him if he would want to come pray with her at her house.

You throw Dean a look of disbelief.

“Seriously, Dean? The mourning daughter?”

“We’re just going to pray! You know, a little guided spirituality to heal the heart.”

“Recite one prayer you know, right now.”

Silence. Utter and definitive silence.

You sigh, rolling your eyes as Dean gives you a wink and leaves the church, that classic mischievous smirk on his face.

How does he always get so lucky?

Your thoughts are interrupted when the woman in the confessional quickly walks out of her compartment, but the other door stays closed.

An idea crosses your mind, but it is crazy. It is insane, and dangerous, and sacrilegious.

It takes you about five seconds to get up and walk into the confessional.

“Hello, father.” You whisper, hands balled into fists in your lap.

Sam says your name, confused. “What are you doing?”

You take the courage to turn to him, and you end up breathless. It was quite stuffy inside the confessional, the smell of wood and velvet from the curtains overbearing. It reminds you of Sunday Mass, and Catholic school, and it makes heat pool in your stomach. You can barely see his face through the dumb window, but for what you could see, this was going to stay engraved in your mind forever.

“I’m here to confess, Father.” Your voice is soft and innocent, but there was a slight smirk on your face that made Sam blink quickly, looking completely lost.

“What-”

You don’t let him finish. “The pastor said to confess before Mass, and I’m just following his orders like a good girl.”

That makes Sam choke on his next breath. He looks at you through the grille, but there is something creeping in around his eyes. Lust.

If I wasn’t going to hell before, I am now.

Sam says your name again, but this time there is a strain on his voice.

“Y-you come to confess?” You could tell he was trying to follow your lead, to play the role you so desperately wanted him to, and in between all the desire, you feel a wave of love for your boyfriend hit you.

Hell, you were going to kiss him so hard after this.

“Yes, Father.” You whisper, eyes low and focused on your hands. Your voice was small, pure. You were just playing the role Sam and Dean assigned you, after all. “I’ve been bad, Father. I need to be redeemed.”

“I am sure I can help with that.” Sam’s voice still sounds slightly strained, but there was something different. It was the same voice he used when talking to the victim’s families or when he was forced to greet the morning Mass earlier today. Calm, velvety, but with a hint of authority. Of power.

“I am here to help you find peace,...” He almost says your name, but quickly corrects himself. “Tell me about your sins, and I will guide you in how to repent."

You press your thighs together, biting your lip in the darkness of the confessional. You still don’t face Sam, but you can feel his eyes on you.

“I- I’ve been having sinful thoughts, Father.” You whisper, voice wavery and full of shame. Damn, maybe you should’ve been an actress.

You hear Sam swallow harshly in the quiet, small box you were both in. No sounds were filtering in, which made you wonder if they would filter out.

“So you’ve been a bad girl, hm?” His voice is so deep, so rumbling. You were sure your panties were already soaked through. “You look so innocent, though.” Sam sounds almost disappointed, and it makes you squirm. “Tell me about them, you little lamb.”

“I’ve been possessed by lust, Father.” You confess, and you have to bite back a smirk when Sam lets out a shaky breath. “I just- there’s this guy, and we’re dating. He’s tall and big and handsome.”

“Sounds like quite the catch.” You can hear Sam’s smile in his words, and it makes you smile too.

“He is, yeah.” You giggle, but quickly get back into your role. It wasn’t every day that you got an opportunity like this, and you were going to take it. “But when I look at him, father. I just- I feel… things.”

“What kind of things, little lamb?” He asks, back in his priest voice.

“I- I want him to do things to me, Father. Things I shouldn’t want. Things that are not of God.” You murmur, thighs pressing together with more strength.

Sam stays quiet for just a second, breathing heaving. Maybe you weren’t the only one into this.

“That’s- that’s bad, little lamb.” He declares, when he finally gets a grasp on himself again. “Remember, you must confess everything to get redemption in the eyes of the lord.”

“I- I’ve done things too.” You confess in a small voice. “I’ve touched myself, Father. I just get so… so-” Your cross your legs, the ache on your lower half almost unbearable. “So wet and hot and I just… I fall into temptation.”

Sam’s breath is ragged by now, and you can’t really see his face, but you know what he must look like.

“You’re quite the naughty one, aren't you?” He murmurs, voice hoarse. He leans closer to the grille, his voice almost in your ear.

You lick your lips slowly, nodding even if he can’t see you.

“Yes, Father. Please, help me to be pure again.” Your hand moves from where it was gripping your own thigh and starts to run along the outline of the window that separated you from sam. This one was quite big, it went from over the top of your heads until a few inches away from the ground. It was enough. “I will do anything to be holy again.”

You had learned a thing or two in catholic school, and… you found it. The lock that kept the grille closed, but that could be opened when the priest and the penitent wanted to “talk face to face.” You think the situation is deserving

“Will you, now?” Sam, who was often collected and calm, always in control of his impulses, sounded wrecked. “Your sins are grave, little lamb.” He murmurs. “But lucky for you, the Lord wants me to be merciful to you.”

You swallow harshly, hands wrapping around the lock of the grille. You wanted Sam, you needed him. You had never felt hornier in your whole life.

“Please, Father.” Your voice is almost unrecognizable, whiny and pleasing. “Save me from sin, please.”

“Fuck.” You hear him mutter under his breath.

I just made a man of the lord swear.

Obviously, you knew Sam wasn’t really a man of God, and he swore like a trucker, but all your mind could think of was the clerical collar around his neck.

“If you want me to purify you, you’re going to have to follow my every word. You’re going to let me do what I need to do for this cleansing, do you understand, little lamb?”

That was the last straw.

You quickly unlock the window and pull it until it hits the door of your compartment.

There he was, Sam with his hair slicked back, a few rebellious strands falling into his eyes. He was sitting in the little bench of the confessional, eyes a little wild and breath heavy.

And a big bulge in his pants.

As soon as the grille hits the door of the confessional, Sam stands up, his head almost hitting the top of the cramped wood box you two were in.

“What the fuck?”

Before he can say anything else, you kneel down, still on your side of the confessional. Your knees hit the few inches of wood that still separated the two of you, but didn’t mind. And finally, you were there, surrounded by the smell of wood, velvet, and Sam.

You look up at him through your lashes, eyes big and innocent. Your hands were carefully placed on your lap and your thighs pressed together where they were visible, your little white dress riling up your legs, the lace border contrasting against the dark flooring of the confessional.

“I’ll do whatever it takes, Father.” You lick your lips slowly, mastering the look of naivety and fear in your eyes. “Purify me.”

“This is blasphemy.” Sam chokes out, but he still takes a step closer to you, standing right at the edge too. Like this, your face is right in front of his crotch. Your mouth waters.

“Since your sins are so… deeply rooted,” His hand reaches down to you, but he doesn't touch you. His hand hovers over the top of your head, down to your cheek. “I will have to use some unconventional methods.”

His hand brushes your neck, and you think he was going to brush your hair behind your shoulder, maybe even grip your chin and make you look at him.

Instead, Sam hooks a finger on the cross necklace around your neck and pulls you closer.

You don't recognize the sound that comes out of your mouth. The back of the chain digs into the soft skin of your neck, and when he lets go of the necklace, the cross falls back against the skin of your collarbones.

“You know what you have to do, don’t you?” he says gently, slightly condescending. His hand moves to cup your cheek, thumb rubbing over your lower lip.

You nod, almost in a trance, and your lips part slightly. San presses his thumb inside your mouth, and you immediately wrap your lips around him. You suck softly on his finger, eyes never leaving his.

“Jesus, you were made for this.” He breathes out, thumb pressing down on your tongue.

He moves his hand away, and with a little whine, you lean forward until your face is pressed to his clothed cock.

This was all your idea, and you had loved to watch as Sam’s control slipped as you talked dirty. But right now, you couldn’t come up with anything to say. The hard wood pressing against your knees, the cross burning around your neck, Sam’s words, it was too much. You were getting hazy, and all you could think of was your boyfriend.

You open your mouth and press your tongue over Sam’s bulge over his pants. He hisses, still looking down at you. Almost desperately, you reach out and unbuckle his belt. You pull the clothing piece low enough that you had access to his aching cock, covered by his boxers and big.

You mouth at him over the fabric, little kitten licks over the bulge, soaking the fabric with spit.

“Come on, little lamb.” He murmurs, voice strained and breathy. “Show me how penitent you are.”

You pull down the fabric of his boxers until his cock sprang free. It curved up against his stomach, a little dark and huge.

Spit pools in your mouth at the sight. It didn’t matter how many times you saw your boyfriend’s dick, it was a religious experience every time.

Especially this time.

A whiny little sound comes out of the back of your throat, and you immediately lean forward.

You lick up the shaft, from the base to the tip. You savor every vein under your tongue, relish on the little choked gasp Sam makes. You continue to give kitten licks all over his cock, almost reverently.

“Yeah, just like that.” Sam whispers under his breath, and you finally wrap your lips around his tip, bulbous and angry red. His head drops back and it hits the wall of the confessional with a loud bang. “Good girl.”

You whimper around Sam, the vibrations making him moan as low as he can, not wanting to get caught. You suck on the tip gently, tongue sliding over the slit, tasting his precum in your tongue.

You moan again at the taste. You loved it.

Slowly, you move your head down, taking more and more of him as you go. Sam moves one hand into your hair, not pushing down but pulling at the roots gently. You suck a little harder, tongue pressing against a particularly pronounced vein. He pulls harder, so hard it makes you move one hand from where it rested on your knee to press it against your pussy.

Soon, you’ve taken all of Sam. He was nestled against the back of your throat, your lips stretched and puffy. You stay still for just a second, giving you throat time to accommodate as it contracts around his length. Sam’s chest rises and falls quickly, his eyes shutting close for just a second before his eyes return to you.

“You’re sinful.” He chokes out, pulling on your hair, trying to get you to move.

And you do. You move your head back until only the tip is in between your lips, and then sink back down.

Your knees ache from where they press against the hard, cold wood. They will probably bruise, and you couldn’t wait for it. Sam continues to suppress moans and groans as you continue to move your head. You don’t use your hands, you let your mouth do all the work.

You swallow around Sam when he hits particularly deep inside your mouth, and it has him whimpering. Oh, you need to hear that again.

You lean back, catching your breath for a moment. Sam fists his cock and rubs it on your lips, leaving them glistening with your own spit and his precum.

“Am I doing it right, Father?” You have half the mind to continue your little roleplay, and it is worthy when Sam’s eyes shut down and his fist tightens around himself.

“Fuck. Yes, darling. You’re perfect. So good for me, so… devoted.”

You lean forward again, swallowing him down. This time, he uses the grasp on you hair to hold you still and starts to fuck your mouth.

He couldn't move much in the small space of the confessional, but his hips piston as his cock hits the back of your throat again, and again, and again.

Your hand presses down into your pussy harder, a wet patch staining your panties where you were soaked through. You press on your clit as Sam’s thrusts quicken.

“Fuck, yeah. So good for me, such a good girl.” He was clearly close, his glassy eyes focused on you, his voice wrecked as he babbled a little. “So- mmph, so desperate to be pure, to be good.”

As Sam approaches his orgasm, you double down on your efforts. You circle him with your tongue, contract the walls of your throat around him, let your moans vibrate through him every time you press your hand a little harder against yourself.

“Come on, Father.” You say, leaning back until your lips brushed his tip with every word. “Let me please you. Give it to me.”

Sam’s grip on your hair tightens when you sink back down on him. His thrusts become sloppy and discoordinated. He was a whimpering, groaning mess.

Finally, with one last thrust that left him settled deep in your throat, Sam comes with a shudder. His shoulders shake, and his head drops back, leaving you with a very clear sight of the clerical collar still around his neck, white fabric against flushed and sweaty skin.

The image makes you shiver as your fingers press more firmly against your clit, drawing desperate circles over the fabric of your panties. When the first rope of cum hits your tongue, you feel your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks. Your loud moan is only silenced by the cock still in your mouth, but it causes Sam to shake with overstimulation.

“Swallow.” He demands, and wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.

You stay there, suckling on his softening length as he comes, almost moaning at the glorious taste of your boyfriend. Your head is hazy with the situation and your own orgasm, and Sam has to practically peel you away from him. You whine as he slips out of your mouth, the last bit of cum landing over your lips.

“Sorry, pretty girl, but I need a break.” Sam says gently, with his normal voice.

You look up at him, still kneeling down in the confessional. His breathing was already ragged, but his chest hitches at the sight of you.

Your eyes were glossy and wide, cheeks flushed, and lips puffy, glistening with spit and his cum. You swallow whatever was in your mouth and slowly lick your lips, tongue swiping up all of his release. He groans, head dropping forward.

“You’ll be the death of me, you little vixen.” He rubs a hand over his face, and you struggle to stand up. Your legs were shaky from your orgasm and your knees were sore from kneeling.

You had never felt better.

Sam quickly notices you struggling and grabs your waist, helping you stand up and holding you carefully against his chest.

“I can't believe I got you to do that.” You whisper, biting your lip as a sense of embarrassment and adrenaline washed down your back at what you had done.

Sam snorts. “I can’t believe it either.” He huffs, looking at you with that warmth and sweetness you loved so much. His hair was even messier now and his lips were raw from biting back sounds.

Your hand moves up to fidget with his collar, fingers brushing against his skin, and you feel yourself getting worked up again.

“Don’t even think about it, you insatiable little thing.” Sam’s hand wraps around yours and pulls it away. You look at him and pout, which only makes him laugh and press a peck to your lips. “Who would’ve guessed you were so freaky.”

Sam’s teasing makes you blush furiously, and you take a step back from him. It is his time to pout, but he is way too big to be able to reach past the little window opening. You giggle at his dejected face, and after fixing your hair and dress, and making sure there wasn't spit or cum on your chin, you lean over to press a chaste kiss on his lips.

“Dean is ‘interviewing’ one of the victims’ daughters.” You inform him, pressing your hands to your cheeks to try and dissipate the blush.

“Is that what kids are calling it nowadays?” Sam jokes, crossing his arms. It made his chest look even bigger, and you need to physically restrain yourself from leaning in and taking a bite off his bicep.

“Apparently.” You shake your head. “You need to wait until Mass ends and then meet us at the motel. If Dean is back by then, we’ll debrief all the information we’ve got.” You lean forward once again, squeezing past the little opening until your nose brushes Sam’s. “If he’s not back yet, then I will be waiting for you in our room.” You press another kiss to his lips, this time a little more lingering. “Make sure to bring the priest outfit with you.”

Before Sam can even say anything, you grab the grille and close it again. You make sure to lock it, and walk out of the confessionary as quietly and carefully as you can when your legs are still a little shaky. You slip out the small wooden box, not before hearing Sam’s almost pained groan.

Thankfully, everyone was still focused on Mass, so no one paid attention to you. You slip out of the church and walk back to the motel, still in disbelief that you and Sam got away with something like that.

The next day, when the pastor asks you why your knees are bruised badly, you can’t help but smirk as Sam blushes behind him.

“Just prayed a little too hard, sir.”

NOTES: I can't tell if this is terrible or not. Here it is anyways.

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sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth · 20 days ago

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Treat your mouth as if it's heaven's gate (Sam Winchester x female reader)

A case brings you and Sam to church, which means Sam needs to dress up as a priest. It's not your fault that it brings such sinful thoughts to you, but it is your fault that you start acting on them…

Read it on AO3

Rated E. 5.4k words. Priest!Sam. They're gonna have to burn down this church. Is it a daddy kink if you call someone Father?

You walk into the church dressed as one of the parishioners, right behind an elderly couple who nod and smile at you, but then your eyes fall on Sam and you have a hard time controlling your expression. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson don’t need to know that the sight of their new priest just made you very wet.

Sam and Dean are off to the side, greeting everyone coming in. Dean looks damn nice too - it’s hard for him not too, but your eyes are glued to Sam. The way the black accentuates his long limbs, his broad shoulders. The way he’s just listening intently to someone telling him something, slowly nodding along. It makes your mouth feel dry. You’re a lapsed Catholic so you weren’t exactly excited about this case. But things are looking up.

You make it to the front of the line, where Sam and Dean make a show of introducing themselves, some throwaway Irish names.

“Deloris Van Cartier,” you say with a coy smile as you shake Dean’s hand. He only makes a face that shows his renewed annoyance at the name you insisted on, but when you extend your hand to Sam, you see the small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. His mouth that you’re really taking an interest in right now. He must notice, because when you look up into his eyes again, his hand still hasn’t left yours, his index finger splayed over the inside of your wrist.

“Anything?” Dean mutters and you blink to break the eye contact with Sam, look over at him.

“Nothing so far,” you say, then look back at Sam, only to catch him looking down at you with an unreadable expression. “But I’ll keep watching.”

Service is boring, but it allows you to keep looking at Sam. He and his brother are sitting in the front row, exchanging low words every once in a while, both looking around. It allows you to see his strong profile, expression awake and curious. His hair is sticking out a little on one side, and you want nothing more than to brush it behind his ear. Or tug your fingers into it, make him look at you. You shift in your seat, earning you another friendly nod by Mrs. Johnson. If only she knew.

After mass, the church empties. Some people stand around, talk, and it’s a good way to ask about the recent murders. The downside is that the Johnsons introduce you to their single neighbor, Jerry. Jerry talks at you like he’s trying to say something like I’m gonna give you the night of your life, then rub at your thigh for two minutes, before asking if you came. You manage to disentangle yourself from that conversation quickly.

When Sam, Dean and you finally check in with each other again, everyone else is gone.

“There’s something suspicious about that padre,” Dean says, blue steeling hard, so you know he’s picked up a trace. He’s capable, so you don’t feel bad about what you suggest.

“Maybe you go and follow him,” you say, “and Sam and I make sure there’s no other clues here?”

For once, Dean doesn’t catch that you’re just trying to get his brother alone. It’s shocking actually, but you’re not gonna question it. Maybe the idea of you and Sam fucking in a church is a little too salatious, even for Dean. He pretends to be the sex-crazed one, but you’re almost certain he’s pretty vanilla.

Not Sam though. Sam is a goddamn freak. Literally.

So Dean leaves, but then Sam, to your utmost disappointment, actually starts searching the fucking church for clues. That’s okay. You’ll get him where you need him.

You watch Sam as he moves, all the way on the other side of the church. He’s got that intense look on him, the one where his lips are pressed together, his forehead knotted. You stop where you are, two rows of pews between you and him. Take a careful look around to make sure there really is no one else there. Then your hands go to your knees before travelling under your dress and quickly pulling down your panties. You push them into your handbag, then put the bag on one of the seats. You also take off the cardigan you were wearing over your summer dress to cover your shoulders, lay it next to the bag. Clear your throat.

“Sam, I think I found something,” you say and his head snaps up, eyes searching you out. You nod at the ground. “Some kind of weird inscription. Looks like it was scratched in recently.”

And Sam, sweet lamb, he thinks you really found something, walks over to you with long strides, expression attentive.

He looks at the ground before you and you can immediately tell he doesn’t see the made-up scratches, but is too polite to say it. He stops at arm’s length from you, head bent down.

“I don’t see it,” he says and you point at the ground.

“That’s cause you’re all the way up there, giant man,” you say and Sam huffs and then lowers himself, drops into a squat.

You step forward before he can tell you again that he doesn’t see anything. You gently lay your hand on the back of his head and then you’re pressing his face against your crotch.

Sam’s hands shoot to your thighs and for a second you wonder if he’ll push you away. Sam has a hard time initiating stuff, but when you do, he’s like a switch that’s flicked.

His hands wander up, quickly, under your dress, up the back of your thighs, roughened, tough hands against the milky softness of your skin there before his big paws find your ass cheeks, squeeze them hard and then pull you harder against his face.

He takes a deep breath, so deep and lustful that it makes your eyelids flutter, and you make a fist of his hair at the back of his head, pull it without pulling him away, while Sam keeps massaging your ass.

You can feel the tip of his strong nose pressed against your softest parts, the thin fabric of your summer dress still separating you, but not by much. Sam’s shoulders rise again as he takes another deep breath. He must smell your wetness, the earthy musk. The one that's all for him.

He pulls back his head a little, lets go of your ass cheeks, but only to grab the hem of your dress, push it up. His eyes are on your pussy, and he groans when he sees you're not wearing any underwear. He tilts his head up, chest rising and falling slowly while his strong fingers press into your skin.

“For me?” he asks, voice husky and you feel a messy grin sneak onto your face.

“Always for you,” you say with a smile that you’re only pretending is coy. Sam narrows his eyes up at you.

“Is it a… priest thing?” he asks, just slightly tilting his head. You shrug, all innocence.

“It’s mostly a you thing,” you reply, then bite your lip, drawing Sam’s gaze there. “But the priest thing isn’t hurting.”

You see the small tug at the corner of Sam’s beautiful mouth, the slight raising of his chin, the same one he does when he discovers something interesting in a book, but also the one you’ve learned to spot when he’s thinking up something nice for you.

With your dress still bunched up in his fists, Sam pulls you in.

His mouth lands high on your thigh, warm breath fanning over the skin before determined lips press against it. You feel another gush of wetness join what is already there as you scratch your fingernails down the back of Sam’s head, eliciting a low groan from him, but then he detaches from you, looks up at you.

“Sam,” you breathe, “don’t stop.” But he just raises his eyebrows a little.

“Sam?” he asks. You need to swallow, almost painful arousal shooting through your core, a tight fist of need.

“Father,” you say instead and Sam nods slowly.

“Keep your hands by your side,” he says, voice low, but you’d think he shouted with him quickly your hands leave his head and drop to your side. One side of Sam’s mouth twitches into a half-smile.

“Good girl,” he says and then lowers his head again.

Your eyes nearly roll up and a needy whimper leaves you at the mix of his words plus the feeling of his open mouth pressed just to the side of your pussy. He’s kissing you, strong lips and wet, hot tongue darting out, like he would kiss your mouth, but he’s keeping an inch of distance from your clit, taking his time as his mouth makes you wetter than you were before.

His stubbled cheek brushes against y our lips and it feels like a hundred volts pumped into you, only that little touch making your breathing come out chopped, your hands form into fists to keep them where he told you to keep them. You can feel your wetness start to travel onto the inside of your thighs, desperate and waiting for any relief, and at the same time sure that direct contact will kill you on the spot.

Sam’s tongue and lips are still exploring you, taking his sweet time, and if you had the wherewithal to look down, you’d see his eyes are closed in reverence as he is lost to the taste of your skin, the warmth of it.

“Please,” you mutter, the word leaving you without intention, just the single thing your brain can still come up with. But if anything it makes things worse, because he pulls his head back and looks at you again.

You must be a pretty sight - cheeks flushed, eyes closed, brow knotted, hands tight fists at your side. Sam squeezes your thigh where one of his hands is holding it, and you manage to blink your eyes open, look down at him.

“What do you want?” he asks, his voice stern and challenging. You lick your lips, try to calm your breathing, concentrate on what you’re saying.

“Your cock, Father,” you breathe out and you can see the effect it has on him, the tensing of his beautiful features.

Sam lets go of you, presses himself up to stand. He briefly sways, his hands already going to the fly of his pants, his large, imposing body so close to you you can feel his body heat radiating off him.

“Oh yeah?” he says, his own breathing heavy as you hear the clink of his belt buckle. “Down your throat or in your cunt?”

You press yourself closer to Sam, his words nearly making you dizzy, but not as dizzy as the need between your legs. Still, there is nothing better than seeing Sam lose it like this, watch all his self-control and strength come apart.

“My mouth,” you reply, voice breathless, and you’re almost certain Sam didn’t expect that, because he looks away from where he’s opened his pants, at your face, eyes going wider for a second, before his hand shoots to your neck.

He pulls you up towards him so hard you feel the stretch in your neck and calves as you try to meet him as much as possible. Sam’s kiss is hard, all lips and teeth and uncoordinated as he pants into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he grunts, “you’re gonna drive me crazy.” You just have time to grin against him before you drop down again and then go lower, your hands wandering down his body.

Your knees meet the cool stone floor as you keep looking up at Sam’s face. He looks even more hulking from down here, miles and miles of long, lean limbs, making you feel tiny. Since you no longer need to hold on to him, your hands go to his opened fly, one diving in and taking him out.

You can’t help the moan that leaves you at the sight of him, thick and quickly hardening. Since you don’t have the self-control Sam has, you lean forward immediately, lips wrapping around his head, gently suckling.

A long, deep groan leaves him, making your eyelids flutter. Two things you were more than happy to learn about Sam once you started hooking up: he’s well-endowed, fitting his large frame, and he’s vocal.

Popping your lips off him, you stick out your tongue, begin running it along Sam’s length, the soft skin of him kissing your cheek and lips, spreading your saliva over your chin. His hand wanders to the base of your neck, long fingers tangling in your hair there and gripping it hard, whether to encourage you or control your onslaught impossible to say.

You go back to the head of his cock, suck it into your mouth as you hollow out your cheeks, before taking in more of him. Sam grunts again, his hips slightly rocking forward before he controls himself.

“Touch yourself,” he breathes out and it takes a moment for the words to seep into your cockdrunk head. Your eyes open, just for a moment, and then your hand drops between your legs and you begin petting yourself.

You’re careful with how sensitive you are, your thighs slightly twitching. You’re uncoordinated, blind with lust, can’t settle on a rhythm, on a spot. Your middle and ring finger dip into you, their entry easy with how wet you are, but they feel all wrong, they’re not bringing you any relief, only more need, more want.

The sound you make around Sam’s cock must betray your frustration, because with his grip in your hair, he pulls you back, tilting your head so you look at him. There’s spit all over your mouth and your eyes must be misty as you open them, your chest rising and falling quickly. Sam’s raised eyebrows ask a question without words.

“Can’t reach where you reach,” you press out, unable to form a full sentence. “Doesn’t feel as good as you.”

Sam’s upper lip pulls up and then suddenly the hand at the back of your neck is gone, only for it to wrap around your upper arm like a vise.

Sam pulls you to your feet and then forward, and you nearly go tumbling with your needy lack of coordination. But he’s there to hold you up, and when you see where he is dragging you, renewed arousal makes your knees buckle.

Your front meets the altar at the head of the church, not too hard, but hard enough that your hands go out to steady yourself. Not that you could go anywhere, not with how close Sam crowds in behind you. One of his hands flies to your front, under your breasts, running over the fabric of your dress, blindly searching but only touching, only taking you in, while his other pulls up your dress again.

“You need my help to go deep?” he pants and you nod, before Sam’s other hand pushes against your back, making you lean forward until your cheek meets the surface of the altar, cold marble burning against your hot skin. “Need me to show you the depth of His love? Of mine? Hold up your dress.”

Your hands go to your hip, bunching up your dress and how exposed it makes you to Sam sends an intense shudder through you. His hand wanders higher, to rest between your shoulder blades, keeping you down and in place where you belong, while his other moves behind you.

It’s his finger that enters you, though, not his cock, and despite that being a significant improvement, you still mewl in disappointment.

“No, need more,” you moan, your voice cracked and broken. “Need your cock, Father, please.”

Sam huffs as he slightly twists his finger inside you, making you feel how deep his long digit is going as he explores your inner walls.

“Don’t be greedy,” Sam answers, his finger only blurring the edges of your need. “You’ll get what I give you.”

You flex your fists, bite your lip, then clench your pussy in the hope of feeling more of him, but Sam is taking his time, until he finally pulls his finger most of the way out of you, and pushes in again with two.

You turn your head, your forehead pressed against the surface below you, as a long drawn-out moan leaves you. The urge to rock your hips back is overwhelming, but you’re too worried that Sam will take the game to the next level, will withdraw to teach you a lesson. Still, it’s almost impossible not to.

“You need to be opened up,” you hear his low voice, the sound of it making you feel like a feral animal. “Be a receptacle for the Lord.”

You have something brewing in your brain and on your tongue about what you’d much rather be a receptacle for, when suddenly you hear voices.

Your eyes fly open and Sam’s fingers stop moving. You’re pretty sure the voices are coming from the vestibule, the door luckily closed. The volume of the voices remains the same and it sounds like they’ve stopped outside, but still. They could walk in any minute.

Sam pulls his fingers from you, and you’re getting ready to push down your dress, mentally already flattening your hair, calming your breathing, even though you know there is no way someone could walk in now and not know what you have been doing. But that’s not what happens.

You feel the pressure of it against your entrance, and for a second, you are struck dumb by what is happening, and then Sam’s cockhead penetrates your folds, slipping into you and you know.

The sound that leaves you is accidental and animalistic, the surprise and stretch making you feel like you’re losing your mind. One hand lets go of your dress and shoots forward until your hand is resting just below you, and you lean down, sink your teeth into the skin on the back of your hand to stop any other sounds from leaving you.

It’s a good thing, because Sam presses deeper, your whimpers muffled against your flesh, eyes squeezed shut. He’s breathing hard, but low, his fingertips squeezing you where he’s holding on to you.

“Can you be quiet?” he half whispers and you’re honestly not sure you can. But the alternative is having him pull out, and that is not an option, so you quickly nod. Sam must see your head move because he presses deeper.

The voices are still there but either retreating or just difficult to hear with the sound of blood rushing in your ears. You can feel Sam disappearing into you, know that the sight of it is like a magic trick being performed, how much of him fits inside of you. It’s why you love being able to see how he fucks you. But right now, you can only feel.

Sam bottoms out, his pelvis pressing against your ass as if he’s hoping to bury even more of himself inside of you, but there's no room, no more room anywhere in you with how absolutely he fills you. You concentrate on your breathing, in through your nose, out through your mouth, but already you can feel your own desperate clenching around him, your body looking for friction, release, anything.

And then Sam pulls out and you can’t help but arch your back, needing to feel as much of him as possible. The pull in your back muscles is almost painful, but it’s a wonderful accoutrement to the drag of Sam’s cock. He pushes in again before he’s fully left you.

Your clit is screaming for attention, your body is screaming to come and you want nothing more than to grab all parts of Sam, inhale him, suck on his skin, but all you can do is lie there and take what he is giving you. His thickness rubs along your most sensitive spots, begging for more stimulation, but you get what you get.

Sam pulls out and pushes in a few more times, and then you’re finally sure the voices are retreating. Your body relaxes somewhat and Sam lets out a long, tense breath. His hand on your back finds your shoulder, squeezes it.

“Oh God,” you whimper, finally daring to make a sound again and his hand moves again, wraps around your face, fingers pressed against your lips.

“Never heard that thing about using the Lord’s name in vain?” he asks, voice shaking a little, but you can barely hear him, instead press your tongue against his fingers, then suck two of them into your mouth. Sam groans roughly, his next push into you harder, less controlled.

“Fuck,” he grunts and then pulls his fingers from your mouth and his cock from your pussy. You whine, but only until his hands grab your hips, turn you around.

He is a sight to behold, when you turn around and face him. He looks like the Almighty himself, wrathful and powerful and beautiful. He leans his head down, presses his forehead against yours and you press back, desperate to touch him.

“Need to taste you,” he says, and you moan at his words. “And then I need to really fuck you.”

With that, he leans down a little, his arms going around your waist, yours around his shoulders, and then Sam lifts you up onto the altar. He pushes you back, bullies you into position until you are lying down. Roughly hoists up your dress again.

This time there is no preamble, no playing around. Sam goes for your clit, sucks it into his mouth and your body bucks up at the sudden assault, loud whimpers bursting from your mouth. He lets go of your clit, then drags his tongue along your entrance, swirling as if he’s tasting ambrosia, before running it up and going for your clit again. He must be tasting so much of you, plus his own pre-come, and momentarily you’re jealous that he gets to savor the cocktail of both of your essences mixed, and you don’t.

You want to grab his head, press him against you, but you remember his words from earlier. Keep your hands by your side. Maybe he still wants you to do the same. So instead, you extend your arms to both sides, hoping that keeping your hands as far away from him as possible will do the trick.

You raise your legs though, and Sam uses his big hands to press them up against your torso, slings his arms over them to keep you in place. The last glimpse of him that you see is him staring down at your pussy, his own lips parted, heavily panting.

Sam dives in, licking and sucking and even nipping at you when he can’t control himself. He’s pressing his face so hard against you you’d be worried how he’s still breathing, if you had a single coherent thought left in your brain. You feel his thick nose crush against you, the press of it making the muscles in your stomach contract.

You can only lie there, eyes closed, lips parted, needy, desperate and pathetic noises leaving you. A high whimper when Sam sucks on your clit hard, making your lower body buck, half to meet him, half to get away from him, but Sam keeps you in place. There’s no way for you to move.

You feel your orgasm approaching rapidly and for a moment, you let your eyes flutter open, the darkness of your eyelids making you feel almost too much. You look up, at the vaulted ceiling, the rich, gold decorations and then, as you press your head back, your shoulders twisting up, pushing yourself down to feel more of Sam, your body making the choice for you, you see Him.

His arms are stretched away from his body in a mirror position of you. Long, dark hair, on his head and shorter on his face, a lean but muscular body. His face filled with such deep longing. Just like yours must be.

You burst into your orgasm, fingers desperately trying to hold on to something, body bucking up as Sam keeps tongue-fucking you roughly, and you are filled with so much light and heat you think you’re about to implode. Your cries are high and loud. Someone walking in wouldn’t know if you’re in pain or ecstasy.

As your body stops its shaking Sam gives your clit another quick suck, making you gasp and flinch. He lets go of you and you drop your legs, then close them, roll onto your side. You’re painting and shivering.

You feel Sam’s hand low on your spine and you turn your head when you feel him lean over you, meet his lips. His kisses are frenzied and you can taste the sweet tang of your pussy on his lips and tongue.

You shuffle, bring one leg under him and then to his other side, Sam now between your thighs and his lips twitch, a sinful smile on them, before he grabs your hips and with one hard tug pulls you closer to the edge of the altar, closer to him. He straightens a little, positions himself to penetrate you again and you raise yourself on your elbows, chase his jaw with your lips.

“Make me good, Father,” you pant, licking at him, only getting the dimple in his chin. “Fuck your goodness into me.”

Sam pushes one of your legs open, then looks at your face as he presses his cock into you. Your eyelids flutter as you’re tossed between the shores of feeling too much and already feeling like you could come again. He leans over you, his hair falling into his face, and sinks home.

You kiss him again as Sam starts fucking you, deep, intense thursts that immediately respark the flames of your arousal. One of the straps of your dress has fallen off your shoulder, and Sam hooks his finger into the fabric, pulls it down, revealing your breast to him. You move your leg higher on his side and in response, Sam hooks it over his elbow. He drops his head, finds your nipple and runs his tongue over it, then sucks it into his mouth and gives it a gentle bite. You moan loudly, grab his biceps to have something to hold on to as Sam begins snapping his hips against you.

The stretch of Sam’s thick cock is rooting you perfectly in the moment, your body rejoicing at the intense intrusion. He’s breathing hard now, low grunts leaving him as your pussy drags pleasure from him, your lips meet his cheek and lips, your fingernails dig into his arms. He’s got you under him, strung like a taut wire, but it’s his groans that are becoming more intense, more uncontrolled.

“You want me to make you full?” he asks, voice deep and cracked, so raw you feel it in the tips of your fingers and down to your toes. “Make you full of His love?”

“Yes,” you moan. “Make me so full, so full it runs out over your big cock.” Sam groans, picks up his speed.

“Come with me,” he pants. “I want you to.” You’re pretty sure you nod, but you can’t be fully certain. What you do know is that you bring one hand away from Sam’s arm to between your legs, to where Sam is opening you up so perfectly. It’s all wet and warm there, and you begin petting yourself.

“You’re gonna come on my cock?” he asks, his voice becoming strained.

“Yes,” you breathe, barely able to make any sounds anymore.

“You’re gonna let me ruin you?” he asks, interrupts himself with a loud moan.

"Yes," you gasp, your orgasm within reach, so close you can taste.

“Gonna let me make you a sinner?” Sam asks, voice raw and forced.

You open your mouth to answer, but it’s too late - the feeling too intense, too overwhelming, as a high whine leaves you to accompany your second orgasm.

Sam grunts loudly, maybe at how tightly you’re squeezing him, how eagerly your walls are pressing against him, trying to keep him there, sucking him in, and in the next second, just as you barely manage to open your eyes, he comes too.

His shoulders are heaving, his eyes squeezed shut, the most sinful, perfect moans leaving him. He presses his open mouth against your jaw as he keeps grinding into you to fuck his come deeper into you.

Sam goes slack over you, his big body untensing, his broad chest expanding against you on every breath. His face is still pressed against your neck and you run your hands from his arms to his back, stroking him, just needing to keep touching him.

You both lie there as your breathing slows and ultimately syncs, as you both come back to yourselves and each other.

“What the fuck? ” he mumbles against you, sounding very much like himself again. All you can reply with is a fucked-out chuckle.

“I think I skipped Sunday school when we covered this part,” you say, your fingers running into his hair, twirling one strand between your fingers. “I only remember the part about the good Samaritan.” And Sam doesn’t react, just keeps breathing delicious warm breath against you, so you poke his shoulder.

“Get it?” you say. “Sam-aritan?”

Sam’s shoulders begin shaking, and then he presses himself up, the breath and the press of his nose against you disappearing, but at least you’re rewarded with seeing his face. He looks down at you, expression amused and critical at the same time. The way you know him.

“You just got me to fuck you in a church,” he deadpans, “and now you’re making bible puns?” You shrug.

“I contain multitudes,” you reply. Sam raises his eyebrows.

“That’s Walt Whitman,” he corrects you. You press your lips together.

“It’s a good think you’re handsome and fuck like a god,” you reply, “because you’re a goddamn smartass.” Sam chuckles, making your heart bloom with warmth, and then he pushes himself up.

"Language," he says, but there's little authority in it now.

Once he’s standing, he slowly pulls himself out of you before helping you sit up. He wraps one arm around you to help you drop off the altar, and you can’t resist getting both your hands on him to steady yourself. And as if you’re not swooning enough already, Sam’s hand goes up, runs over your hair where it must be messy from how hard he fucked you.

You both flinch when you hear the creak of the door and then you turn, and there’s Mrs. and Mr. Johnson walking in. You drop your hands off Sam quickly, forcing a polite smile, while Sam clears his throat, crosses his hands in front of his body.

There’s a short moment where the four of you just stare at each other, no one saying anything. You blink repeatedly and hope no one notices your shifting around when you suddenly feel Sam’s come begin to run out of you.

“There’s a…” Mrs. Johnson starts, pointing over her shoulder at the door leading to the outside. “We were… looking for you…” You nod, widen your smile.

“Father and I were just…” you start and then you realize you have no idea where you meant for that sentence to go.

“Praying,” Sam quickly adds. “We were praying.”

“How… nice,” Mrs. Johnson says, and her husband nods along.

“But now we’re gonna go outside,” you say, and then you quickly cross the distance to the bench where you left your things, strategically holding the cardigan in front of you. Sam is right behind you, throwing the older couple another friendly smile. The two just continue staring.

Sam presses his hand against the small of your back to get you moving, and then you’re both hustling it out of the church. However you can’t stop yourself from grabbing his hand once you’re out of sight, just as you’re about to walk out of the church into the sunlight.

You squeeze Sam’s hand and he squeezes back, and when you look up at him, you see his dimpled grin, barely contained.

Maybe you should consider going to confession this week, you think, as you try to hide your own grin.

#supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #priest!sam

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bluemerakis · 2 days ago

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do you ever just read what you wrote and giggle like a manic whore? 👹👹👹👹

finally dusted off this draft and continued it WEEWOOO

#peep priest!sam over here #mera’s snippets ˋˏ✄#priest!sam winchetser #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #supernatural

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marrziy · 5 months ago

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tem queda em padre?

Só nos fictícios 👄

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loverslantern · 11 months ago

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The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x f! reader

Description: Sam's nightmare leads the group to Saginaw Michigan. But it's more than a nightmare and it's more than any ol' hunt. Things are revealed about the past as it sends them barreling into the future.

Warnings: Cannon violence, I might have gotten a little too carried away with the beginning scene sorry not sorry! flirtation, banter, mentions of su!cide, gore, mentions of child abuse, mentions of past abuse, guns, a roller coaster of emotions, and a lot of angst (no one can be happy...sorry!)

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44 @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 @seninjakitey @mystic-mara

Word Count: 9,912

Nightmare

(Masterlist, Prev Ch, Next Ch)

I turn over in my bed, burying my head deeper into the pillows to ignore the loud and insistent banging from my door. I mumble incoherently into the covers, sleep having its claws so deep into my brain. “Please open the door, sweetheart. ‘m tryna give you privacy here but if this door isn’t open in five seconds I’m gonna use my key,” Dean warns loudly, his voice raspy. I hum softly into the bedding but make no move to get up, instead snuggling deeper into the blankets. The remains of sleep creep into the corners of my mind, hazing the rest of my brain.

Suddenly a gentle calloused hand is on my bare shoulder, “Come on baby, as much as I wanna let you sleep Sammy needs us to hurry.”

“Mhm,” I hum halfheartedly, digging myself further into the bed if possible. “Alright that’s it,” he says finally. There's some shuffling before the covers are pulled back, a rush of cold air prickling my exposed legs followed by the warmth of his hands dragging up and down my calves slowly before leaving to pull down my slip nightgown further past my butt. That wakes me up. My eyes flutter open, and as much as I loved my little cotton nightgown every time I wore it to bed I woke up to a full tit out and the bottom up at my hips. Luckily this time I didn’t think it rode up so high, it had only felt like it was just barely covering my butt, so at the most, he saw a flash of my underwear which is not the most ideal thing to happen, and also insanely embarrassing but at least I was wearing one of my cute pairs. And at least he didn’t comment on it, except he did pull it down further which means he probably did see…oh god.

“Okay! I’m awake Dean!” I say, my words half mumbled by the bed but if I turned over he would also be seeing a boob today and he had seen enough already. His hands grip my ankles, his thumbs rubbing my skin, oh lord. No. I have to focus…and not on how butterflies are erupting in my stomach, fluttering around frantically, “Not convinced baby, not until I see you get up,” he conceded. He was really playing with my resolve and it was a very fickle thing to begin with.

“Yeah, so if I flip myself around you’d be getting flashed. These nightgowns…just you know…” I admit, my face warm for two different reasons. His thumbs pause and I can practically hear the arch of his brow and that devilish smirk, “By all means, continue…”

“Dean,” I warn.

“I really wouldn’t object to it, wouldn’t complain one bit,” he comments, his voice dripping with amusement. “Dean!” His hands leave me entirely and I suddenly miss the warmth he brought, “Alright, alright,” he gives in, “I’ll go, be waitin’ in the car. I’d hurry though Sam’s freaking out about needing to leave but won't say anythin’ more.”

The initial embarrassment of being woken up the way I was or at least the result of that, as well as being a little “late” had long worn off except for when Dean caught my eyes in the rearview mirror then it all came rushing back. But I needed to screw my head on right, and not get distracted by his playful teasing manner, he was most likely compensating for the fact that he had to say goodbye to the woman he loved again. Ending on good terms aside those feelings don’t just magically disappear especially when it only happened recently. Either way, I was thankful for the nightfall's darkness, because with each gaze my face heated up even if it was against my better judgment.

I needed to focus.

Sam had his ear pressed into his phone, reading from a fake ID to potentially give real information, “McReady. Detective McReady, badge number 158. I’ve got a signal 480 in progress, I need the registered owner of a two-door sedan, Michigan license plate Mary-Frank-six-zero-three-seven…Yeah okay, just hurry.”

Dean glances over at his brother, concern written in his eyes, “Sammy relax. I’m sure it’s just a nightmare.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Sam remarks.

“You know considering he was right about your old house I’m pretty much convinced he’s right about this one too,” I add. Dean adjusts his hold on the steering wheel, “It could also just be a dream. Y’know, a normal everyday, naked-in-class, nightmare. This license plate, it won’t check out. You’ll see,” Dean tries to reason though I can't understand why he won’t accept that Sam has been right before and will be right again, my only guess would be fear.

“I mean I suppose,” I shrug, “but even just logically speaking unless you’re lucid dreaming you can’t read in your sleep, as the part of your brain that’s responsible for logic and intellect shuts down. So following that logic, he wouldn’t have been able to read or understand that license plate, that fact must hold some merit here.”

“Alright, maybe he was lucid dreamin’ then,” Dean suggests instead, finding any reason for his brother not to be a psychic.

“It felt different Dean. Real,” Sam shakes his head, eyes focused as he tries to explain, “Like when I dreamt about the old house and Jessica.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. You’re dreaming about our house, your girlfriend,” Dean points out, “This guy in your dream, you ever seen him before?”

“No,” Sam responds.

“It doesn't matter if you've actually seen someone they can still be in your dreams because when you're walking around you're subconsciously watching and cataloging them,” I explain, “Though of course you're most likely to have dreams about people you see or think about more often, but still people you pass in real life can be in your dream.” Dean catches my eyes again in the mirror, gazing at me questioningly, “Why do you know so much about dreams?”

I shrug, “I don't know, it’s interesting so I just go down a rabbit hole of information. Plus there are a lot of psychological aspects to dreams which can make them important to analysis.” Dean shakes his head as if shaking away the information, “So why would he have premonitions about some random dude from Michigan.”

I rub my eyes, tiredness still trying to cling to me to the point of my eyes aching, “Yeah I don’t have an answer to that one.” Dean turns his gaze to his brother, silently asking him the same question, “I don’t know,” he answers. “Me neither,” Dean shrugs with one shoulder though it was more done to prove his point.

“Yes I’m here,” Sam says suddenly, pressing the phone closer to his ear. He goes silent, listening, then throws a glare at Dean and picks up his pen, “Jim Miller. Saginaw, Michigan. ‘You have a street address?… Got it. Thanks.” He moves his phone away from him, clicking a button, most likely hanging up, “Checks out. How far are we?”

“From Saginaw? Coupla hours,” Dean answers. “Drive faster.”

The Impala cruises to a stop, Emergency vehicles lined up followed by two medical examiners pushing a stretcher with a body bag on it just being zippered. We were late and it was hard to know whether it was by a couple of minutes or hours, but it didn’t matter because we were late and someone was dead.

We approach the crowd, a couple of neighbors dressed in their pajamas and a coat watching the scene from behind a line of caution tape. “What happened?” Dean asks a nearby woman.

“Suicide,” she answers, “Can’t believe it.”

“Did you know them?” Sam questions, moving to the woman’s other side.

She frowns, “‘Saw him every Sunday at St. Augustine’s,” she replies, oversharing to a couple of strangers but it was helpful so there was no way we would tell her to stop, “He always seems…seemed so normal. I guess you never know what’s going on behind closed doors.”

“Guess not,” Dean acknowledges, looking straight ahead.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say softly, maybe she didn’t know the guy so well but seeing him weekly still meant something. She nods in thanks.

“How did…uhh” Sam stammers, “How are they saying it happened?” It was a total conversation turn but once more it was necessary. “I heard they found him in the garage, locked inside his car with the engine running,” she answers. Carbon dioxide poisoning from a car makes it hard for it to be an accident so of course the initial thought would be suicide and I doubt it would be easy to prove otherwise with a death like that.

“Do you know about what time they found him,” Sam pushes and I hope she doesn’t think we’re being weird about this and asking a little too many questions. “Oh, ‘just happened about an hour or two ago,” she says. Frick, frick that wasn’t long ago at all. “His poor family,” she continues, “I can’t even imagine what they’re going through.” I follow her gaze to a woman standing on the front steps crying against a middle-aged man. A young distraught man stands behind them. I could imagine what they were feeling and it was horrible. Grief was not pretty and those feelings were even uglier, leaving a permanent mark on your heart.

Someone tugs on my sweatshirt sleeve, I follow the motion watching Dean walk away following his brother who had stormed away. I follow them, making the quick walk to the Impala.

“Sam we got here as fast as we could,” Dean reasons.

“Not fast enough,” Sam shakes his head, a pained look painted on his face, “It doesn’t make any sense man. Why would I even have these premonitions if there wasn’t a chance I could stop them from happening.”

I bit my lips, thinking for a moment before speaking, “Maybe it wasn’t about him exactly, like maybe it’s bigger than that. Sometimes that happens, remember what I said about oneiromancy or using dreams to predict the future? Well sometimes it’s not so literal, sometimes it serves as a warning or pointing you in a specific direction for whatever reason. Now I know your whole thing is different and more detailed than that but do you get what I mean?”

He nods, clearly thinking it over. “I don’t know though, I’m no expert but I’m just tryna say to keep it in mind,” I add. He shakes his head and sighs, “So what do you think killed him?”

“Maybe the guy just killed himself?” Dean suggests, “Maybe there’s nothing supernatural going on at all.”

“Then why would he have such a vivid dream of just some random dude dying?” I point out, immediately realizing my contradiction. “I dunno,” Dean shrugs, “Maybe it’s like you said, it’s pointing to somethin’ else.”

“I watched it happen. He was murdered by something. I watched it trap him in the garage,” Sam explains.

“What was it, a spirit, poltergeist, what?” Dean asks in rapid succession. Sam huffs, “I don’t know what it was. I don’t know why I’m having these dreams, I don’t know what the hell is happening!” He was freaking out, totally and utterly freaking out and he had every right to be. “It’s alright Sam,” I say softly, “We’ll figure this out, I promise. ‘No matter how long it takes.”

He sighs, mumbling a “Thanks.” I couldn't imagine what he was feeling, I always knew who I was even if nobody else did. To know one thing your whole life just to be thrown onto a totally new path with no explanation must be terrifying. “What,” Sam says suddenly throwing a look at his brother who was just staring at him. Dean shrugs, “Nothing. I’m just, I’m worried about you man,” he confesses.

“Well don’t look at me like that!” Sam yells. Dean looks away, “I’m not looking at you like anything,” he retorts, glancing back, “Though I gotta say, you do look like crap.”

“Dean. Really?” I say.

“Nice. Thanks,” Sam replies, pursing his lips. With a small smile, Dean moves to the driver's side of the car, pulling the door open, “Come on, let’s just pick this up in the morning. We’ll check out the house, talk to the family.”

“Dean, you saw them, they’re devastated. They’re not going to want to talk to us,” Sam reasons. Dean pauses in thought, “Yeah, you’re right. But I think I know who they will talk to.”

I scoff, “Who?”

I pull open my motel door, the sun shining brightly behind the man in front of me highlighting his stunning green eyes. His arms are hidden behind his back, “What do you have there?” I ask, squinting at him suspiciously. “Oh, just a little somethin’” he smirks devilishly, gazing down at me.

“You’re scaring me,” I admit, “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be,” he grins revealing what he was hiding. He holds up a rectangular Halloween costume bag, the classic orange logo on the top, and a blonde woman in a nun costume holding a ruler on the other side. I look between him and the bag his smile never leaving his face a mischievous sparkle in his eye, “Sam and I are going as Preiests so we need our nun,” he explains.

“Tell me you're joking,” I say blankly, my face falling.

“Not at all sweetheart.”

I huff a laugh, pointing at the bag, “I’m not wearing that.”

“You gotta,” he replies.

“No offense to the nuns of the world, but I would rather be shot dead than wear that.”

“‘Cause it’s not cute?” Dean asks though it comes off more like a statement as he knows my answer. “Yes,” I answer flatly, “I’m not wearing that.”

“Maybe I shoulda picked up the slutty one,” he retorts, thinking he got me there. I cross my arms across my chest, wetting my lips, “You should’ve, ‘be good for Halloween,” I counter. Checkmate. He drags his eyes across my frame. my face heats up, “While I’d love to see to that, Halloween is months away and you’re being ridiculous.”

“Still not wearing it,” I say as sternly as I can manage, which isn’t very considering my mind trying to compute what he said. “Come on,” he grumbles, “what am I gonn’ do with a nun costume now?” He pushes past me, stepping deeper into the room. I close the door, turning around, “I don't know, return it? Or use it for one of your one-night stands, I’m sure you’ll find someone kinky enough.”

He looks at me blankly, deadpanning, “You’re wearing it.”

“No”

“Yes”

“No”

“Yes”

“I’ll just sit this one out, wait in the car or something ‘till you’re done,” I say.

“You’re wearing it,” he repeats.

“No”

“Yes”

“You’re not winning this one!” I throw my hands up.

“Y/N come on!”

“No!”

He groans, annoyed, “If you wear it I’ll buy you whatever book you want.”

Oh. I mean it’s only a couple of minutes of embarrassment and ugly clothing, “Okay, deal. Fine.” His wide grin returns, he throws the bag at me and I catch it, looking down at it with disgust. “‘Not gonna bite sweetheart,” Dean says as he heads out.

“Yeah, but I might,” I mumble.

I fixed the Coif on my head for the hundredth time, I should’ve put more bobby pins in my hair. God. How did Nuns wear these? It just digs into your scalp and the most hair you could show was just the very top, probably about three inches, the rest of your hair was hidden along with your ears. It was the least cute or sexy thing to ever exist, faces were not being framed.

“Quit poutin’, you're supposed to be a Nun, be happy,” Dean comments as he rounds the car.

“I look like I'm going to burn myself at the stake,” I huff.

Sam laughs, having to bite back the noise. “You look fine,” Dean says. I look down at myself, the long black dress covering everything down at my ankles and a strange-looking white squared bib thing around my neck, “Who are you lying to right now!”

Dean huffs frustrated, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“At least you guys look good, like really good,” I say maybe a little too honestly. Sam had his hair all jelled back in a cute little hairdo, he was quite adorable. And on the other side, it really must have been the all-black attire, forget about the clerical cuff and that damn silver ring on his finger that made Dean look so good. Otherwise, there was something deeply wrong with me and I’d have to reevaluate my life, ‘cause there should be no reason for a “Priest” to look so damn fine. Lord, I need help.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Dean declares. He leads the way crossing the street and walking right up the porch, he rings the doorbell that silver ring glinting in the light. Sam sighs, “This has gotta be a whole new low for us.”

“Amen,” I mumble.

The door opens slowly and I throw away my pout replacing it with a kind smile. The older man from yesterday stands at the door, blocking our view of the rest of the house. Now that it wasn’t dark out and I was far closer, I was able to take note of him: a round-faced man with dark eyebrows and a sort of buzzcut.“Good afternoon,” Dean starts, “I’m Father Simmons, this is Father Frehley, and this is Sister Kathern We’re new junior priests over at St Augustine's. May we come in?”

The man nods, stepping aside. “Thanks,” Dean says entering first. I give the man a polite nod, “We’re very sorry for your loss.”

“It’s in difficult times like these when the Lord’s guidance is most needed,” Dean adds.

“Look, you wanna pitch your whole ‘Lord has a plan’ thing? Fine. Just don’t pitch it to me. My brother’s dead,” the man spits, his face wobbling with choked emotion. An older blonde woman appears, her soft hair only reaching her shoulders, her eyes etched in sadness, “Roger. Please!” she lectures. Roger moves away, escaping to some other part of the house, “Excuse me.”

“I’m sorry about my brother-in-law. He’s…he’s just so upset about Jim’s death,” she explains.

“You don’t have to apologize, we completely understand. Everyone grieves differently,” I say sincerely. Her eyes soften, a sad smile on her face, “Would you like some coffee?”

“That would be great,” Dean answers.

****

I sit next to Sam on the loveseat, Dean beside him in an armchair. Ms. Miller pours coffee gently into a couple of little white mugs, she hands one to each of us, “It was wonderful of you to stop by. The support of the church means so much right now.”

“Of course. After all, we are all God’s children,” Dean replies smoothly, taking a sip of the black coffee. She stands up taking the coffee pot with her. Dean takes that opportunity to shove a bunch of cocktail sausages into his mouth, he was really taking advantage of her leaving food out on a little platter. “What?” he asks with a mouthful of food, responding to his brothers staring. “Just…tone it down a little bit, Father,” he responds.

Ms. Miller returns then, emptyhanded, she sits back down. Dean swallows his mouth full of food before talking again, “So Ms. Miller, did your husband have a history of depression?”

“Nothing like that,” she answers her eyes already tearing up, “We had our ups and downs like everyone but we were happy,” the tears run rapidly down her face, “I just don’t understand…how Jim could do something like this.”

“I’m so sorry you had to find him like that,” Sam replies sincerely. She wipes her tear-stained face, gesturing behind her, “Actually, our son Max, he was the one who found him.”

“Do you mind if maybe, I go talk to him?” Sam asks.

“Oh thank you, Father,” she musters a sad smile. He rises, following the direction she pointed.

“Ms.Miller you have a lovely home. How long have you lived here?” Dean inquires.

“We moved in about five years ago,” she answers.

“The only problem with these old homes, ‘bet it gives you all kinds of headaches,” he comments. Her face washes over in confusion, “Like what?”

“Well, weird leaks, electrical shortages, odd settling noises at night,” he lists, “That kind of thing.”

She shakes her head, “No, nothing like that. It’s been perfect.”

“Huh,” Dean hums, “May I use your restroom?”

“Oh sure, it’s just up the stairs,” she says. He nods, rising and taking another cocktail sausage before leaving. Now I was left to fend for myself in a social situation I wasn't totally prepared for. What do I say? “Is there anything I could do for you that might make you feel better? I understand how hard it is now.”

She tears up again, “I don’t know.” I lean over placing a gentle hand on her arm, “It’s okay…it’s okay," I say softly.

I enter the boy's motel room, following Sam. We had just come back from researching about the Miller’s house. I close and lock the door behind me, so grateful that I had been out of that nun outfit for more than an hour. “What do you have?” Dean asks, his entire arsenal spread out around him as he sits on the edge of the bed cleaning a gun. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows as he works the weapons, I have to force my gaze away. Men should not be allowed to look good doing random tasks, it wasn’t fair.

“A whole lotta nothing. Nothing bad has happened in the Miller house since it was built,” Sam answers sinking onto his bed.

“What about the land?” Dean questions further.

“Nope,” I say, “There were no battles or graveyards, it’s not tribal land and no kind of atrocities happened on or near the property.”

“Hey man I told you, I searched that house up and down. No cold spots, sulfer scent. Nada,” Dean adds.

“And the family said everything was normal?” Sam checks.

“Well, if there was a demon or poltergeist in there you think somebody would have noticed something? I used the inferred thermal scanner man, and there was nothing,” Dean answers.

I sigh moving to sit at the end of Sam's bed, “Back to square one.”

“So what, you think Jim Miller killed himself and my dream was just some sorta freakish coincidence?” Sam questions.

“I dunno,” Dean answers truthfully, “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing supernatural about that house.”

Sam gets a pained look in his eyes, bringing his hand up to rub his temples, “Yeah. Well, maybe it has nothing to do with the house,” he inhales sharply holding his head, “Maybe it’s just…Gosh,” he clutches his head, “... Maybe its connected to Jim in some other way?”

“Sammy you okay?” I ask, placing a careful hand on his bicep just as Dean says, “What’s wrong with you?” I throw him a sharp glare, way to word it. Sam makes strained pained noises, sinking to the floor, “My head.”

Dean practically jumps from his bed, “Sam? Hey,” he sinks right next to his brother in a crouch grabbing Sam’s arms, “Hey! What’s going on? Talk to me.”

I stand up concern running through my blood, “Sam! Come on!” I've never seen something like this before, it was completely foreign which only made it more terrifying. Dean throws a pleading look at me and I stand not knowing what to do, “I-I don’t know, I’m sorry.” He turns back to his brother, not saying anything as he holds on to him.

Then, Sam slowly removes his hands from his head, focusing back on reality as he warns, “It’s happening again. Something’s gunna kill Roger Miller.”

My leg bounces in the back seat. once more we were running against an invisible and unknown clock, running to save someone with little to no information given. And once more Sams is on the phone trying to get information quickly that will help us, “Roger Miller. Uh no no, just the address, please. Ok, thanks.” He goes quiet with the information before hanging up and reciting it, “450 West Grove, Apartment 1120.”

“You ok?�� Dean asks, eyeing his brother in quick succession.

“Yeah,” he answers in the least convincing tone possible.

“If you’re gunna hurl I’ll pull the car over you know, cause the upholstery…” Dean says, not really joking.

“I’m fine,” Sam answers still not convincingly enough.

“Alright,” Dean shrugs, dropping it.

“Just drive,” he says, looking away. He sighs, “Look, I’m scared, alright? These nightmares weren’t bad enough, now I’m seeing things when I’m awake? And it’s painful.”

“Come on man, you’ll be all right. It’ll be fine,” Dean comforts in his own way. I wet my lips, choosing my words carefully, “Whatever these abilities are, they’re advancing which is why it’s breaching into day. And because it's leaning more toward psychic abilities it takes a great amount of will, and concentration, and puts a horrible strain on your mind which is why it's painful. But the more you work on it the better it’ll be.”

He turns around in the passenger seat, facing me, “You have telekinesis, right?” I nod, his eyebrows scrunch together, “It hurt when you were first started?”

“God, yes,” I laugh bittersweet, “It just requires so much focus, more so at first, that I had headaches constantly. I tried not to use too much Advil, but they were definitely making a profit off of me, that’s for sure.” He seems to consider the information, turning back in his seat, “Then what is it about the Millers? Why am I connected to them, why am I watching them die? Why the hell is this happening to me?!”

“I don’t know Sam but we’ll figure it out,” Dean answers, “We’ve faced the unexplainable every day. This is just another thing.”

Sam shakes his head, “No. It’s never been us. It’s never been in the family like this. Tell the truth, you can’t tell me this doesn’t freak you out, Dean.”

Dean looks straight out the windshield silently, he couldn’t lie because Sam and I both witnessed him freak out before over it. Of course, then we’d all been younger, and he lashed out at me and when he left he hadn’t talked to me or apologized for months, I think it was about five. These sorts of things do freak him out, and sometimes I think the things I’m capable of doing still scare him sometimes, and that's just with someone he's friends with. With his brother, that fear must be a million times worse. “This doesn’t freak me out,” he finally says, lying.

****

The Impala pulls up across the street from Roger, who approaches his apartment's entrance with a bag of groceries in his hands. Sam rolls down the window swiftly yelling for the man, “Hey Roger.” The man turns around, the annoyance on his face clear as day, “What are you guys, missionaries? Leave me alone.”

I lean over rolling down the window opposite of where I sit, “Sir this has nothing to do with religion! Trust me.”

“Please,” Sam adds. But Roger is already gone, walking closer to his building. Suddenly the car jerks into motion the engine gunning as it makes a quick turn around, and with a bump Dean jumps the curve hurriedly parking as Sam jumps out running after the man, “Hey. Roger. We’re trying to help! Please! Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.”

I get out of the vehicle, round the black car, and head to Sam’s side, Dean following. As Sam reaches the entrance, Roger closes the door behind him, “I don’t want your help.” He walks deeper into the building and in a last-ditch effort Sam yells, “We’re not priests or nuns, you gotta listen to us!”

“Roger, you’re in danger!” Dean yells after him. But of course he doesn't hear them or if he does he just ignores the warnings. God people are so stubborn. “Come on,” Dean suddenly says looking towards a back entrance, he leads the way as we run around the corner of the building to the back entrance, a door in the way. With a quick look around Dean steps back and kicks it open, the door bursts open with a crack.

Sam jumps for the bottom ladder of the fire escape, using his tall frame to easily reach it, he pulls himself up and starts running for the stairs. Dean turns to me offering me a cupped hand, “You comin’?” he asks. I shake my head, pushing strands of hair behind my ear, “No you go, there isn't enough room for the three of us on that thing, you go. I’ll keep watch. He needs you.”

He looks me over, before nodding and jumping for the ladder, catching up to his brother swiftly. Against my better judgment instead of keeping watch, I look up at them, a hand blocking the sun as they make it up to the second floor. Then all of a sudden there's a heavy squeak and slide of a window followed by a wet squelching noise. Sam freezes, Dean sprints past him and stops looking down at something I can’t see from down here but even so, I know it is Roger’s severed head.

****

“I’m telling you there was nothing there. No signs either, just like the Miller’s house,” Dean informs, once more the three of us in the car this time driving back to the motel. Sam squints his eyes, slightly, in focus, “I saw something, in the vision, Like a dark shape. Something was…something was stalking Roger.”

“Whatever it was, are you sure it’s not connected to their house?” Dean asks, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel.

“You know that argument doesn't really hold up anymore considering Roger died in his apartment,” I answer fidgeting with my fingers, “So it could be the family itself.”

“So you think, like a vengeful spirit?” Sam questions.

“Well yeah,” Dean responds, “There’s a few that have been known to latch onto families, follow them for years.”

“Angiak. Banshees,” Sam lists out examples.

“Wouldn’t you have still picked up on something when you were snooping around?” I ask this time, looking up from my hands. “No, I was thinking somethin’ more like a curse,” Dean explains, “Maybe Roger and Jim Miller got involved in something heavy, something curse-worthy.”

Sam hums, adding to the working theory, “And now the something is out for revenge. And the men in their family are dying…Hey, you think Max is danger?”

“Let’s figure it out before he is,” Dean remarks. Sam sighs, “Well, I know one thing I have in common with these people.”

“What’s that?” Dean asks.

“Both our families are cursed,” Sam says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. I frown, one because he feels that way and two because I dislike when people say that. Dean huffs, “Our family’s not cursed! We just…had our dark spots…”

“Our dark spots are…pretty dark,” Sam nods slowly. Dean eyes him, “You’re….dark.”

I scuff, “Well as dark as it was you don’t have to worry, curses aren’t real.”

Sam turns around in his seat, facing me, “You’re a witch and you don’t believe in curses?”

I tilt my head giving him a ‘really?’ look, “That’s not what I meant, of course those kinds of curses exist they are very real and palpable things,” I wet my lips, “What I meant is that this curse you suggest to be the reason why you suffered misfortune isn’t real and that goes for everybody. Bad things just happen. And I know you probably weren’t being too literal but still blaming bad things on curses doesn’t help you in the long run it just serves as an excuse for you not to face your problems and acknowledge the real issue.”

Sam looks at me with slightly wide eyes and when I look at Dean, his expression is more or less the same if not even more, “What?” I ask eyeing the two of them. Sam turns back around in his seat a small smirk on his face, Dean gives a little shrug, “Nothin’, just someone’s using their psychology degree.”

I snort, suddenly getting shy, “Shut up,” I mumble. The thing was I wasn’t using my psychology degree this was just me, not that I was embarrassed by my degree. I took education very seriously, especially college. So of course I wound up double majoring, one in criminal justice and the other in psychology, but could you blame a girl? Either way, I didn't like when people said things like that, blaming something on a force they didn’t understand and had no real play in any of it.

I pull down the sleeves of the black Nun dress, readjusting the material, “I hope you know this is another book,” I say closing the car door behind me. Dean seems to round the Impala quicker at that, “What?! No, that wasn’t part of the deal.”

I purse my lips, “Yes, but when we made that deal it was under the presumption that it would only happen once in this case. And yet, here we are again.”

Dean opens his mouth to say something more but his brother cuts him off, “Wait, you guys made a deal?”

I smile triumphantly, “Yup!”

Sam frowns a little pout to his lips, his puppy-dog eyes turned down, “Man,” he whines, “I should’ve made a deal.”

“You should’ve,” I respond, thinking for a moment, “You know what? I will extend my second book to you, you are now included!”

He shakes his head, “No Y/N it's okay, have your books.”

Now I shake my head, “No no I want to, nothing would bring me more joy than the three of us going to a bookstore, and while Dean impatiently waits for us and grumbles to himself we get to wreak havoc and choose books!” Sam smiles with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “That does sound like a good idea.”

“You’re an evil woman,” Dean grumbles.

I smile sweetly at him, “I prefer ‘wicked’ but I guess that’s close enough.”

He eyes me for a beat, tongue against cheek as if he is contemplating saying something but ultimately he looks away, “We’re meant to be checking in on Max.”

Oh, “Yeah,” I say leading the way. “See, this always happens,” he states, reaching my side in one stride.

“What happens?” Sam asks.

“Whenever you two are together we get nothing done,” he elaborates. I fake a hurt gasp, “That’s so not true!” I mean we could be annoying, sure, but that was our whole job especially since we’re younger siblings it’s just how it works.

We reach the door and he knocks before anyone can say anything more on the topic. Instead of Ms. Miller answering the door her son, Max, does. He opens the door wider, “My Mom’s resting, she’s pretty wrecked.”

“Of course,” Dean nods, stepping deeper into the house.

“All these people kept coming with like, casseroles?” Max says, making small talk, “I finally had to tell them all to go away. You know 'cause nothing says I’m sorry like a tuna casserole.” I bite back my laugh, very poorly, he caught it giving a smile back to me and Sam who was also grinning at the joke. Max gestures to the seating area his mom put us just earlier today, and just like then we all take the same seats, but this time it's Max in front of us.

A beat of silence goes on before Sam sighs, speaking softly he asks, “How ‘you holding up?”

His face drops a little, answering with a small, “Ok.”

“You’re Dad and your uncle were close,” Sam follows up, stating instead of asking.

He shrugs, “Yeah, I guess. I mean, they were brothers. They used to hang out all the time when I was little.”

“But not much lately?” Sam asks.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just…” he shifts in his seat, “We used to be neighbors when I was a kid before we lived across town in this house. Uncle Roger lived next door, so he was over all the time.”

“Right. So how was it in that house when you were a kid?” Sam questions further.

“It was fine. Why?” Max answers, dismissively. He was uncomfortable, something about that old house made him uneasy.

“All good memories? Do you remember anything unusual? Something involving your father and your uncle maybe?” Dean asks this time, skepticism written in his voice. Max shakes his head, slight panic crawling in his irises, “What do yo…..why do you ask?”

I recognized that panic. Knew it well. I remember wearing it, how it crawled over my skin. “Don’t worry it’s just a question,” I nod, noting his behavior.

“No, there was nothing. We were totally normal. Happy,” he replies suddenly more sure of his answer.

“Good. That’s good,” Dean answers, “Well, you must be exhausted. We should take off.”

Catching on Sam nods, “Right,” he looks back at Max, “thanks.”

Max eyes us, something between panic and questioning, “Yeah.”

****

We make it to the Imapla before debriefing, the panic in his eyes burning into my retinas.

“No one’s family is totally normal and happy,” Dean starts, pointing out the faults of Max’s response, “See when he was talking about his old house?”

“He sounded scared,” Sam answers sadly.

A chill runs up my spine, “More than that, he was petrified. And I don’t think it has anything to do with the house…”

“Yeah, Max isn’t telling us everything,” Dean agrees, “I say we go find the old neighborhood, find out what life was really like for the Millers.”

I shift my footing, fixing my pants (which I was glad to be in again) as I watch the older man named Rob in front of us. “Have you lived in the neighborhood very long?” Sam asks him.

“Yeah, almost 20 years now. It’s nice and quiet. Why, you looking to buy,” he answers and I can’t tell if he wants us to be interested or wishes to keep out outsiders. Maybe the earlier, he seems kind.

“No, no,” Sam smiles, “Actually, we were wondering if you might recall a family that used to live right across the street I believe.”

“Yeah, the Millers. They had a little boy called Max,” Dean adds.

“Yeah I remember,” he responds, “The brother had the place next door. So, uh, what’s this about, is that poor kid ok?” That makes me stumble over my thoughts, “He….um, I’m sorry why did you word it like that?”

Rob frowns, “Well in my life I’ve never seen a child treated like that. I mean I’d hear Mr. Miller yelling and throwing things clear across the street, he was a mean drunk.” My skin curls up, my fears confirmed. My heart recoils, cowering away from the information and the thoughts. “He used to beat the tar outta Max. Bruises. Broke his arm two times that I know of,” Rob continued.

I take a subconscious step backward. I don’t understand, if he knew why didn’t he do anything? Why didn’t he call the police?

“This was going on regularly?” Sam asks, his voice firm.

“Practically every day. In fact that thug brother of his was just as likely to take a swing at the boy but the worst part was the sepmother. She’d just stand there, checked out, not lifting a finger to protect him. I must have called the police seven or eight times. Never did any good.”

I suddenly feel nauseous. He was finally free now but that was too many years too late.

“Now you said stepmother,” Dean says for confirmation. How could he not be reacting to this information?

“I think his real mother died. Some sorta…accident. Car accident I think,” Rob answers.

Suddenly Sam clutches his head again, grimacing. Rob looks at him strangely, “Are you okay there?”

He winces, “Uh, yeah.” Dean holds the crook of his brother's arm, leading him away as he throws back a “Thanks for your time.”

I blink out of what feels like a daze, mustering a smile for the man, “Have a nice day,” I say before catching up to the boys. But my feet feel heavy, as if cylinder blocks had been tied to my ankles. My intestines seem to twist itself into a knot, wrapped around like a bow. I clutch my shirt where my stomach is, my heart seems to beat faster an unnerving feeling settling itself into the vessels. I could hardly focus on my tense body and anxious thoughts when Sam’s head lulls back, his eyes doing that thing where you can tell he isn’t here with us right now. He’s somewhere else, having a vision.

****

I want to curl into myself and shy away from the current case. But we were in the Impala driving back to the Millers house and Sam still had to tell us about his vision. “Max is doing it. Everything I’ve been seeing,” Sam reveals. I should be surprised but I’m not, maybe it’s because of the newfound information.

“You sure about this?” Dean asks, almost skeptical.

“Yeah, I saw him,” he confirms.

“How is he doing it?” I ask carefully.

“I think telekinesis,” Sam answers.

“What so he’s psychic?” Dean questions, definitely skeptical.

“I didn’t even realize it but this whole time, he was there. He was outside the garage when his Dad died, he was in the apartment when his Uncle died,” Sam elaborates, “These visions, this whole time–I wasn’t connecting to the Millers, I was connecting to Max! The thing is I don't get why, man. I guess—because we’re so alike?”

“What are you talking about? The dude’s nothing like you,” Dean responds firmly.

“Well,” Sam tries to reason, “We both have psychic abilities, we both…”

“Both what? Sam, Max is a monster, he’s already killed two people, now he’s gunning for a third,” Dean exclaims. This was all getting very complicated very fast. “He’s not a monster he’s a kid. It isn’t his fault, he’s a product of his messed up childhood,” I defend, my voice filled with perhaps a little too much emotion.

“With what he went through, the beatings, to want revenge on those people? I’m sorry, man, I hate to say it, but it’s not that insane,” Sam adds, agreeing. I nod vigorously, it isn’t insane, not one bit.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t justify murdering your entire family!” Dean yells, his voice louder than needed.

“No of course not. But clearly, no one else was caring about him. No one made any effort to help him, not even the police! So you must understand why he felt like he needed to take justice into his own hands,” I argue. This was complicated, this was human. And humans, human feelings get messy very quickly.

“You're suggesting he's a necessary evil?” Dean counters, his voice gruff and on edge.

“Maybe, yeah,” I answer, crossing my arms across my chest. The car jerked right, driving up to the curb in front of the Miller’s house. “He’s no different from anything else we’ve hunted, all right? We gotta end him,” Dean lectured.

“We’re not going to kill Max,” Sam and I say at the same time, our voices overlapping. “He’s a kid!” I add.

“Then what?” Dean counters, “Hand him over to the cops and say ‘Lock him up officer; he kills with the power of his mind.’”

I huff, “That’s not the point and you know it. We can talk him down, he isn’t a monster and I highly doubt he would kill just for fun. He’s angry and he’s hurt, he needs help. If we do that then we are just as bad as his uncle and his dad and the cops that refused to help.”

He shuts the engine off, pursing his lips and shaking his head, “All right fine. But I’m not letting him hurt anybody else.” Yet, despite his words he leans over to the glove compartment and pulls out a pistol. He glares at Sam as he gets out of the car. I catch his eyes, “Dean.” He looks at me, challenging me, before ultimately getting out and tucking the gun into the back of his pants. I roll my eyes, tongue in cheek, pissed. I get out of the car, joining the boys but not before slamming the car door behind me.

We run up the porch, Sam in the lead. He knocks on the door, and when no response comes he leans over the railing peeking in the window. He looks back at us and he does not have to say anything for us to know what was happening. Max was going to kill his Stepmother.

Without thinking any further, Dean raises his leg to kick the door in. I stop him, “Dude way to be inconspicuous. Let me.” He backs up a few steps, hands raised in defeat. I grasp the cold knob of the door, not needing to put much effort into getting the door unlocked. We rush into the kitchen, where Sam said Max would do it. Ms. Miller presses her back closer against the counters, her eyes wide and filled with tears and fear as she watches her son in front of her. Her eyes snap to us, “Fathers? Sister?” Ironically enough, we weren’t dressed up instead in normal clothes which I wasn’t sure if priests and nuns ever did. Max spins around, poorly concealing the large knife behind his back, his hair is a mess and his eyes match his stepmothers in fear after all he was caught. “What are you doing here?” he asks, afraid.

“Uhh, sorry to interrupt,” Dean answers awkwardly.

“Max, can we, uh, can we talk to you outside for just one second?” Sam leads, fumbling for an excuse. He eyes us, he doesn’t trust us, “About what?”

“It’s….it’s private. I wouldn’t want to bother your mother with it,” Sam lies, “We won’t be long at all though, I promise” he says directing it to Ms.Miller. Max looks back at his stepmom and then at us, “Ok.”

“Great,” Sam smiles.

We turn to leave, making it out of the kitchen and to the front door. Dean takes the lead with his hand grasping the doorknob, pulling it open he smiles back at Max awkwardly. Then all of a sudden the doorknob is pulled from his grasp and the door slams shut, followed by the dropping of all the blinds for each window. Impressive. I turn around swiftly watching Max as he backs up, “You’re not priests! Or a nun,” he yells.

Dean draws his gun quickly, but without even moving a muscle Max uses his powers to pull the gun away, it slides across the floor and he crouches down to take it. He stands up tall, pointing the gun at us. Dean nudges me slightly behind him, I want to shove my way in front of him but he holds his arm out in front of me and I don’t feel the need to argue now of all times. Ms.Miller appears in the archway between where we are and the kitchen, “Max, what’s happening?”

“Shut up,” he bites.

“What are you doing?” she repeats, approaching carefully. Removing one hand from the gun he swings his arm towards her, using his power to send her flying back into the kitchen, she hits her head against the kitchen bench before sliding down to the floor. “I said shut up!” he yells at her unconscious figure.

“Max calm down,” Sam says steadily, holding his hands up in defeat.

“Who are you?” Max snaps.

“We just wanna talk,” Sam responds with instead. Max scuffs, “Yeah right, that’s right you bought this!” he motions with the weapon. Sam takes a careful step forward, “That was a mistake, all right? So was lying about who we were. But no more lying Max, okay? Just please, just hear me out.”

He eyes us carefully, “About what?”

“I saw you do it,” Sam explains, carefully, “I saw you kill your Dad and your Uncle before it happened.”

“What?” Max questions.

“I’m having visions Max, about you,” Sam elaborates.

“You’re crazy,” Maxx huffs.

“So what, you weren’t gonna launch a knife at your stepmom?” He challenges, taping his eye, “Right here? Is it that hard to believe Max, look what you can do. Max I was drawn here, all right? I think I’m here to help you.”

His hold on the gun tightens as fresh tears run down his face rapidly, “No one can help me.”

“That’s not true,” I say softly, “I know it feels that way now, and I’m sorry it does. But if anyone can help,” I look at Sam, “It’s him,” I look back at Max, “Please.”

Sam nods, wetting his lips, “Let me try. We’ll just talk, me and you. We’ll get Dean, Y/N, and Alice out of here.”

“Uh-huh. No way,” Dean intervenes. The chandelier above us rattles, “Nobody leaves this house!” Max yells. I want to cut in, I could contain him in a matter of seconds a minute at best. He was skilled, but I certainly knew more than he did. Yet I know I can’t do anything, he’s scared so rushing him with my abilities won’t help. Treating him like a monster won’t help.

“And nobody has to, all right? They’ll just…they’ll just go upstairs,” Sam reasons, but the light fixture continues to rattle.

“Sam, I’m not leaving you alone with him,” Dean mutters.

“Yes, you are,” Sam answers firmly, “Look, Max. You’re in charge here, all right, we know that. No one's going to do anything that you don’t want to do but I’m talking five minutes here man.”

“Sam!” Dean intervenes again. I place a hand on his upper arm, gaining his attention fast and without words, not wanting to scare Max off, I give him a look and a nod silently telling him that his brother will be okay and that he can handle himself. His lip twitches as if he’s fitting off a scowl.

“Five minutes?” Max asks, the chandelier stops shaking, “Go” he nods to his stepmother.

I walk carefully behind Dean, waiting for him as he picks up Ms. Miller, I lead the way up the wooden stairs entering the master bedroom. Dean lays her down carefully, and I find the bathroom attached to the room. I quickly go through the drawers finding a small washcloth, carefully I wet it and ring it out before walking back into the bedroom to find Dean pacing the room, hand by his face. I approach him carefully, he stops his pacing when I step in front of him but worry is written clearly in his eyes, and in the way he hasn’t stopped biting his thumbs nailbed, a habit he exhibited only when he was worried about Sammy.

I raise my free hand to him, pulling it away from his mouth, “He’ll be okay, he knows what he's doing.”

He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything as he takes the washcloth from me before moving past me, he crouches in front of Ms.Miller, lightly pressing the cloth to the small wound on her forehead. He was distracting himself.

I frown. It’s not that he doesn’t believe in his brother, he was just worried. For as much as this was for Sam it was nearly too much for Dean too, he might not be going through it but he was watching someone else navigate the messy plains of powers and the pain that came with it…that was scary. Especially since Dean has always taken his job as an older brother very seriously, doing anything and everything for him no matter the cost, he was meant to be his protector but with these newfound abilities Dean didn’t know how to help, how to protect his little brother– and that scared him.

I cross my arms across my chest, trying to think of what to say when I hear movement heading towards us. I turn towards the door, it creaks open slowly, Max’s figure standing right at the doorway the gun clutched in his hand at his side. I give him a questioning look, but his face is determined and there’s no Sam.

There’s no Sam.

Panic settles in my veins and before I can react Dean is standing in front of me, pushing me further behind him before he takes purposeful steps towards Max. The door slams shut and suddenly Dean goes flying left, barreling into the wall. Oh, two can play that game.

“Max!” Ms.Miller yells from behind me, having woken up in the short time her son arrived. Max points the gun at me with shaky hands, “Move,” he commands. I bring my powers forward, flicking it on, “Do you want to try?” I warn bitterly. He laughs, shaking, “Do you think you’re like me too?”

I assume Sam must have said something about that to him downstairs, “No,” I answer softly. He raises his other hand at me, flicking it to the left trying to send me flying too but I don’t budge. He looks confused and tries again but once more I don’t move. “Max please just put the gun down, this isn’t the way, I promise you,” I reason.

“You don’t get it!” he yells, shaking. I smile at him sadly, holding up my hands in defeat, “Dad drinks and he gets mean,” I say, “You think he doesn’t mean it, he’s just grieving. But it happens one too many times and you get scared.”

His resolve weakens and tears run down his face, “Your Dad?” He isn’t sure whether he should believe me or if I'm just lying to talk him down. I take a quick look over at Dean, who still lies on the floor looking at me with eyes wide, I never told him and I don’t think he ever knew.

I look back at Max, “Yes. My brother took most of it for me, but I reminded him too much of my mother and she was gone while I lived and that was not fair,” I swallow roughly, “I didn’t think he was capable. My mom loved him and he was never like that when she was around, but they did always say she softened him so maybe that’s why.”

“What did you do?” he asks, lowering the gun just a little. I go quiet and he does not like that, he raises the gun again, “Did you kill him?!” he screams.

I shake my head, “No. He managed that all by himself, he grew very careless.”

His eyes scrunch together in confusion, “Did you want to?”

I shake my head again, “No, I didn’t want to be like him. Didn’t want to stoop to his level. My brother though…he, um, I think he wanted to. But he didn’t. When he died, I didn’t cry at his funeral, I wasn’t as sad as I knew I should’ve been, and that alone makes me feel so guilty…” I take a careful deep breath trying to blink away the tears, “Please put the gun down, I know you're angry, you have every right to be. And I know you’re scared but doing this. It won’t help.”

“How do you know!” he screams, his face red, but it comes out weak.

“He’s dead and I’m still scared sometimes,” I admit out loud for the first time, tears slipping down my cheeks as my powers revert to it’s resting stage, “I think I hear his voice or that I see him in a crowd, and I know it’s not really him. But my heart picks up and I think he’s there, and I know what that means and I get scared.”

He looks at me, really looks at me and it is like looking in a mirror, our pain reflecting in each other. He lets go of the gun, but it doesn’t hit the floor instead it floats in front of him, “I’m not you, I won’t sit back and take it. She has to die, they all had to.”

His words feel like a stab to my hurt but I ignore them, “No, Max, please. It won’t help.” I don’t look away from him but even so, I hear Dean standing up and I can feel him getting closer. He puts himself in front of me again, I try to get him behind me, a gun wouldn’t exactly kill me, but he looks down at me his green eyes hard. He moves me behind him, looking back at Max, “You wanna kill her you gotta go through me first.”

“Fine,” he says. Just as the door busts open, Sam comes barreling in, “No don’t! Don’t! Please. Please,” Sam begs, “Max. Max. We can help you. All right.”

I move away from Dean despite the arm that he holds out to stop me from getting closer. Max is shaking, and sweaty, and tears run down his face rapidly. He looks at Sam with anguish, then his gaze turns to me eyes filled with a familiar pain. But his shoulders suddenly drop, and his face clears, “You’re right. It won’t stop.”

The floating gun points at himself. A loud bang rings in the room. Bits of blood splatter on my face. His body crumbles to the floor, a hole in his head.

I stare blankly at a spot on the floor, a small swirl in the wooden floors. Sirens whirl just outside, and cops stand all around us. His body was brought out in a bag. Yellow caution tape sections off parts of the house. Something light was placed in my hand, something to clean the…

Muffled voices sing near me.

He’s dead. I couldn’t convince him, if anything I made it worse. I should’ve said it gets better because it does and it’s not that common that I get scared, I can’t. Not with this job. But I didn’t want to lie and I made it worse.

I feel sick.

I couldn’t help.

He didn’t want to be like me. He’s dead.

He didn’t want to be like me and I didn’t want to be my father and he’s dead. They are both dead and I live.

I live and Dad would say it’s not fair. He’s dead.

A familiar hand nudges me forward, I walk automatically without hearing the voices. Something about…

He’s dead.

The car door opens and I sit inside, automatically putting the seat belt on. Someone says something and the door closes, voices say something outside, and then doors open and close. The car moves forward, the sirens get further away. Eyes look at me and I look at him.

His body falls to the floor a hole in his head.

His body floats away as it burns like a Viking. He hugs me closer to him and we do not cry. We are free sometimes.

His body falls to the floor a hole in his head.

He said it won't stop and there’s a bang.

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dollsexuaa · 1 day ago

Text

oh help me father.

“even the iron still fears the rot.

hiding from something i can’t stop.

walking on shadows i can’t lead him back.”

“i can see it in his eyes he keeps looking at me”

ptolemaea - ethel cain

#ethel cain #sam winchester #supernatural moodboard #supernatural #sam winchester moodboard #religious moodboard #priests #ethel cain moodboard #supernatural x reader

10 notes · View notes

wildwestdean · 9 months ago

Text

impetus

summary: dean gets targeted by a witch while working a case, and she curses him to yearn for what he secretly loves the most. it seems to have no effect, until it's pointed out that he can't seem to stay away from you - but what happens when he tries to fight it?

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 9.4k+

warnings: violence, hunting/working a case, mentions of murders, gore, evil witches, reader and dean get attacked, swearing, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, yearning, mutual pining, idiots oblivious to their own feelings, magical curses, hallucinations, nightmares, depictions of death, depictions of drowning, fighting/arguments, heart-to-heart, confessions, use of [y/n], nicknames, mature themes

“Right, well, this isn’t creepy at all,” Dean declared, rolling Baby to a stop before switching into park.

You both sat quietly as you surveyed the desolate building, a feeling of unease washing over you.

“Maybe we should wait for Sam,” you suggested half heartedly. He was only down at the Sheriff’s station, and it wouldn’t even take ten minutes for him to meet you here, but you knew Dean wouldn’t wait.

“No,” he said, confirming what you already knew. “Someone else is missing and this is our best lead so far. If you don’t want to go in, that's fine, but I am.”

“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” you snapped, sitting up as tall as you could despite the pit forming in your stomach.

“Awe, you worried about me, sweetheart?” Dean teased, turning to look at you with a grin; one that was effectively wiped from his face when he saw the look in your eyes. “Hey, what is it?”

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, shrugging lightly. “I just have a bad feeling about this.”

“Bad feeling like what?” he questioned, his brows knitting together.

You thought about it, trying to pinpoint what it was you felt, but you couldn’t. “Just…. don’t go wandering off,” you ended up saying- begging, more like.

“Alright,” he agreed easily. “We stick together, and we’ll be in and out before you know it.”

“Right,” you confirmed with a nod. “Let’s gear up.”

You exited the car as quietly as you could, making your way around to the back as Dean unlocked the trunk and propped up the panel to the arsenal.

“You and Sam better be right about this,” he muttered, digging out the box of witch-killing bullets.

Your mind raced through the details of the case: An exsanguinated priest, a dead nun with her tongue ripped out, the president of the high schools abstinence club found without a heart, and various livestock missing various body parts - if this wasn’t a witch, you were a little scared to find out what else it could be.

“We have to be,” you breathed out, loading your ammo.

“Can you do me a favour and sound at least a little confident?” he asked playfully, lightly nudging your arm with his own before tucking his gun into his jeans.

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, holstering your own gun.

“It’s alright,” he said earnestly, handing you your favourite knife (one that used to be his before you claimed it as your own). “I’m just not used to seeing you so spooked.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly as you took the knife from him. “I’m not used to feeling spooked.”

“We’ll make it through,” he consoled, closing up the trunk. “Just like we always do.”

“Just like we always do,” you echoed with a nod, following him towards the building.

The overgrowth brushed your calves as you made your way up the walk, and after a quick survey of the facade, Dean swung the door open after picking the lock.

“Wait!” you hissed, stopping him before he entered. “Sam does know we’re here, right?”

You watched as his shoulders shrugged before stepping inside. “Probably.”

“That’s… comforting,” you sighed, following him across the threshold.

The two of you did a quick preliminary sweep of the main level before making your way to the top floor, finding nothing of significance in any of the rooms. Making your way back down, you both stopped dead in your tracks as you heard a clatter come from beneath you.

“Of course there’s a basement,” Dean whispered. “Why wouldn’t the creepy ass witch be in the creepy ass basement of this creepy ass house?”

“How do you know she’s a creepy ass witch?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe she’s hot. Or a guy. Or both.”

He faltered over his response, considering your words for a moment. “I’ll bet whatever tab you drink up at the bar once we end up ganking this bitch. She’s creepy.”

“Deal,” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

You both chuckled, before another noise from the basement drew your attention back to the case at hand. Dean awkwardly cleared his throat before leading the way in search of the basement entrance, using the occasional noise as guidance.

“God, I hate witches,” he muttered to himself, slapping away cobwebs as he descended the stairs.

“I don’t think the witch put those webs there,” you said with a snicker.

“No, they’re just the one turning this rotting corpse of a house into a lair of evil and despair,” he hissed.

You rolled your eyes in response, unable to stop the fond smile from creeping onto your face as you made it to the bottom of the stairs.

A muffled cry caught your attention, and Dean spared you a quick look before running in the direction it came from, you hot on his heels. Coming up on a corner, he slowed to a halt and peered around the wall.

“It looks clear,” he decided after a moment. “Just be careful,” he added, continuing on his way.

Upon turning the corner, you were enveloped in the warm glow of candles, which would have been nice, had it not been for the rest of the scene. An altar lay at the far wall, burning candelabras stood in each corner of the room, and the very person you were searching for was bound and gagged in a chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of candles.

Dean cursed and muttered under his breath, surveying the room. “I’ll get him, you get the altar.“

“Okay,” you agreed, running across the room. Once you reached the altar, you couldn’t help but stare in shock and disgust for a moment as you took in the sight; all the missing body parts seemingly staring back at you from where they lay soaked in blood. It took Dean shouting your name from across the room to bring you back to your senses, and you quickly upturned the altar as Dean instructed the now freed man to get out as fast as possible and wait by the car. As soon as the contents of the altar were scattered, an ear piercing shriek came from behind you.

Quickly whirling on your heels, you were greeted by a cloaked figure, who seemingly came out of nowhere.

“What have you done?” she screamed, dropping her hood as she stared daggers into you.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned innocence. “Did I ruin your big plan?”

“You ruined everything!” she shrieked, slowly approaching you. “You’ll pay for this!”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean called out from behind her.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?! How many centuries passed by until the circumstances were right? I had it! I had it all! I was one spell away from seeing my love again!” she continued to scream, advancing further towards you as she ignored Dean.

“Back off, Grunhilda!” Dean roared from behind her, drawing his gun.

“No!” she shrieked, barely lifting her hand in order to easily swing his gun away - and stop you from drawing your own. “You stupid little gnat. You think you can just come in here and mess with things you don’t understand? You think you can take this from me?!”

Her shouting was drowned out by the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as your throat constricted, the air leaving your lungs and not returning. You felt your bones cracking beneath your skin as your feet left the floor, and you shared a look of terror with Dean before black began to cloud the edges of your vision.

Without an effective weapon handy, Dean rushed the witch and tackled her to the floor, sending you crashing down. You met the concrete with a thud, and it knocked the rest of your senses out of you. You laid there for who knows how long, fighting off the waves of pain and nausea, willing yourself to move as you listened to the struggle happening a few feet away from you.

By the time you managed to prop yourself up, Dean was pinned down as she advanced on him, and you desperately looked around for either of your guns.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you heard her ask, menace laced deep in her words. “To want something so desperately, to feel that desire within your very soul?!”

Dean struggled against her hold as you struggled to pick yourself up, to at least crawl to a weapon if you had to.

“Well you will,” she sneered, cackling to herself. “You’ll know how it feels. To have what you want the very most to be so close to you, to have it at the edge of your fingertips, only to never be able to grasp it! For it to be the only thing you can think about!”

“Shut the hell up,” Dean seethed through clenched teeth, glaring at her.

She only stepped closer towards him, cackling to herself. “Your strongest yearning, hidden deep in your heart, will nevermore be yours to part. Be it with sun or with rain, that which brings joy won’t be without pain.”

“You finished yet?” Dean interrupted, before he had the wind knocked out of him, rendering him silent.

Moving as quickly as you could without being noticed, you closed in on Dean’s pistol while the witch carried on.

“Whatever you crave you cannot say, yet you’ll seek it out be it night or day,” she continued, hovering over him. “Consider yourself lucky, you useless toad. I’ve had countless lifetimes yearning to see my love again, and I’ll spend lifetimes more. At least you only have this one measly little life to yearn for what you want.”

Grasping the gun in your hands, you carefully rose to your feet and steadied yourself to take aim. “Man, you really do talk too much,” you huffed out.

The shot rang out just as she turned towards you, though it was silenced by a roaring wind that accompanied a bright blue light. Within seconds, everything was calm and quiet again.

Fighting every urge you had to collapse back onto the floor, you trudged your way over to Dean in an attempt to help him up.

“God, I told you she’d be creepy,” he gasped out, groaning as he stood.

“You want a prize?” you asked incredulously, staring up at him.

“I wanna get the hell out of here,” he said, ushering you to take leave. “Then I want those drinks you owe me.”

After what felt like another entire day, you and Dean had dropped the victim off at the hospital, patched each other up, cleaned out the basement, showered, and filled Sam in on everything that went down.

“So… she cursed you?” Sam asked curiously, trying to understand.

“I dunno. She tried to, I guess,” Dean replied nonchalantly. “But [Y/N/N] put a bullet in her. No witch, no curse, right?”

Sam shared a brief look with you, before turning back to Dean. “Yeah, but… there was no body.”

“What?” Dean asked gruffly.

“The witch,” you said. “I shot, but she vanished. What if she isn’t dead?”

“Well, I feel normal, so I’m gonna say she’s dead,” Dean declared with a shrug. “Now, can we head to the bar? I’m in desperate need of a drink… or twelve.”

Without waiting for an answer, he quickly stood and donned his jacket before looking back at you and Sam. “You guys coming or what?”

“Oh, do I have a choice to not go?” you asked playfully.

“You can stay if you want, but your wallet comes with me,” he replied, smiling innocently.

“Alright, let’s go,” you said with a dramatic sigh, grabbing your own jacket.

Not long after, the three of you were sliding into a booth in the nearest dive, enjoying the lack of people; you guys seriously needed to decompress.

“Alright, I’ll be back,” you declared, hopping out of the booth to get the first round of drinks.

“Make sure you get a tab started!” Dean jokingly called after you.

You flipped him off in response, taking a seat at the bar after placing your order. While you waited, Sam watched as Dean grew more restless in his seat.

“Dude, what the hell is your problem?” he finally asked, eyeing Dean as he fidgeted anxiously.

“What?” Dean asked cluelessly, glancing around the bar. “I’m thirsty. She’s been gone for what, like, half an hour?”

“It’s… barely been two minutes, Dean,” Sam informed him with an amused grin.

“Yeah, well. I want my beer,” Dean mumbled, tapping his fingers on the table as he glanced around once more. “I’m gonna go see if she needs help.”

Before Sam could even reply, Dean was already halfway across the bar, meeting you just as you got your final drink.

“Need a hand?” Dean asked cheerfully, his sudden appearance making you jump. “Sorry,” he added with a snicker.

“Dick,” you muttered with a laugh, hopping down from the stool. “Here you go,” you added, handing him his beer.

“Awesome,” he beamed, taking the bottle from your outstretched hand.

He followed closely as you made your way back to the table, handing Sam his drink before sliding into the booth; Dean followed suit, leaving you nestled in between him and the wall.

The three of you had a few more rounds before Dean slipped away, determined to teach a lesson to the arrogant ass harassing players around the pool tables - just because you didn’t need to hustle people anymore didn’t mean it wasn’t still fun every now and then. You watched him fondly, laughing quietly to yourself as you watched him fumble around with his cue before making a terrible break. Harder than it looks, you could just hear him say.

Your attention was turned back to Sam when he cleared his throat, and you were met with his questioning gaze. “Does he seem weird to you?”

“Weird how?” you asked, face scrunched in confusion.

“I don’t know, strange,” he replied with a small shrug. “Like- like antsy or something.”

Your eyes flit back across the room to Dean, who was very much in his element as he upped his ante, before focusing on Sam again. “I haven’t noticed anything, Sammy.”

He sighed in resignation, seeming to already know that would be your response. “It’s probably nothing, just forget I said anything,” he replied, shaking his head dismissively before finishing his drink.

“If you say so,” you muttered quietly, sipping your drink as you cast a worried gaze across the bar, getting lost in thought.

By the time you each finished another round of drinks, Dean made his way back over to the table; much to the surprise of you and Sam.

“Done so soon?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, sliding back into the seat beside you.

“But you only played one round,” you said quizzically.

“So?” Dean wondered, gulping down the rest of his beer.

“So, you usually play a lot more than that,” Sam pitched in, shifting his gaze between you and Dean.

Dean sighed, his bottle clanging on the table as he set it back down. “Why am I getting the third degree here? I played a game, he learned his lesson, I got over it. End of story.”

“Okay, grouchy,” you snickered, ruffling his hair a little just because you knew he hated it. Except he really did love it when it was you doing it.

“Whatever, anyone want another round?” he asked with a huff, lightly swatting your hand away.

“No, I’m gonna call it a night,” you admitted, shifting to slip your jacket back on.

“Yeah, me too,” Sam declared, starting to stand from the table.

Dean stood as well, assumingly just to let you out. “Alright, let’s go.”

You and Sam both stilled in your movements at his response, sharing a shocked look with each other. “You’re… coming with us?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked with a scoff, shrugging his jacket on as he looked questioningly between you and Sam. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you guys?”

“We just didn’t expect you to call it a night so early,” Sam explained helplessly. “Gettin’ old, huh?” he added, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“Yeah, I mean, you barely even wracked up a tab!” you declared with a laugh, before grinning mischievously. “Drinks just don’t agree with you anymore, do they, old man?”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes, fixing his collar just to busy his hands. “Okay, alright, one more wisecrack and I’m leaving you both here.”

Despite the finality in his tone, the amusement dancing in his eyes gave him away - as did the hand he extended to you to help you slide from the booth.

“Whatever you say, grandpa,” Sam teased, patting Dean on the shoulder before walking away with laughter in his wake. “I’ll be outside!”

You chuckled in response, and the stern look Dean gave you only made you laugh even more. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry it up, chuckles,” he chided, wiggling his fingers at you. He surveyed the bar as you finally took hold of his hand, sliding out from your seat with ease and standing before him. “Ready?” he asked, gaze turning back to look down at you.

“Yeah, I just gotta go pay,” you replied, nodding your head in the direction of the bar counter.

“Alright,” he said with a nod. He gave your hand a squeeze, though instead of letting go like he normally would, he held it firmly as he led the way across the bar.

You followed along quietly, trying your hardest to not read too much into it. Though when you stood before the bar and he had yet to release your hand, you gave him a puzzled look. “Did you wanna go get the car?” you asked hesitantly.

He looked confused for a moment, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on either, before he cleared his throat with a curt nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you out there. Don’t take too long,” he rushed, giving your hand another fleeting squeeze before shuffling away.

Strange, you thought briefly, before shifting your attention to the bartender before you.

As you paid the tab, Dean settled into the driver's seat of Baby, and Sam watched him impatiently drum his fingers against the wheel as he hummed along to whatever song was in his head; and he couldn’t help but snort a laugh as Dean checked his watch one, two, three times since getting into the car.

“You’re ridiculous,” Sam chided with a laugh, shaking his head.

“What?” Dean inquired, annoyance clear in his voice.

“Dude, please tell me you see what’s going on,” Sam pleaded.

Dean widened his eyes in confusion, glancing around the near empty parking lot before looking back at his brother. “What’s going on?”

Before Sam could reply, their attention was caught by the opening of the bar’s door when you emerged from the building, a grin forming on your face as you caught sight of them waiting in the car.

Dean matched your grin, quickly reaching for the door handle and scrambling outside. “There she is!” he greeted happily, opening the back door for you.

“Fucking idiot,” Sam muttered to himself, staring out the window with an amused grin as you and Dean settled into your seats.

The three of you made it back in no time, and, having to settle for a single bed when first getting to town over driving for another who-knows-how-long just to find another motel, shuffled out of the car and into your shared room with heavy feet.

“Finally,” Dean muttered with relief, shutting the door behind him as Sam took a seat. “Whoa, whoa,” Dean barked, holding up a hand. “What’re you doing?”

Sam froze just as he sat on the bed, staring up at his brother. “What?”

“That’s my bed,” Dean declared with a huff.

“No, it’s not,” Sam answered with a scoff. “It’s your turn for the couch.”

“Dude, I’m not sleeping on the pull-out!” Dean declared with finality.

“What, are you kidding me?” Sam asked incredulously. “You got the bed last time!”

“Yeah, and I just got ragdolled by a crazy ass witch, I deserve a mattress!” Dean argued, stepping towards the bed. “Get up.”

“No,” Sam argued stubbornly, relaxing further atop the sheets.

“You guys are ridiculous,” you said with an exasperated sigh, walking across the room. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Not a chance,” Dean denied, not even sparing you a glance.

“What, why?” you asked in confusion.

“First of all, I’m not sharing with Sam,” Dean replied, turning to look at you. “Second, you got it worse than I did. I’m not shoving you on a pull-out.”

“Oh, please-” you started to argue, before he cut you off.

“I patched you up myself, [Y/N]. Don’t bother trying to lie to me,” he cautioned.

You opened your mouth to argue once more, but the look on his face stopped you short. “Whatever,” you mumbled, turning towards the bathroom. “I’m getting ready for bed. Figure this out before I get back so I can actually go to bed, please.”

The bickering resumed as you quickly retreated, shutting the bathroom door on Dean’s disgruntled declaration of “best two out of three.”

By the time you re-entered the room, you were met with silence. Surveying the surroundings, you found Sam digging through his toiletries bag while sitting in his original spot on the bed. Your gaze snapped over to the couch, where Dean sat looking like a kicked puppy.

“You went with scissors again, didn’t you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He met your gaze as Sam snickered behind you, causing his face to sour even more. “Shut up,” he mumbled before standing, bristling past you with slumped shoulders.

You chuckled quietly to yourself and grabbed the spare sheets, quickly making up the pull-out for Dean while he got ready; hopefully he’d be a little less cranky about it all if this was at least already done.

Once finished, you made your way over to the bed and curled up under the covers. After saying a quick goodnight to Sam, you were asleep before Dean even left the bathroom.

Fear gnawed at Dean, his body frozen in place as a cold spread through him, panic clinging to him like ice. He tried to call out to you, but all that left him was a strangled breath as his lungs seized up. He watched as the waves carried you away, further and further from where he stood. By the time his legs finally moved to carry him closer to shore, his feet were so heavy it was as though he was wading through quicksand.

“No, no, no,” he pleaded quietly, watching as the waters edge never grew near no matter how far he ran.

Your voice cried out to him, surging him forward even faster as you drifted ever outwards, terror seeping deeper into his bones with every futile step he took.

He couldn’t reach you.

He couldn’t save you.

The realisation that you were gone caused his world to come crashing down around him as he fell to his knees. A roaring filled his ears, and he didn’t know whether it was the irascible water that held you captive or the blood racing from his pounding heart.

As he stayed there - watching the crashing waves for any sign of you, listening for a call of his name, unwilling to move for fear he’d miss you - the water suddenly crept up around him, as if to mock him.

The sky darkened as he let out an anguished cry, his voice blending in with the storm beginning to brew around him. Yet despite the deafening howls, he heard it clear as day: your voice, calling out to him.

“Dean.”

The world stilled around him once more, your voice ringing out in a whisper as gentle as the wind.

“Dean.”

He stood, frantically searching the horizon for you. He tried to call out, yet his voice still never came.

“Dean!” you called out, voice booming like thunder from above.

A small hand gripped his own, pulling him so forcefully he was yanked off his feet. He let out a startled cry, a spark of lightning igniting so brightly before him that he screwed his eyes shut.

“God dammit, Dean!”

Another force shook him, and when we reopened his eyes, he was met with the suspiciously stained ceiling of the motel room. He bolted upright, heart hammering against his chest as he looked around. He caught your worried gaze as he wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing as you leaned in closer.

“[Y/N?]” he gasped out, pushing himself further upright.

His hand reached out automatically, fingers tentatively brushing against your cheek as if to evaluate your solidity. When he was satisfied that you wouldn’t evaporate, he surged forward to wrap you in a desperate embrace; the icy grip of terror finally starting to melt.

“It was just a nightmare, De,” you soothed quietly, tracing a hand along his back. “Everything’s alright.”

“Yeah,” he said tightly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as he let you go. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m alright, get back to bed.”

“You’re okay?” you questioned, concern laced in both your face and tone of voice.

“I’m okay,” he affirmed with a nod, casting his gaze aside so you wouldn’t see the panic still swirling within him.

“Okay,” you said softly, placing a gentle kiss upon the crown of his head before standing from the edge of the pull-out.

Dean got up after you to grab a glass of water, his heart jumping in his chest as he remembered the sight of you being ripped away by the current.

“Just a nightmare,” he reminded himself under his breath. “Just a nightmare.”

Not having slept another wink after his nightmare, Dean was unsurprisingly the first one up the next morning. Taking it upon himself to get breakfast for the three of you, he found himself at the nearest diner waiting for his order.

Drumming his fingers impatiently on the sticky linoleum counter, a burning desire to call you began to build within him. Knowing you were likely still sleeping, he decided to busy himself with a stupid game you downloaded on his phone.

Yet the urge to reach out to you grew tenfold as he sat there, a sinking feeling that it might mean you were in danger starting to take hold of him. Just as his mind began to swirl with questions of what the hell was going on with him, he heard your voice calling his name.

His head snapped up, expecting to see you sliding onto the stool beside him, ready to give you hell for walking here in search of him all by yourself in a random town. He figured you must’ve known he was here, and it wouldn’t have been a far walk from the motel, but it was still stupid.

Though the words died on his tongue as he realized you weren’t there, and that familiar feeling of dread trickled through him after scanning the diner and not finding you anywhere.

Another voice called out, this time the waitress, announcing that his order was ready. He met her smiling face with nothing but confusion, her smile faltering for a moment.

“Everything alright?” she asked hesitantly.

“Huh?” he asked, before snapping out of his daze. “Oh, yeah. Just a little too early for me. Thanks-” he paused, squinting to read her name tag. “Thanks, Edna,” he charmed, flashing his signature grin as he gathered the order.

“Anytime, sugar,” she charmed, her smile perking back up as she sent him a wink.

With one last - albeit awkward - grin sent her way, Dean quickly left the diner; already feeling lighter for knowing he’d be back at the motel soon. His grin only grew when he glanced across the street and caught a glimpse of you staring back at him, proving that he wasn’t crazy and you really did come to meet him.

He took a step forward, intending to call out to you, when a truck drove by and blocked you from sight. The grin was wiped from his face and the coffee tray nearly slipped out of his hand when he noticed you had completely disappeared in its wake.

Fearing the worst once more, he scrambled into the car and quickly called you, firing Baby to life as the line rang.

“Hey,” you answered with a stifled yawn. “Please tell me you’re getting breakfast. And coffee.”

“Yeah, I-” he faltered in his response, having to let out a breath of relief as he realized you were safe and sound. “I’ll be back in a few, you and Sammy still there?”

“Where else would we be?” you asked with a giggle.

While the sound would normally bring a smile to his face, your words only caused a frown to appear. “You only waking up now?”

“Don’t judge me,” you teased. “It’s only… ten after seven, I barely slept in.”

“Just not used to being up before you,” he lied, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel.

“Miracles really do happen,” you joked with a laugh. “You sound weird, is everything okay?” you added, worry tinting your voice.

“Hm?” he wondered, not processing your question right away. “Oh, no- yeah, I-... just didn’t get much sleep.”

“Right,” you said, teetering on the edge of believing him or not.

“Really, I’m good,” he assured, sensing your apprehension. “I just gotta catch some z’s and I’ll be good as new.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few then,” you relented. “Drive safe,” you added as an afterthought before hanging up.

The line went dead as he stopped at a red light, his stomach churning as he stared at his reflection in the rearview.

“Just need some sleep,” he assured himself.

“Dude, would you quit it with the pacing?” Sam snapped, setting his book down on the table for sheer lack of concentration.

Dean stopped just long enough to stare daggers at his brother before marching down the library once more. “She’s been gone too long.”

“She’s been gone an hour,” Sam informed, hands running over his face in exasperation.

“Exactly,” Dean replied, pointing a finger at Sam in acknowledgment. “Something must’ve happened.”

“Dude, she’s at the grocery store. With Jack. What the hell could possibly happen?”

“I don’t know!” Dean exclaimed, arms flailing as he whirled to face Sam. “Something must’ve! She hasn’t answered my last text and it’s been-” he paused, pulling out his phone to brandish the screen. “Seven minutes!”

“Oh, my god,” Sam groaned, tossing his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I can’t deal with this anymore.”

“What are you talking about? Aren’t you worried?” Dean asked gruffly.

“No, Dean, I’m not worried! There’s no reason to be worried!” Sam proclaimed.

“No reason? She could be dead!” Dean barked, his face taking on an expression of disbelief.

Sam sighed as he leaned over the table, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, let me ask you this: why, exactly, do you think she’s dead?”

“Oh, come on, Sam!” Dean grumbled. “We don’t exactly live cookie cutter lives here, you know. One minute she’s returning the shopping cart, and the next she’s got a damn knife in her back!”

“Dean,” Sam soothed. “You know as well as I do that’s a load of crap.”

“No,” Dean argued, shaking his head. “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything, you know why?”

Before Sam could even respond, Dean waved his phone around before dropping it on the table. “Because she won’t answer her damn phone!”

“Okay, this is actually ridiculous,” Sam declared. “How can you seriously not see what’s been happening to you?”

“Knock it off, Sam,” Dean muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he began pacing again. “I’m fucking fine.”

“You’re fine,” Sam repeated incredulously. “You’re friggin’ cursed, Dean!”

“I’m not cursed!” shouted Dean. “Would you quit it with that crap?”

“Right, because nothing’s been going on with you lately, right?”

“Right!” Dean agreed with a huff.

“You haven’t been, say, I don’t know…. not sleeping? Feeling stir crazy? Getting paranoid?”

“Sam-”

“No, I’m serious, Dean! How can you not see this?”

“Because I’m fine!” Dean argued, stalling his movements to gather his phone from the table.

After a few moments of silence, Dean rolled his eyes and found himself once more walking the length of the library. “Okay, maybe I’ve been feeling a little weird lately, but I’ve just been tired - and you know what? I survived worse. So yeah, I’m fine!”

“Right,” Sam said sceptically. “And have you… noticed when it is that you feel… weird?”

“I don’t know!” Dean announced frustratedly.

“Dean,” Sam chastised.

“What?”

“You’ve been feeling like this all week, and it’s only getting worse. You’ve been like this since that witch cursed you - and don’t say she didn’t. Use your fucking head, Dean! You’re cursed!”

Dean’s jaw clenched as he tried to remain calm, taking a moment to formulate his response. “You’re insane,” he finally declared.

“I think you’re the insane one,” Sam contested. “You were cursed to yearn for something, Dean. Only in this case… it’s someone.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“C’mon, Dean!” Sam pleaded with a laugh. “The only time you get like this is when you’re more than ten feet away from [Y/N].”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean muttered dismissively.

“You’ve checked your phone another five times since you picked it up.”

“So?” Dean questioned, failing to resist the urge to check it once more. “I’m worried, not cursed.”

“You’re worried because you’re cursed!” Sam argued.

“I’m worried because I lo-” Dean quickly fell silent as the words died on his tongue, his brain firing into total overdrive as he laughed nervously. “I care, that’s why I’m worried.”

Sam stared at his brother in total disbelief, trying to find a way to make him realize what was going on- or, most likely, acknowledge what was going on.

Yet before the conversation could go any further, the bunker door screeched open and the sound of your laughter fleeted down to greet Dean, effectively turning his scowl into an affectionate grin.

“Hope you remembered my pie!” he called out, marching to meet you at the foot of the stairs without so much as a glance back in Sam’s direction.

“When have I ever forgotten?” you asked, feigning offence as you held out the bag which contained his pie.

“Well,” he started, taking the bag from you. “There was that time in Redford-”

“Hey!” you interrupted with a laugh. “I didn’t forget, they were out!”

“See, I still don’t believe you,” he teased, heading for the kitchen.

“Believe whatever you want, Dean,” you replied playfully.

“I’m still waiting for it, you know. You should get me two next time,” he joked, though he was partly serious.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice tentatively called out.

“Yeah?” Dean replied hotly, keeping his back to Sam as he went to grab a beer from the fridge.

“Who, uh… who the hell are you talking to?” he asked carefully, surveying the empty kitchen.

“Hilarious, Sam,” he said dryly, shutting the fridge. “I’m talking to-”

His mouth ran dry as he turned around, being met with just his brother, who was staring with concern from the doorway.

“[Y/N],” Dean finished weakly.

“Her and Jack aren’t back yet, Dean,” Sam said carefully, as though talking to a lost child.

“Yes, they are. They got back, she gave me my pie, we came in here,” Dean said fiercely, his confidence shattering when he went to gesture at the pie he set down moments earlier and found it to be gone.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Sam suggested, not knowing what to do.

“I’m fine!” Dean shouted, hovering over the counter. “I’m fine,” he repeated, moreso to himself than anything.

“Okay, look, how about I try calling [Y/N], okay?” Sam offered, hesitantly walking further into the kitchen. “See when they’ll be back.”

“They are back!” Dean barked, glaring at Sam. “She was just in here!”

Sam didn’t know what to say, the fear and concern for his brother crashing down on him.

“She was just in here,” Dean repeated shakily, meeting Sam’s gaze with confusion.

“Dean,” Sam started to say, before the familiar tone of your ringtone came from Dean’s phone, cutting through the air like a knife.

Dean pulled the phone from his pocket, clearing his throat before answering. “Yeah?”

“Dean, thank god,” you cheered, sighing in relief. “Listen, we came out to a flat tire and I don’t have a spare because I forgot to fucking replace it and there are too many people around for Jack to, you know, try fixing it,” you rambled anxiously. “Can you please come help?”

“You’re still at the store?” Dean clarified, looking up at Sam with frightened eyes.

“Yeah, we’re stuck in the parking lot,” you told him breezily.

“Okay,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Alright, I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks, De!” you said happily, ending the call.

Dean stood there for a few moments staring down at his unopened bottle of beer on the counter, trying to gather his thoughts, before finally lifting his gaze to Sam.

“I’ll, uh…. I’ll be back,” he told him, not waiting for a response before trudging out of the kitchen.

You found yourself yet again rushing down the hall to Dean’s room, his muffled yells waking you in the dead of night once more.

He uttered your name as you shut the door behind you, and though it took you by surprise the very first time it happened - nearly two weeks ago, now - it was something you’ve almost come to expect. It was killing you, watching him go through this every night and not being able to fix it. You would sit with him, find ways to gently rouse him from his terror filled slumber and comfort him when he woke, but it never seemed like enough; he deserved more.

At first you didn’t think there was too much going on, figuring his shift in behaviour was just due to his lack of sleep. You didn’t believe Sam when he talked to you about it; Dean may have been acting a little more strange than usual, but it didn’t raise any red flags.

It wasn’t until the morning following your conversation that you noticed it, cluing in and realising how different Dean had been; how long he’d been different. The excess text messages, the increase in phone calls, the insistence on you not going anywhere without him and his exuberant reactions to you getting back safe when you did go somewhere without him, his constant questioning on where you were or where you’ve just been. Something else was going on, and you could only think it really did come down to the witch you two encountered. So you and Sam called up Rowena, getting her take on the situation and figuring out what to do.

Her words now echoed through your head as you perched yourself on the edge of his bed: “Magic isn’t simple. Some curses are anchored by the witch, ending whenever they were to die. But others are more complex, rooted not in the witch but the object of the curse itself, not breaking until their purpose is carried out one way or another. Perhaps if you can figure out what it is Dean needs, you can break the curse yourselves. If this carries on for any longer… I’m worried it will kill him.”

While you ran your fingers through his hair, you decided right then and there that once he woke up, you wouldn’t leave without confronting him about it. You knew it would likely start a fight, and you felt a little guilty knowing you would all but interrogate him right after having another nightmare, but all that guilt flew right out the window the second Dean startled himself awake, the sight of his panic stricken face as he gasped for air nearly bringing you to tears; you’ve seen him like this too often as of late.

“It’s alright, Dean,” you soothed, reaching out to him. “I’m right here, everything’s fine.”

His gaze snapped to you, unable to hide the confusion and terror still coursing through him despite the relief he felt. “[Y/N]?”

“Yeah, De,” you cooed, running a hand across his shoulder blades. “We’re in your room, everyone’s okay.”

He let out a shuddering breath, hanging his head in his hands. “You’re okay,” he whispered softly. “You’re okay.”

You sat quietly with him for a few more minutes, patiently comforting him as best as you could while you thought of how to approach this conversation.

Clearing his throat, Dean was the first to speak again as he rose from the bed. “Sorry I woke you again.”

The dejection and shame laced in his voice tore your heart to bits, and you had to put up a good fight to keep your emotions in check. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“Yeah, I do,” he disagreed, trudging to his sink in the corner.

“Dean, please talk to me,” you pleaded, watching as he turned on the water.

You fell silent, waiting for him to deny you and brush you off again. You waited for him to say something, to do something, but all he did was stare at the running water.

“Dean?” you asked cautiously, slowly getting up from the bed yourself.

“I can’t save you,” he muttered quietly, his gaze on the faucet unyielding.

“What?” you asked curiously, not knowing what he meant.

“I can never save you,” he carried on. “You always just… slip away from me. Every time. It’s always the same.”

“What’s always the same?” you questioned, moving closer towards him.

“I try,” he muttered, seemingly oblivious to your presence. “I run, and I fight, and I try, but I can never reach you. I can never get to you.”

He seemed to snap out of his daze a little, moving to splash water over his face before turning off the tap. “You keep dying. I keep watching you die. I can’t watch you die again, [Y/N]. I can’t.”

“This is what your nightmares have been?” you wondered.

He fell silent again for a minute before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah.”

“It’s not real, Dean,” you told him softly.

“It’s real enough for me,” he muttered, turning to face you.

“And is this why you’ve been… acting differently towards me?” you asked hesitantly.

He averted his gaze, hanging his head as he considered your question. “I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe, yeah. I don’t know.”

“Dean,” you scolded with a sigh, plopping back down on the bed. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

“Because everything’s fine!” he argued once again.

“I’m not stupid, Dean!” you challenged. “I know you. I can see something's eating you alive and it’s fucking killing me to witness it. So please, tell me what the hell is going on.”

“It’s just nightmares,” he lied, crossing his arms against his chest.

“It’s more than nightmares!” you cried. “You’re withering away into nothing, Dean! I mean let’s face it! You’re practically a zombie nowadays with how little sleep you get, you’ve been acting like a puppy with separation anxiety, and let’s not forget how completely erratic you’ve been.”

He glared at you, jaw clenching as he decided whether or not to entertain this conversation. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t slept lately,” he admitted starkly. “But like I keep saying, I’m fine.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying?” you sneered, glaring up at him.

He rolled his eyes, averting his gaze to anywhere else as he shook his head. “No, but I’m getting tired of having this conversation all the time.”

“Well too bad!” you yelled, abruptly standing from the bed. “Cause I’m tired of never having this conversation go anywhere! I’m tired of you brushing off the idea of you being cursed. I didn’t believe it at first either, but what the hell else could it be, Dean?”

“Oh, come on!” he barked, running a hand over his face. “I see Sam got his hooks into you.”

“Yeah, he did. And you need to listen to us.”

“No, I really don’t,” he scoffed, starting to head to the door.

“Even if it kills you?” you blurted out.

“It’s not gonna kill me!”

“God, look at you, Dean! It already is!” you argued, marching closer to him. “How would you feel if the situation were reversed?”

He let out a sigh, pausing with his hand on the doorknob before turning back to you. “What?”

“What if it were me going through all this instead of you? Would you let me get away with not even listening to you and Sam?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, staring at you in silence for so long you expected him to turn away again. Instead, he let out a deep breath as he took a seat, gesturing for you to carry on. “Five minutes.”

You almost went to argue before you thought better of it, knowing full well that if Dean never came around to the theory he would actually cut you off at the five minute mark. So, you did your best to recount the entire situation for him, reiterating what you, Sam, and Rowena had to say about it all in the hopes of getting through to him. By the time you finished, you knew it was well over five minutes, so you took Dean not interrupting you to be a good sign.

“Okay,” he finally said with a small nod. “Well, I listened. Can I go now?”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, anger and fear bubbling inside of you as you exploded. “God, you are unbelievable!”

“Well what do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “I just don’t believe that’s what’s going on.”

“How can you not believe it?” you asked incredulously. “It’s obvious!”

“Look, I said I don’t believe it, alright?” Dean snapped. “Why are you so hellbent on making this into some big fight? Just accept it.”

“No!” you seethed. “I can’t just accept the fact that this could kill you. Especially not when there’s a way we could end this.”

“No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “You can’t fix this, [Y/N/N]. You just can’t.”

“I can!” you cried. “Just tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“You know what,” you scolded.

“This is so fucking ridiculous.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Why the hell do you care so much?” he questioned exasperatedly.

“Because I’m fucking terrified, Dean!” you exclaimed. “I’ve watched you grow more restless and anxious every day since the night we finished that case. I’ve seen the life drain from you more and more as sleep became nearly impossible for you. And I know it’s nearly impossible for you, because I have spent the last eleven nights sitting on that bed as you got terrorised by your own mind. I don’t care if you believe in this curse or not, Dean, because I do.”

Dean stood quietly, absorbing what you said as the severity of the situation began to dawn on him.

“I mean don’t you get it?” you asked sadly, cutting through the silence. “If something happens to you, if I lose you… that’s not something I can come back from.”

Dean fell silent once more, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath, pacing around the room a little as he turned everything over in his head.

“I’m scared, Dean,” you reiterated softly. “Please, just let us try to fix this.”

“There’s some things I should tell you, then,” he admitted quietly after a moment of silence, taking a seat on the bed.

“About what’s been happening?” you asked hopefully.

He nodded, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” you said, moving his desk chair to take a seat. “I’m listening.”

He took a bracing breath, taking a few minutes to build the courage to speak. “Well, you know I’ve been having nightmares.”

“I do,” you agreed quietly.

“It’s always the same one,” he admitted, keeping his gaze cast downwards. “I could never figure out why. It didn't make sense to me why it was always the same thing. So I finally talked to Sam about it, and he had a pretty good theory. But, you know me. I didn’t want to believe it because it came back down to that witch and this stupid fucking curse.”

He let out a bitter laugh, pausing long enough for you to speak up. “What did he have to say about it?”

“I tried telling myself I was fine,” he continued, ignoring your question. “I was fine, at first. At first it was just not sleeping well… but then other things started happening.”

“Other things like what?” you wondered quietly.

“Like my blood feeling like it’s on fucking fire,” he muttered, wiping at his face. “And my skin feeling like it-… like it’s being peeled off my goddamn bones, and my face feeling like it’s melting… and how I get this- this bubble inside my chest that feels like it’s either gonna burst or suffocate me and how it all only happens-” he stopped in his rambling, taking a deep breath before chuckling in disbelief. “God, it only happens when you’re not around, [Y/N].”

“I-... what do you mean?” you asked breathlessly.

“Oh, come on, [Y/N],” he said bitterly. “I know you’ve noticed. I text you more, I’m almost always calling you. I just- I get this… this unwavering panic inside me when you’re not around. I keep-... I swear to god I see you everywhere when you’re gone. I catch sight of you across the street, I smell your stupid shampoo when I’m alone, I hear your voice when no one’s there. I had an entire conversation with you and you weren’t even there,” he carried on, shaking his head as he briskly wiped away an angry tear. “God, I’m going fucking crazy,” he added with a manic chuckle.

“You’re not crazy, Dean,” you said gently.

“That night,” he started, staring at the wall across from him. “She was trying to get back someone she lost… someone she loved.”

“Right,” you agreed.

“They used to drown them, people they accused of being witches,” he continued slowly.

“Yeah, it was pretty common. Sink, and you were innocent. Float, and you were guilty,” you pitched in. “But… what does that have to do with this?”

“I think they were innocent,” he said simply. “Whoever she lost… I think that’s how she lost them.”

“Why do you think that?” you asked curiously.

Dean cleared his throat, staring pensively at his hands once more. “The nightmares. It’s always… you always drown. I keep-... I can never save you.”

“I don’t get-” you started to say, before he cut you off.

“It’s how she lost who she loves, [Y/N],” he said curtly. “It makes sense for me to see the one I love go the same way.”

“I-... what?” you asked, too stunned to think of anything else to say.

“The dreams, the hallucinations, the- the way I’ve been feeling… I didn’t want to admit it, I still don’t, but I can’t… I mean I can only ignore it for so long, right?” he said, scoffing quietly. “Especially with you and Sam breathing down my neck about it.”

“Ignore what, Dean?” you asked breathlessly, your heart hammering in your chest.

“You,” he muttered. “They way I feel about you. The way I’ve always felt about you.”

You didn’t dare respond, his words ringing in your ears as he fell silent, each of you lost in your own thoughts for a while.

“I’ve always known that I love you, [Y/N/N],” he carried on, slowly meeting your gaze with glistening eyes. “But this… this curse, this whatever it is. God, it’s just made it all so much worse, and I knew. I knew it was you that my entire being was screaming out for but I couldn’t… I couldn’t admit it.”

“Why not?” you asked shakily, feeling your tears starting to build.

“How could I put that on you?” he asked, a few rogue tears slipping down his face. “You said it yourself, this thing is killing me. It’s gonna kill me, unless I get what I want, and given that that’s you, I’m calling it game over.”

“No, Dean, it’s not,” you denied with a sniffle, cutting through your own stray tears. “You should’ve told me.”

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, shrugging lightly as he looked back at his hands. “I told you now.”

“Dean,” you sighed, wiping your face as you stood from your seat. “Do you trust me?” you asked, walking towards him.

“Of course I do,” he said quickly, almost offended by the question.

“Okay, well, I’ll need you to trust me on this,” you replied, stopping just in front of where he sat.

“Okay,” he said with a huff.

“You gotta look at me, though,” you said, laughing softly.

Sighing dejectedly, he slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips as he looked at you.

You smiled softly at him, gently taking his face in your hands before wordlessly bringing your lips down to meet his. At first, neither of you really knew what was happening, and just when you thought to pull away you felt his lips moving against your own. His hands gripped your waist to hold you in place a moment longer before you each pulled away, staring silently at each other as you processed what just happened.

“What, uh… what was that for?” Dean finally asked.

“Well, it was either that or slapping some sense into you,” you said playfully. “Which I almost think you still deserve, because I can’t believe you honestly think I don’t love you back.”

“What?” he asked, his grip on your waist loosening in shock before tightening once more.

“You’ve had me since the day we met, Dean,” you told him softly, carding your fingers through his hair.

“You actually…” he trailed off quietly, trying to focus his thoughts. “You actually love me, of all people?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.”

“So I- well, I guess I could’ve saved a lot of trouble if I really did just tell you, huh?” he asked jokingly, laughing tightly.

“I’ll give you hell for it tomorrow,” you teased, half serious. “For now, how about we try getting you back to sleep?”

“Actually,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I have a better idea involving this bed.”

You couldn’t help but snort a laugh, grinning fondly at him. “Oh, really?”

He grinned back, laughing with you before taking on a more sombre tone. “Do you trust me?”

“Always,” you said honestly.

“Good,” he replied with a grin, laughing heartily at the shriek you let out when he tossed you on the bed.

He stared down at you, a look you’ve never seen before painted on his face. “What?” you asked, giggling nervously.

“I love you,” he said earnestly, brushing a lock of hair away from your face.

“I love you, too,” you replied shyly, grinning softly.

He matched your grin, drinking you in a moment longer before crashing his lips upon yours once more.

When Dean woke the next morning, it didn’t take long for a grin to spread across his face as he quickly realized two things.

The first thing being that you, the love of his life, still remained tangled up in both his arms and the sheets, sleeping peacefully atop his chest.

The second being that, for the first time in a total of thirteen days, he was able to sleep without being haunted by his nightmares.

He felt you stir, and his grin widened as you nestled in closer, tightening your grip on him as you slept. He planted a kiss against your temple, pulling you in close as he blissfully settled in for another peaceful rest.

Maybe witches aren’t so bad.

tagging: @roseblue373

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bunnysbrainrot · 1 year ago

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Sinners - Teaser

Relationship: Sam Winchester x Reader

Content: Explicit sexual content, teasing, more kinks and details to come with the full version, nothing too warning-worthy right now?

Summary: Disguised as a priest and nun on a case, time alone with Sam back at your motel is everything but holy. The taboo of your situation has Sam dealing with some… impure thoughts. Will Sam be able to contain himself?

In the past few weeks you and the Winchesters uncovered some suspicious deaths in a remote area of Georgia. The locations of the tragedies spanned over 50 miles apart, meaning that the team had to split up to cover more ground. Dean had split from you and Sam two days ago, and the night before in the motel had been fairly normal. It seemed like Dean did this on purpose; you had drunkenly admitted to him of your affection for his younger brother.

Whether or not Sam knew of this, you had no clue. And now in your nun getup, it was all too fitting that you began to pray that Sam was unaware. The two of you calmly made your way past the yellow police tape, preparing warm smiles for a victim’s family.

Sam knocked on the door, letting out a bated breath. Weren’t nuns supposed to dress modestly? Your outfit was the proper attire, but the way it hugged your curves left too much to Sam’s imagination. It was his turn to pray that it didn’t stir too much in him, to let him keep his composure.

An older man answered the door, his expression easing at the sight of your attire. Turns out this costume was better received than you thought. You had to channel your tone and proper verbiage before speaking.

“Apologies for showing up unannounced, Mr. Peters. I’m Father Jeremy, and this is our sister from a local church.” Sam waved a hand for you to introduce yourself.

You chose to use your name, seeing that this was your first nun-appearance.

“We’re here on behalf of the church to offer support for your family, but we also have a couple of questions, if you don’t mind.”

Hopefully there were no questions about the nearest Catholic church, otherwise this whole façade would crumble. Mr. Peters’ face only softened further.

“I’m glad you’re here, Father, Sister,” he addressed you with a sad smile, “Please, come in.”

Sam stepped in first, using a beckoning finger behind him to have you follow him. The house was modest, but eloquently decorated. You recalled the murder that had happened, that brought you to this town, and shuddered. Mr. Peters’ daughter had been brutally murdered and discarded in a creek, signs indicating the presence of a vampire. Their daughter had been missing for two weeks before the time of death, which is what you and Sam aimed to discover.

“Mr. Peters, we are part of a youth outreach program at the church. Our aim is to help troubled youth, with restorative services and social connection. We were wondering if your daughter had any odd behaviors before she went missing. Perhaps she became more secluded?”

The man looked confused at first, “Odd behavior?”

Sam gave a small nod, “We notice that teenagers in need of help oftentimes become more distant with their families. Our goal is to provide better services to our youth, which does include finding the source issue.”

Mr. Peters have a small background of his daughter, admitting that she had become distant with the family. Not just that, but her anger had only worsened, amongst several harmful habits. It wasn’t uncommon for teens to become immersed in the occult and all things dark, but being surrounded by the wrong people can lead to harmful connections.

“I see,” Sam started, “and do you know what kind of people she was surrounding herself with?”

Another confused look from Mr. Peters.

You added, “This way, we’re able to identify warning signs - things to be wary of as our youth members meet new people.”

This seemed to clear things up, bringing out a detailed recount of his daughter’s recent social group. But, their social media had been recently deleted, preventing the family from getting their closure. As far as they knew, their daughter had made new friends, ran from home, and was found brutally murdered.

Sam’s eyes darted to you when you shifted in your seat, the fabric of your black dress sliding gracefully along your thighs. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but seeing you dressed up like this sent his mind spinning. The last thing he should be thinking of is taking you dressed like this, but he couldn’t shake it. His mind raced of scenarios the two of you could create, each one dirtier than the last.

But right now, the task at hand was covering the tightness of his pants. He leaned forward, the broad muscles of his arms flexing beneath his black shirt. Blush creeped onto your cheeks, much to the attention of Mr. Peters, who looked at you with concern.

“Sister, are you feeling alright?”

You nodded and gave a small wave, “Oh, I’m fine. Just a little warm is all. I apologize.”

Mr. Peters stood, “No need to apologize, let me get you some cold water. I’ll only be one moment.”

The room had gone oddly quiet paired with Sam’s intent stare at your face. You turned to find a concerned Sam inspecting you fully.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asked softly.

A slight nod, “Yeah, it’s just stuffy in this outfit.”

“Well, once we’re back at the motel we can get you out of it.”

A beat later Sam realized how that sounded. He tried to backtrack, but Mr. Peters had already returned with your glass of water, which you gratefully sipped on. It took everything in your power to resist the images that came to mind. Sam’s hands roaming your body, stripping that baggy dress off of your body, his mouth finding every nook and cranny of your neck.

Sam seemed to have taken over the conversation for the last few moments before standing. Mr. Peters had already given a short list of his daughter’s friends, and their usual hang-out spots. Your attention snapped back to reality; you placed the water glass down with a small thank you, being pulled up by Sam.

His hand could practically wrap the entirety of your arm, his grip stable and warm. Goosebumps rose on your arms, brushing against the tough fabric of your dress. The air outside carried the comfort of fall, the breeze being cool and refreshing on your hot cheeks.

At the car, Sam reached for your door to open it for you, something completely new to the both of you. You glanced up at him with wide eyes. The movements he made to reach the handle had pulled your bodies dangerously close, fully brush against his chest, pressed into the car. A inexplicable scenario that would raise a few eyebrows, for certain.

“Sorry, I just didn’t want you to trip on your dress,” breathed Sam.

Honestly, he was thankful for the little slip up - being this close to you had been a wish of his, but there had never been any excuse for it to happen. Your focus shifted from his soft, hazel eyes down to his parted lips. Sam’s attention shifted to your lips, lowering to your chest for a split second. A selfish move on his part, but the damage had already been done.

Your hand fumbled for the door handle, fingers sliding over his own. The two of you shared another longing glance before getting you into the car. Sam tucked in loose bits of your dress so the door wouldn’t snag on them.

“Alright, hands and feet it, watch out,” he whispered. You noticed how his hands fumbled more than usual, surely due to the nerves. Perhaps you had been reading this wrong, maybe you had taken things too far? Maybe you had overstepped and embarrassed him?

“Thank you,” you replied, giving him a genuine smile. Sam’s cheeks flushed, unmistakably a sign that maybe your anxieties been just that. Simple anxieties from overthinking this whole thing.

Now settled in the car, the two of you made the trip back to the motel. After stepping inside you beelined for the bathroom.

At least, until Sam’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Hey, could I talk to you about something?”

You turned to face him, eyebrows raised. You’d be lying to yourself if you said your heart didn’t skip a beat.

“What’s up?”

With the silence in the room, you took the cue to sit on the bed. Sam towered in comparison, his lean physique defined by the lamplight.

His voice softened, “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to get that close, I-“

“Sam, it’s okay,” you cut him off with a laugh, “don’t worry about it. I wasn’t bothered by it.”

He relaxed his shoulders. Sam began to dig through his bag for another set of clothes.

“You look good as a priest, by the way. You sell the bit nicely,” you stated.

What you said made his heart skip a beat. Was that a compliment, or just conversation? Sam couldn’t tell, so he turned to you once more with a goofy grin on his face.

“Thanks,” his expression darkened as his eyes raked you over, “You look good as a nun.”

There was no mistaking it - he was taking his time looking over you. Your breath hitched in your throat when he turned, leaned casually against the desk your bags laid on. You transfixed on the way his hands moved around his belt buckle. Mildly fiddling, but you couldn’t help but imagine him following through.

“Not my best outfit, but thank you,” you replied. Sam pushed away from the desk, slowly stepping toward the bed where you sat, tense with every step.

“I would agree there, you’ve worn better,” he commented.

You head snapped up to meet his eyes. A surprise note of flirtation filled your voice.

“Okay, so what’s my best outfit, then?”

He scoffed, “We playing twenty questions?”

You pointed to your outfits, smirking proudly at him, “Look at our getup, man, it’s like a confessional.”

A bright laugh came out of Sam; he tilted his head back as he thought.

“My answer isn’t exactly… appropriate.”

“Sam,” you laughed, “Confessional. You gotta tell me.”

He let out a groan before lowering his head, steadily giving you his answer, “Your dark jeans, and that long sleeve shirt. The, um… the one with the v-neck, you wore it almost every day over winter.”

“And that was inappropriate?”

“It’s why I like it that’s inappropriate.”

“Okay, then, why do you like it?”

The last thing you expected was for Sam to close the distance. He stepped until he was directly ahead, arms crossed over his chest as he locked eyes with you.

“It made your ass look nice.”

His tone was surprisingly serious, like he had been thinking of this answer for a while.

“Hugs your body in the right ways. And it makes your, well, chest… look nice.”

Sam humored your shocked expression but pushing things further. If you could dish it out, he could dish it back.

“What’s my best outfit?”

As you collected yourself, Sam stepped closer, bringing a hand to your cheek. He lifted your head, his thumb grazing over your cheek.

“It’s a confessional. You have to tell me,” he joked, earning a slight glare from you. That sour face melted away when Sam placed his hand beneath your chin. He tilted your head back to have you look at him.

Shit.

“Jeans,” you breathed, “V-neck black shirt.”

Sam leaned in, brushing his lips across your cheek. The closeness set your skin ablaze, each trailing lip and finger sending shivers up your spine.

“Is that all?” Sam whispered.

His eyes met yours once again, a startling seriousness lurking inside. You pushed past the shyness of your answer. The honesty could break the tension that had building all this time.

“Pajama pants… no shirt. When you just get out of the shower.”

Sam’s lips curled into a satisfied smile before planting a slow kiss to your cheek. He moved gradually to your jawline, sprinkling chaste kisses until his lips hovered over yours.

“Have you wanted this?” he asked.

Your frustration was intangible - a bottle that had been shaken too much, and ready to blow. He was centimeters, millimeters away from giving you what you’d truly wanted. The silence between you signified the utter defiance to give him this so easily.

“Confessional,” Sam’s voice reverberated against you, but he offered nothing to your pleading lips, “tell me, little nun, have you thought about this? Wanted my lips on yours?”

A small whine escaped you as Sam’s hand lowered to your throat, pressing softly to the tender flesh. The loss of blood flow muddled your thoughts into complete ecstasy, with no urgency to regain control. With just one move, it was clear to Sam that you were undoubtedly his.

You gave him a small nod. A low growl thundered in his chest before pressing into you further, laying you flat on the bed. Locks of chestnut hair framed your face, with a breathy Sam hovering his mouth over your neck.

“Nodding doesn’t count. You gotta use your words, sweetheart.”

Amidst the constriction on your throat you nodded and choked out a small, "Yes."

Sam's growing smile is all you need to know you've satisfied something deeper within him. Darkness floods his eyes seeing you like this, utterly at his will under his touch. If he'd known sooner that this would be the outcome, he'd have bought that nun outfit ages ago.

"That's better," he whispered.

------

Hi everyone! I know it's just a teaser for now, but I wanted to show you something I've been working on! I've also been pretty busy with work and writing for my book series, so things have been a bit busy for sure haha

I love you all, and I keep an eye out for the full version of Sinners!

#supernatural #spn fandom #supernatural smut #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #bunny writes #spn smut #smut writing #smut

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holylulusworld · 1 year ago

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Very tight places - Kinktober 3

Summary: You're stuck with a soulless Sam again.

Pairing: Soulless!Sam x fem!Reader

Square 8 filled for @anyfandomgoesbingo: Amnesia

Square 6 filled for @samwinchesterbingo: Dirty Talk

Warnings: soulless!Sam being his asshole self, cheating (kinda), smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, mentions of anal sex, creampie, claustrophilia, blasphemie

Rating: Explicit

Kink: Claustrophilia

Words:

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2023

Catch up here: Cramped (1) & Tight places (2)

Six months later you are still hunting with Dean and Sam. You didn’t want to leave the elder Winchester alone with his soulless brother.

Who are you trying to kid? The ugly and embarrassing truth is, that you can’t stay away from Sam for too long.

He’s intoxicating. You’re high on him, and the way he fucks you. If you had an ounce of dignity left, you’d tell the bastard to fuck off. But you are too far gone to care.

Most nights, you let him do unspeakable things to you. Dean stumbled in on you and his brother, calling you sick more than once. He wrinkles his nose anytime Sam gropes you in front of his brother.

Sam has no filter. In any way. When it comes to sex, he doesn’t care if you are in the middle of a case, at a hospital, or buying groceries. Sam wants you, and he gets you.

Anytime. Anywhere.

“Sam, what are we doing here, dressed in the cheapest costumes we could find,” you grumble as Sam decides you must play nun and priest to solve your latest case.

Dean is out and about to find Death. Not to die this time, but to convince Death himself to help him get Sam’s soul back.

Sam is not amused. He wants to stay like this. New and improved. Deadly, focused, and with a sexual appetite making even Dean blush.

“I look ridiculous. They will not believe I’m a nun.” Glancing around the almost empty church you sigh. At least there are not many people around to witness your poor performance.

“Why?” Sam resists the urge to grope your ass. Seeing you in your nun costume got him rock-hard. If not for the case he wants to solve, he’d have you bent over the altar already. “We look just the same as the priest I knocked out to get his clothes.”

“You did what?” you stop in your tracks to gape at Sam. “Please tell me you didn’t knock a priest out, Samuel Winchester. I don’t want to go to hell only because you have no impulse control.”

Sam smirks darkly. “You are so cute when mad,” he dips his head to whisper, “not so cute while you writhe on my fat cock. You’re a whore, not a saint. I know how you like it. Dirty and rough.”

“Sam, can you for once not think about your dick?” You growl. “We still need to find the monster killing the people at the church. Sadly, the only witness still suffers from amnesia.”

“That’s where you come in,” Sam purrs. “I didn’t want you to wear this iconic tunic only for fun. You are the one taking Sister Margaret’s place. You’ll fit in just fine.”

“I don’t want to play the next victim for the monster. Which by the way, you still didn’t identify, Sam. Maybe you shouldn’t have spent the last night at the bar with that blonde,” you snap at the hunter. You don’t give a shit if your blow your cover. Sam won’t get away with treating you like a random bitch he can fuck and leave afterward.

“Y/N, be honest with me,” he chuckles at your angry expression, “are you jealous because you are in love with me?“

“You wish,” you walk away, too angry to be around Sam today. Are you jealous? Of course, you are. Sam and you spent the last months together. Most of the time in the sheets. But last night, he told you to leave and didn’t return until early in the morning.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” Sam mocks you. “I know you love me. You draw hearts and imagine walking down the aisle while I wait for you to give you the ring.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you turn back around to snap at Sam. “I can’t wait for Dean to get your soul back. The moment you have it back, I’m gone. Don’t believe I stuck around for you and your limp dick. I did it for Dean because he’s a good man. Always was.”

“You want my brother?” His features darken, and you can see the change in Sam’s eyes. You take a step back. You know the look in his eyes. It’s the same one you see when he’s about to attack a monster. “Well, too bad. He can’t have you.”

“He can have me if he wants me.” It’s your turn to pay Sam back for all the times you asked yourself if he’s with some other girl. “Just like you had that pretty little thing last night.”

Sam snorts. “She was boring and wanted to go on a date first.” He casually says. As if this excuses his behavior, and how he treated you last night. “Come. I show you something nice.”

“Sam, I’m not in the mood for one of your games. Let’s just solve this case and we can go our separate ways. I stuck around far longer than I intended to.” You huff as Sam once again, ignores your protests. He grabs you by your arm and drags you toward the confession booth.

“Sam! What are you doing?”

“Shush now, I saw someone,” he pushes you inside the booth and closes the door behind him. You gulp. You’re stuck in a tight place with Sam again. “Do you have your gun?”

“What kind of question is that Winchester? I’m not an idiot!”

“Good. Stay in here and wait for me,” he turns around to look at you. Something flashes in his eyes before he turns around to leave the booth. Not without telling you to lock it, though…

You’re gnawing at your nails. Sam left you at the confession booth half an hour ago, and now you don’t know if you left the booth to help him or not.

You press your ear to the door, listening to your breathing. There is not a sound, and you wonder if Sam messed with you and just left the church.

“Open the door,” Sam knocks at the door, “now.”

“Fuck, Winchester,” you curse, but unlock the door to drag Sam inside. He closes it behind him once again and releases an annoyed huff as you check him for injuries.

“You can't wait to put your hands on me again, huh?” Sam turns around to look you up and down. “You know,” he licks his lips. His large hands shoot toward your face to cradle it for a moment, “I think you should confess your sins to me, my dear.”

“I said I’m not in the mood for one of your games,” you pout and cross your arms over your chest. “Why did you leave me in here, all alone? Did you find the monster?”

“I fucked the nuns and gave them a good spanking,” Sam deadpans. “What do you think I did? I kept you safe. The monster wasn’t here. We will find them, though.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“And you are still my whore. My brother can’t have you,” he moves his hand to your throat. “Say it.”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish I would,” he chuckles as you claw at the hand holding your throat in a tight grip. “OR maybe I should remind you of your worth. Turn around, lift your tunic, sister. I want to see your cunt.”

“No.”

“Do it or I swear I’ll drag you out of here and fuck you on the altar like I wanted to,” he warns. You know Sam is not joking. If you don’t do as he says, he’ll drag you out and have his way with you on the altar.

He drops his hand from your throat, smirking as you slowly turn around. You shove the black tunic up your body to reveal your ass to him.

“I hate you so much.”

“No panties,” Sam moves his hand between your legs to find you dripping for him. “you’re such a whore for me. I can’t believe I found someone like you.”

You should knee his balls and just leave him there. Instead, you press your hands against the wooden wall and brace yourself for Sam’s massive cock. He’s not a fan of foreplay when he’s like that.

“My whore.” He runs his large hand over your back, down to your ass. “Look at you, ready to have my cock. I think I’ll go for your ass today.”

You suck in a breath. It’s always a struggle to take him up your ass. Especially when he’s impatient.

“Here?”

“Aw, my little cockslut loves having me up her ass, huh?” His pants drop to the ground before you can even choke out a moan. Sam is on you in a blink. One hand moves between your legs to slap your pussy. “Answer me!”

“YES!”

“Louder!”

“I love your cock up my ass,” he slaps your pussylips again, and again until your tender flesh throbs and you soak his hand. “I want to feel it all the time.”

“Beg me,” he slings his arm around your throat. “Y/N, I’m not asking,” Sam growls in your ear. “I want to hear you beg.”

“Please give me your cock, Father Winchester,” he bends your body to his will and rams himself inside of your leaking cunt.

“Fuck,” Sam is not gentle. All he gives you is his free hand between your legs to toy with your clit. He snaps his hips into your ass, making you cry out with every deep thrust. “I love it when cry a little.”

“Ass-hole,” you press your hands hard against the wooden wall. “I hate you so much.”

Sam doesn’t care about your words, or that you soak his cock only a few thrusts later. He batters your cunt, hoping to force another orgasm out of you to make you see that only he can fulfill your desires.

“You make the sweetest noises when I fuck you,” he nips at your earlobe, teeth sinking in your flesh to tug at it. You moan and push back onto him. Sam knows exactly which buttons he must push to get what he wants. “I’m going to fill this cunt up again.”

You hiss his name when your body sizes up. You tremble in his arms and close your eyes as your orgasm washes over you. When he fucks you like this, from behind you can pretend it’s the real Sam, not the broken version of the hunter.

“You’re such a good slut for me, Y/N. I’ll never let you go,” his words a more threat than a promise. His hips begin to stutter. “Open that pussy for me, take my cum…”

You don’t know how you made it out of the church without getting caught. Sam’s cum ran down your thighs as he dragged you out of the place you stained with your sins.

Back at the motel, you try to make him talk to you. Sam sits across you, just staring at you.

“Sam, we still need to find the monster.” You sigh as he ignores you. “SAM! The monster.”

“It was a hoax,” he shrugs and drops his eyes to your legs. “I wanted to fuck you at a church in a confession booth.”

“There is no monster?” Your jaw drops. “You drove to the middle of nowhere, and forced me to wear a nun costume only for sex.”

“Roleplay, kitten. It’s essential to keep my dick hard.” He watches you squirm on the bed. “Be good and spread your legs. Let me see your tainted cunt.”

“Sam…can you just not be so crass all the time?”

“I said,” he gets up from his seat to stand in front of your bed, “spread your legs and show me your well-fucked and cum stained cunt.”

“Fine,” you fall back onto the bed and spread your legs. “Satisfied.”

“Hmm…I don’t know,” he unbuckles his belt with one hand and shoves his pants down his legs. “I think you need more cum in your pussy…”

“Please tell me you got him out,” Dean looks at Death.

“I got his soul, and we should hurry but,” Death looks Dean straight in the eyes, “I must warn you. This soul got ripped apart, and there is not much left of the brother you knew…

Part 4

#sam winchester #anyfandomgoesbingo #samwinchesterbingo #soulless sam #sam winchester smut #soulless!sam #smut #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #kinktober vs flufftober 2023

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holdinggrudges · 1 month ago

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just know that anytime sam is on screen in that fucking priest getup, this is what we're doing in my head. this is so good omfg #NEEDTHAT

— [ riding Sam in a confessional box ]

"Sweetheart.. you can't be serious." He began, trying to deter you from the thoughts he could practically see dancing around that pretty little devious mind of yours. Already knowing it was too late, the thoughts had taken root, he'd seen it from the moment the two of you changed this morning. Seen the way your eyes lingered for just a fraction too long. Oh no.

You were on a case together, just the two of you. No Dean since it seemed like a pretty standard ghost that seemed to be targetting the parish of a church, simple. You and Sam could handle it by yourselves - which Dean was more than happy to allow because it meant he didn't have to do the whole priest dress-up, which he hated. And it meant he didn't have to third-wheel the pair of you, even better.

Sam, however, looked so fucking good in the priest collar that admittedly you were... distracted. You'd been good though and only allowed yourself to get distracted once the case was over. You deserved some credit, and perhaps a little treat. Right?

Seeing how he looked, how composed and pure was doing a number on you. It had your pussy clenching around nothing. Those eyes of yours were hungry and Sam was all too aware of the mental undressing going down every time those pretty eyes of yours roved over his form.

It didn't take long for you to catch his hand and drag him into the emotional confessional box. It was later into the evening, so there was nobody around, for right now. But the church was still open to the public for a few more hours.

Before he knew it he was all but shoved into the confessional box, his ass making contact with the hard, wooden bench seat as you followed him inside, the door closing behind the pair of you as you settled yourself in his lap.

His mind was swimming as you fumbled about with clothing, the sound of rustling fabric surprisingly loud in the otherwise quiet confessional. He didn't get a chance to protest as he felt your fingers curl around his cock and free him from his pants, making him hiss softly.

"Honey-" He protested, getting cut off as you sank your weight down onto him, your warmth enveloping him completely as you took his entire length in one fluid motion. Watching the way your eyes fluttered in response had him twitching inside you. Dirty girl... His dirty girl.

"You're going to get us- mmph.. caught, baby.." He struggled to stay composed, the way your fluttering walls were clenching around him like a vice, he had to grit his teeth to keep from groaning out as your hips rocked and grinded in a steady motion, riding him like it was your last night on earth, fingers gripping his broad shoulders for support.

He had to be quiet, so quiet. He had to be.

Your fingers gripped his broad shoulders for support and all he could do is toss his head back and try to breathe as you took what you wanted, using his body for your own pleasure.

Your body jolted when his thumb suddenly made contact with your little bundle of nerves, a grunt fell from his lips at the way you clenched around him in response. "There you go, there you go... There's my girl." He whispered thickly as his thumb rubbed your clit with enough pressure to make that coil of warmth pool low in your belly.

With Sam's other hand gripping your hip like it was the only thing keeping him grounded, your body had a mind of its own and before long the telltale signs became unspokenly apparent.

The way he twitched and his breathing stuttered, and the way your walls fluttered as your movements became erratic, like chasing a high you were afraid would elude you. It didn't take long before Sam's hips slammed up into you almost painfully and he had to bury his face into the warmth of your neck to silence himself as he painted your insides pearly white — which was all it took to have your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, erupting around him, thighs trembling on either side of him as your nails bit into his shoulders, no doubt leaving crescent shaped nail makes through the fabric of his black shirt.

"Forgive me Father for I have sinned.." was the last thing Sam heard giggled from your lips before the distant sound of footsteps was enough to have the pair of you scrambling to sort yourselves out and hightail it out of the confessional hand-in-hand before you got caught committing a sin that might not be so easily forgiven.

#grudges recs !#sammy !!#genuinely that priest outfit makes me feral #i need him so bad it's not even funny #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #supernatural #spn #sam winchester

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nightxcreature · 6 months ago

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About Damn Time

A/N: I am certainly not a Sam girl, but I thought that I would try out something for him. Dean is my favorite, the LOML, but I'm trying to expand my horizons when writing, so heres a short one for Sammy. Written fast, edited poorly

Warnings: Drugs...sort of? Forced marriage, unrequited love on one part.

Pairings: Sam Winchester x reader, Dean Winchester x Friend!Reader, Becky Rosen x Sam Winchester

I was nursing a drink at a little strip club in Las Vegas, not exactly the place I wanted to be, but Dean wasn't leaving without hitting up a Vegas club first. He was chatting up the bartender while I sent yet another text to Sam, begging for him to at least tell me he was alive. He had left on a solo hunt a few days ago and we haven't been able to find him since. Dean keeps trying to reassure me that he's fine, but I know he's been messaging him just as much as I have. If not more.

"Hey, he just sent me a text. He's four blocks away and wants me to meet him with a suit." Dean's voice snaps me out of my own head, and I look toward him in confusion.

"Four blocks? I've been texting him all day, why didn't he just tell me that?" I question, mostly to myself.

Dean shrugs and leaves some cash on my table, "Maybe he's just been busy with another hunt. He's probably getting ready to do some fed interviews since he's got me bringing a suit."

I nod and grab my things, following behind him to the door. My phone dings as I get into the front seat, and I scramble to find it.

Sam: Who is this?

Me: What do you mean who is this? It's your girlfriend.

Sam: I don't have a girlfriend, I have a fiancée. Stop texting this number.

Me: Sam, this isn't funny. Dean and I are on our way.

"Dean, I think something's wrong. He's acting like he doesn't know who I am." I say as Dean flies down the street, "Where did he say he was?"

Dean shrugs, "Looks like a wedding chapel. He's probably just posing as a priest or crashing a wedding to get more info."

"But why would he pretend not to know me? He said he's engaged..." I reply placing a hand against my temple, "Something just feels wrong."

"Maybe he's just playing a prank on you. We'll figure it out if he isn't."

______________________________________________________________

As we step into the building the lights flicker causing Dean to send me a cautious look, pulling out our guns we slowly make our way through the hall toward the main chapel. The lights in the main room are bright and I have to put a hand in front of my eyes to adjust to the difference, finally coming to my senses I suck in a quick breath and stop in my tracks. Sam stands at the end of the aisle, a small smile on his face and a carnation boutonniere attached to his suit jacket. The world feels like it's moving in slow motion as he makes his way toward us, grabbing Deans gun and rushing to put it away.

"What are you doing?" He whispers angrily, dragging Dean to the front of the chapel. I slowly follow behind, unsure of exactly what's going on and where I should stand.

"What am I doing? What are you doing?" Dean asks, shoving Sam's hands off his arm, "Are we crashing a monster wedding or something?"

Sam reaches over and grabs another carnation, pining it to Dean's jacket and handing me a bouquet, "What? No! I'm in love."

Dean glances my way, a curious glint in his eye, "Oh really? Who could've guessed?"

I giggle and place a hand on Sam's arm, "Listen, maybe we should talk about this first."

He sends a funny look my way and stands up straighter, "Why? I know it's a little quick, but I'm in love. I know what I want and it's to get married. Today."

A look of shock passes my face, we hadn't even said 'I love you' yet. I mean, obviously I do love him, he's the sweetest guy I've ever known, but marriage? We don't exactly live a life that allows that most of the time.

"Maybe we should talk about this more in depth first."

"No. I know what I want." He says curtly, his frown immediately flipping upside down when the wedding march begins, and I hear the chapel doors swing open.

"What. The. Fuck." Dean lets out, grabbing my shoulders and spinning me toward the door.

Becky Rosen, the biggest Supernatural fan alive, is slowly making her way down the aisle to my boyfriend.

"What the fuck is right." I whisper, "Sam, what the hell is going on?"

"I love her." He answers simply.

"No, you don't." Dean says, yanking him back from the Elvis impersonator at the end of the aisle, "You've lost your mind."

"No, I haven't! We ran into each other, talked for a while, and I realized that I'm in love." Sam angrily responds as Dean shoves him into a pew.

He turns and points toward Becky and then at the pew in front of him, "You, sit. Now." Becky nods quickly and sits beside Sam, keeping a little space between them that Sam quickly closes pulling her closer, "Let her go, you don't love her. You love her!" Dean yells, pointing between Becky and me.

"I don't even know her!" Sam yells back, pulling Becky closer into his side as she giggles, "Becky is the love of my life."

I roll my eyes, "Are you sure she didn't poison you? This isn't the first time she's tried to get you into her bed."

Becky scoffs, "He loves me, didn't you hear him? I know that must be hard to accept, but it's true."

"Yeah, right." I nod, "Sam, you can't marry her. You don't even know her."

"I already did."

"What?" Dean and I question in unison.

Becky's smile grows even wider, "The ceremony is just for pictures, we signed the papers before you got here."

As she finishes her sentence, Elvis waltzes back up with the bill and Becky stands to follow him. Sam kisses her before she leaves, and I almost throw up.

"Dude, could you stop?" Dean suggests, "This could all be something written by Chuck. We need to figure that out before you go off with your new...wife." He sends me an apologetic look and then turns back to Sam,

"Chuck has nothing to do with this. I'm going back to Delaware with my wife, just be happy for me." Sam stands as Becky reenters the room and they head out the door for their...honeymoon.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I lay in the motel room alone while Dean is snooping at Becky's under the guise of bringing a gift. He suggested I stay back saying that he doesn't want to cause any problems for the happy couple, but I know that he really just wants to save me the anger and pain of seeing Sam with someone else. How does this even happen? I grab my laptop and click on my search engine, typing in anything that could give us insight into what's going on. Suddenly, Dean bursts through the door with Sam leaning against him and a smaller guy on their heels.

I Jump up from the bed and rush toward them, running my hands over Sam's face as he slowly blinks into consciousness, "What's going on? Is he okay?"

"Demons. He's fine, just tired. Becky was loading him up with some purple potion every day." Dean says as he grabs a beer from the fridge.

Sam reaches over and grabs my hand from where I placed it on the table beside him. He tugs me closer and leans against my chest, "Hey." He whispers quietly.

"Hi."

He sheepishly smiles as he looks up at my face, "Sorry that I forgot who you are."

I giggle and place a hand on his cheek, "You were drugged, I can't hold it against you. Just make sure it's me that you're meeting at the end of the aisle next time, ok?"

He chuckles and stretches up to kiss my lips, "Sounds good to me."

I stop short from touching his lips and smile, "Are you still married? I'm not comfortable being the cause for your infidelity."

He returns my smile and pulls my lips to his in a soft kiss before saying, "I signed the papers before we came up. You're no longer the other woman." He kisses me again and runs a hand through my hair, "I did realize something through all of this though."

"Yeah? Whats that?" I inquire, an eyebrow raised.

"Have I ever told you that I love you?" He asks quickly, a shy blush rising in his cheeks.

"No, but you can."

"I love you." He whispers as he places his lips on mine again, "I really, really do."

"I love you, too." I return, smiling against his lips.

A slow clap begins behind us as Dean steps out of the bathroom, "It's about damn time."

A/N: I said this would be short, but it is not. My bad. Love you guys!

Tag List:

@lmhf1

#spn fanfic #supernatural #spnfandom #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x female!reader #dean winchester #sam and dean #sam winchester x you

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little-diable · 2 years ago

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Sins, desires, longings - Dean Winchester (smut)

A big thank you to @deathofpeaceofmind for inspiring this! This came to us as I shared the lyrics of the song "No Mercy" by Austin Giorgio. This could have a part two? Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Dean thinks Sam is dead, hence why he tries to rip himself free from his old life, which means leaving (y/n) behind. But as he hides away in a church, slipping into the role of a priest, he keeps committing sins. Or: pwp

Warnings: 18+, piv smut, jerking off, religious connotations, priest!Dean, pretty much pwp

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (1.6k words)

The sound of his boots meeting the ground echoed through the cold church, echoing off the walls like the cries of those burying Jesus had echoed through the afternoon air. With his forest green eyes focused on the altar, Dead dropped to his knees, making a cross sign with two fingers before he clasped his hands together.

His eyes fluttered close, speaking a prayer he had learned a few days ago, trying to swallow down the thoughts welling up in his mind, wanting to drown him like the waves Moses had parted had tried to do. Dean had to focus on the words that left him, rolling off his tongue all too easily.

It was a strange sight, a sight so foreign that those who have once crossed paths with the hunter wouldn’t believe their own eyes. Without opening his eyes, Dean’s hand began to move up his chest, finding the rosary dangling from his neck. Slowly he grasped the pearls, wooden beads that took his mind off the prayer he should focus on.

“Dean.” She whispered his name, eyes rolling back into her head as his tongue found its way to her inner thighs, smirking against her skin. Once again (y/n) called out his name, arching her back off the mattress, giving into the strong feeling. With his tongue pressing against her arousal covered folds, his fingers started moving, circling her pulsing bundle.

“Mhm, tastes so sweet, darling.” The praise made her gasp, unable to bite down her moans. He had her trapped, was still wearing the collar around his neck, was still wearing the rosary dangling from his neck - perfectly taking on the role of a priest.

Another hunt had lured them into this town, forcing the two to act as people they have never wanted to be. And yet the two of them found their joy in tricking those that were too oblivious for their own good.

“Fuck, don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

“Dean, there you are!” John’s voice ripped Dean out of his flashback, having to clear his throat as he tried to forget the memory he had just been forced to live through once again. The elderly priest came to a halt next to Dean’s kneeling frame, waiting for the younger man to rise to his feet. “How are we feeling today? Are you ready for our service?”

“I’m getting there, thank you, John.” Dean had lost count on the days flashing past ever since Sam’s death, days that had a dark touch to them, forcing the older Winchester brother to leave his old life behind, to leave his memories behind, to leave her behind. Her. The woman who owned his heart, the woman he had unleashed his anger upon as he worked through Sam’s death.

Dean had decided to run, had left all his things behind – besides Baby – had decided to join a church he had known for years, begging the priest that knew him better than others to take him in. And now he was here, living a life he had once made fun of, a calm life that focused on prayers, on services, on those in need. But perhaps this life wasn’t as different as the one he had lead weeks ago, set on helping those that needed him.

“It always takes its time, and that is alright, Dean. God is good, he wants to give you time to grieve.” John’s words forced tears to well up in Dean’s green eyes, forced to choke on the knot growing in his throat, unable to reply. His body was trembling, forced into another memory he had tried to bury six feet under.

“Fuck, I love you, I love you so much, sweetheart.” Dean’s pants filled Baby, eyes set on (y/n)‘s pleasure drunken features. He fucked her into the backseat, no longer caring if his tight grasp was leaving marks on the leather fabric. She was everything Dean could focus on, the sweetest temptation known to humankind.

"Never let me go, Dean, promise me.” (Y/n) whispered her words, eyes momentarily focusing on Dean’s wide ones. She saw him swallow, collecting enough air to murmur a soft though clear “I promise”.

“I don’t know John, it feels like I’m clinging to things I can’t let go. I don’t have the strength to.” Dean averted his gaze in shame, fumbling with the fingers that have once searched for her, needing to feel her close. He could still hear the angry words she had spoken, the fight the two had been trapped in, a fight that had given Dean the final push, disappearing in the middle of the night.

He had left behind a note for her to find, a simple “I’m sorry, I will always love you”. Nothing more, nothing less. By now he deeply regretted the way they’ve parted, or at least how he had parted from her, Dean could only hope that she’d be able to make her peace with it, someday at least.

“Time will heal your wounds, Dean. Allow God to guide you, put your trust in him.”

……

Dean’s gasps and moans echoed through his small room, he had his head thrown back against the thin pillow, hand wrapped around his twitching cock. Her name rolled off his tongue, a sound so strong, a sound so emotional, Dean could only hope the others living in the rooms close by won’t hear him.

His hand moved with quick strokes, needing to chase the high he had been aching for for days. It was wrong - at least that’s what he’s been told - he was committing another sin, and yet Dean couldn’t care about the punishment that may eventually follow. In this very moment Dean couldn’t care about crossing paths with the Devil, or at least the one those surrounding him were fearing, he had played this game for too long, he knew what was awaiting him, eventually.

“Dean, look at me.” He was forced to lift his gaze, bloodshot eyes meeting her worried ones. (Y/n) sat down next to him, reaching for the bottle of beer he kept clinging to as if he was scared to lose yet another thing. Dean tried to protest, but he was interrupted by the clicking of her tongue, eyes snapping close once again. “Look at me, please.”

No words left him as he finally looked at her, (y/n), the one who owned his heart, his closest friend, his most trustworthy companion. Slowly she cupped his cheek, thumb running over his skin, tracing the freckles that reminded her of stars covering the night sky, a sight so beautiful she’d always stop to marvel at him.

“What can I do? Anything you want, you need.” His teeth sank into his lower lip, eyes once again fluttering close as he reached for her wrist, pulling her into his lap. (Y/n) didn’t dare speak up, allowing Dean to take what he needed, lips finding hers all too forcefully, leaving her gasping. He tasted of beer, of sadness, of pain. Dean rose to his feet with (y/n) clinging to him, forcing her down on the table, pushing her back.

Her gasps drowned out Dean’s low groans, undoing his belt, freeing his hardening cock. No further warning was spoken as he shuffled her shirt up to her waist, pulling her panties aside. Their eyes met again, a silent question being shared between them, waiting for her consent.

(Y/n) pulled him in for another teeth-clashing kiss, freeing yet another groan bubbling out of them. He parted from her to spit into his hand, lubing his cock up before he pushed into her. Both moaned in unison, set on chasing their highs, set on pushing one another over the edge with no mercy.

Dean ripped his eyes wide open seconds before he came, ripped from the flashback like those that have grieved for Jesus’ death, reliving their last moments with their saviour. Sweat pearled on Dean’s forehead, sweat that rolled down his forehead like the red blood that had once dripped from four nails, forced through skin and wood. He choked on (y/n)’s name, painting his hands and stomach white as he came, lazily pumping his cock a few more times.

“Fuck,” Dean murmured the curse, forcing a few deep breaths into his lungs before he rose to his feet, slowly cleaning himself up. He was heavily breathing, still hung up on the memories that have forced themselves into his brain, flashing before his eyes like lightning striking the dark sky.

His eyes found the wooden rosary placed on his desk, next to the white collar he was now wearing on a daily basis. Dean moved closer, slowly picking up the rosary as his doubts came flooding back through his system. He should have spoken to her, should have explained his every fear to (y/n), but he hadn’t, he had kept his mouth shut – like a scared boy.

The sound of somebody knocking on the wooden door leading to his room forced his green eyes to snap towards the door. He cleared his throat, reaching for a shirt before he walked closer. Slowly Dean pulled the door open, freezing as his eyes fell onto two pairs of all too familiar eyes.

“Sam? (Y/n)?”

#Dean Winchester smut #Dean Winchester imagine #Dean Winchester x reader #supernatural smut

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shamrockqueen · 10 days ago

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Fic Recs (All works 18+)

Snap shot by @shellshocklove

(Logan Howlett x Reader making a sexy video) ❤️

Savage Bonds by @foreverdolly

(Feyd Rautha x Atreides Reader) ❤️❤️

Never gonna give you up by @psycheetamore and @austinbutlerslovers

(Feyd Rautha X reader) ❤️

Who’s the boss? By @darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor

(Boss Lloyd Hansen x Assistant Reader) ❤️

The Oath by @thecleverdame

(Conqueror Alpha Sam Winchester X Princess Reader) ❤️❤️

The paramour by @historygeekfics

(Sub Knight Bucky x Noblewoman Reader) ❤️

AO3 Recs

Priest!Bucky Writings by bucky_barnes_diaries (self explanatory) ❤️❤️

Through Every Forest By TheIceniBitch (Alpha Curtis Everett X Omega Reader) ❤️❤️

Blood and Honey (fugitives Alpha Sam and Dean Winchester x Omega reader) and Swept away (It’s a wonderful Life AU Alpha Sam x Omega Reader) by @kittenofdoomage - They do a lot of great ABO ❤️❤️

The Mortal Flaws Series by @wolveria (Human Rk800, Rk800-60, and Rk900 x an Android Reader) ❤️

Unholy by beskars (Sith Obi Wan Kenobi x Reader) ❤️❤️

The Locked door by guardianangelcas (Virgin Obi Wan Kenobi x Force sensitive Reader) ❤️❤️

Ready By LadyLaumes (Bane X Reader) ❤️❤️

Hearts?

❤️ = I’ve only read it once but it lives rent free in my brain and haunts my naughtiest of thoughts.

❤️❤️ = I’ve read it multiple times and Continue to Go back to it time and time again.

#fic rec #Fic recs #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfics #multifandom #Star Wars fics #bane fics #bane #chris evans characters #smut #sebastian stan characters #Bucky Barnes #fanfic recommendation #Fanfic recommendations #Fanfic recs #fanfic rec #fanfiction recommendation #fanfiction rec list

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bluemerakis · 1 month ago

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we are faring with the priest!sam 🕺🕺 bc the jp obsession is real rn

yall wanna peek inside my drafts…

- beau arlen x detective!reader oneshot slowburn to sex c time

- beau arlen x cowgirl!reader series (i said the forbidden s word good gawd scary 🥶—i have had cowgirl!reader’s finished moodboard in my drafts since beginning jan but i’ve been a pussy about releasing it 🤞)

- priest!sam winchester x reader one shot

- professor!ben x reader one shot w potential drabbles

- munch!soldier boy, munch!dean winchester &munch!beau arlen x reader req oneshot

- dean winchester x virgin!reader req slowburn one shot

- dean winchester x stripper!reader req one shot

- soldier boy & dean winchester x reader req one shot

- singer!soldier boy x reader one shot

- soldier boy x vought!exec!daughter pt 2 req

- soldier boy x fem!supe!reader pt 3 of my mini-series

- post-hell!sam winchester x reader one shot

- priest!dean winchester x reader one shot req

- meg!sam winchester x reader one shot

- soldier boy x fangirl!reader req slowburn one shot

- dean winchester x reader time travel LENGTHY ANGSTY one shot that’s gonna break you all

somebody please hold me at gunpoint to finish these 😭💔 they’ve all been started but it’s continuing/wrapping them up like if i have the time i do not have the energy and if i have the energy i do not have the time and it sucks harder than i would jensen ackles

#mera talks .ᐟ 𝜗𝜚 ⋆. ˚#sam winchester #priest .ᐟ sam winchester #priest .ᐟ sam winchester x reader #sam winchetser x reader #sam winchester x you #supernatural #jared padalecki

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shelbgrey · 2 years ago

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Hello 👋

If you’re still talking requests, Can I request 16 and 21 for Egon Spengler please ?

Hold on, I love you (Egon spengler)

Paring: Egon spengler x Fem!Reader

Summary: Egon and y/n have never had the guts to admit their feelings in fear of ruining the friendship that's dear to them, but why dose it take an accident during a call for him to tell y/n he loves her.

A/n: jeez, I write one original flash-fic in my creative writing class and I re-enter my Angst era. This is lossly based off one of my assignments in creative writing. And this is way longer than I anticipated, I just sorta blacked out and had this, the beginning sucks but it gets better, I promise.

Prompts:

1.6) “I need to know if it's possible that two people can stay happy together forever.” - “in my opinion, the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are”

2.1) “i love you in every universe”

MasterList

Egon was a man of little words most of the time, it never bothered him or his friends. That was until y/n showed up, she was the younger cousin of Peter Venkman. Unlike her older cousin she was very soft spoken, happy, and the kindest person any of the Ghostbusters ever met. She also knew a butt load of supernatural stuff so there was no question about it when she joined the team.

When she joined she was immediately welcomed with open arms and it was as if she was there from the very beginning, she soon found a best friend in Ray and Winston.

What the team would have never anticipated was the life that she awoke in Egon, the two bonded over science and snacks and soon the two were glued to the hip. Peter had a hay day with that. Egon just seemed more happier and less robotic when she was around. Then it seemed everyone knew they liked each other except the two of them.

They would sneak loving glances at one another and Peter or Winston would always catch them. Then it just became something the team had to ride through, the bet they all set wasn't even fun anymore.

Fast forward to today, it's a normal day at the firehouse. Of course the day starts off with the gentle smiles and glances between y/n and Egon or as Peter puts it 'their mind numbing mating ritual.

Anyway, what the team called normal was not even getting through breakfast before they were called in a case. The call wasn't totally unusual but after y/n did her usual 'Sam Winchester' research hour they anticipated the poltergeist isn't like anything they dealt with before, sure poltergeists weren't unusual but this one might be more powerful and be classified as a vengeful spirit.

The call was from a real estate company. They were trying to sell an old mansion just outside of New York but when they went to clean and remodel they ran into the poltergeist. They were apparently threatened with a lawsuit if they didn't get rid of the ghost.

~~~~~~~~(1st pov)~~~~~~~~

“this poltergeist is a lot more powerful than what we dealt with before so be careful everyone…” Egon said climbing out of Ecto-1, Peter clapped his hands together and rubbed them together like a villain would in a poorly made cartoon. “ooh, I like them feisty”

I rolled my eyes as I let a chuckle slip past my lips “and please for the love of God don't tease the ghost” I said unloading my protonpack.

Peter slapped his hand over his heart, acting offended. “Miss. L/n, how dare you accuse me of such accusations… I Do not do that”

“oh yeah, remember what happened last call?” Winston said.

“yeah, like when you said you were gonna pretend to be a priest” I said with my fist on my hip.

“and quoted the exorcist a dozen times” Ray added.

“not my fault Casper didn't want to talk about JC”

Peter walked in front of us and stared down the dark hallway “don't piss the ghost off too much pete” I mumbled as I scanned the area with my EMF meter.

Peter gave me a cheeky grin and turned to the back of the dark room. “Oh, boy!” he hollered. “I'm sooo lost, I hope there isn't some ancient supernatural poltergeist that could possibly gobble my sexy body here”

“really?” Winston asked with a crooked eyebrow.

“it amazes me you have a wife” I added with a chuckle as Egon strung some kinda trip wire, It would act similar to a salt circle.

The dark Hallway rumbled and hissed. Peter smirked again. “Come on Honey, don't be shy!” The pitch black hallway rumbled and shook as the poltergeist charged forward, it stood ten feet tall and had a black hooded-roab that covered its unnatural form. It also had four red eyes and sharp claws. When is snarled you cold see dozens of sharp teeth covered in saliva and blood.

The poltergeist tried to charge at Peter with its claws but it was whipped back due to the proton-line Egon set up. Peter snorted and covered his laugh with his hand as the poltergeist floated around angry.

“Change of plans honey, you ain't snakin' on me” Peter joked then looked over his shoulder at us. “I'm just too handsome to be eaten”

Before he could turn back around the poltergeist coughed up a chunk of slime, Peter quickly dodged it, preventing days of scrubbing slime out of his hair. “ha, not today sucker!”

Peter started laughing, the rest of us just rolled our eyes and turned on the protonpack. “stay behind us,” Egon said to me. I rolled my eyes, I knew he was just trying to protect me(along with the rest of the boys) but it got annoying sometimes.

“Peter, just release the line,” Winston said, pointing his gun towards the poltergeist.

Peter nodded as his laughter died down. “Okay, okay, look alive soldiers!”

Peter and Winston quickly got their proton streams knotted around the poltergeist with a perfect ame. The poltergeist shrieked and yelled as it lunged at Ray, baring its bloody teeth. Ray quickly dodges the hit, as he falls on his back he turns the gun to full power.

Peter started singing 'why can't we be friends' under his breath while he leaned back, trying to control the poltergeist's movement. “Almost got it” Winston added with a grunt as he and Egon shielded the way that led to my direction, I quickly turned mine. Now all five streams were tangled on the poltergeist.

“N/n, get the trap!” Winston shouted, I turned my gun off and went after it. I got it and sat on the ground before sliding it on the ground to the boys.

Just seconds later the poltergeist breaks free from the stream and rushes towards Ray and Peter, they both immediately ducked, making the poltergeist miss them. Ray jumped back to his feet and pulled out one of the hand held proton guns and shot the poltergeist as it charged towards my direction.

The poltergeist shrieks and flies around like the Tasmanian devil. It pushes through the pain and lunges out of the stream before charging at me, claws bared. I pulled out the same gun Ray used, before I could pull the trigger the poltergeist’s huge claws slash down missing me just by a hair after I quickly dodged it. The poltergeist swang again and this time it left four brutal gashes from my right breast down to my stomach, these scratches were deep and painful, it made me gag. I felt the blood leak out at a thicker pace, the nauseating pain shouts through my entire anatomy. The sight of four diagonal gashes on my jumpsuit nearly knocks me over in a fit of panic.

“y/n!” I heard Egon shout, I coughed due to the taste of blood and felt my knees buckle. Before I could hit the broken tile floor Egon caught me.

“OVER HERE YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Peter shouted, the poltergeist wiped around with a hiss and charged towards Peter and Winston, claws out.

—(3rd pov)---

“Egon” she coughed, she desperately tried to swallow and clear the irony taste of blood on her tongue. Egon felt her gentle hands weakly cling to him as he sank to the ground, he fell to his knees and held her in his lap. Egon felt his throat constrict, every organ in his stomach twist and turned, he was unable to breathe as he stared at her battered body.

“she's loosing too much blood, control the bleeding” his mind races. There's so much blood and she's dying, no he couldn't think like that.

The poltergeist turns its attention to Peter in the distance, as Egon puts pressure on her cuts. His panic only ensues as the blood wouldn't let up, his freezes as she locks eyes with him.

“Egon…” she reached up and placed her hand on his cheek, it limply slid down smearing a red hand print on his cheek.

“Shh… Just stay with me, please” he said, stumbling over his words as he ripped the fabric of your pants leg to keep the blood from flowing out of the wounds.

The blood kept flowing and this time he didn't know what to do, he was now absolutely immobilized with fear.

“Ray!” Egon shouts. “Ray, help me!” Ray whips around, his eyes widened as he sees his best friend bleeding out in Egon's arms. Ray sprints over to them and drops to his knees. “Oh God, y-you're gonna be okay N/n, okay” He said placing his hand on her cheek then quickly grabbing the first-aid kit that was strapped to his proton pack, they added it years ago after Peter almost got castrated by class IV spirit.

Ray quickly tears open a package of gause with his teeth and places it over her chest. “Okay, I'm gonna lift her up and you need to wrap her. '' Ray looked up and saw Egon trembling and not moving, Ray pushed his shoulder while he fought his own tears. “Egon! She needs you right now”

Egon quickly shook his head and fumbled with the med-tape, Ray gently lifted her torso up while her arms limply held on to his neck. Egon tries desperately to concentrate enough as he wraps med-tape around her torso tightly.

Ray looked up, shaking his head desperately. “W-we need to call 911, this isn't gonna help her”

“Hey, Darling, I need you to stay with us. Stay with me,” His voice quivers with fear as he tightens the wrap on her chest, after he was done Ray gently layed her back in Egon's lap. “You’re gonna be alright. Just keep breathing.”

The three are drenched in her blood, Egon looks down and gulps when he sees that his hands are nothing but pure red from her blood. Everything Is drenched in her blood, Ray's jumpsuit, Egon's entire body, everything was just red.

In the distance, Peter and Winston are fighting the poltergeist. Winston stepped back and whipped the stream back to try and weaken the ghost, for a split second Winston wondered where the rest of his team was. He made the mistake and looked back.

“Y/N!” he shouted in anguish. Just out of instinct and pure love for the girl he dropped the stream and ran to her.

“oh my god” he placed his hand over his mouth when he saw all the blood. His stomach couldn't take it and he turned away and vomited out everything he had in his stomach.

“Winston, get on the radio and call for an ambulance” Ray said in a shaky voice, Winston wiped his mouth and ran out to Ecto-1. You could hear his voice from the distance and as he barked orders with a shaky voice. He came running back into the building seconds later.

“we got about 30 minutes give or take” Winston said as his nausea came bubbling back at the sight over drenched in red and unresponsive.

“GOD DAMMIT! WHERE ARE IDIOTS DOING!” Peter shouted over the proton stream and the screams of the poltergeist, he was totally unaware of the bloodbath the woman he considered a sister was setting in.

The screams of the poltergeist only got louder but Peter had no problem shouting over them in anger. “WINSTON! QUIT JERKING OFF AND GET OVER HERE!”

Winston did snap out of it and the nausea was replaced by pure rage. “this just got personal you bastard” he was at Peter's side in seconds turning his proton pack back on.

Peter tosses the trap under the area the poltergeist was floating and jerking around.

Their streams knotted around the thrashing ghost, struggling to contain it as Peter avoids looking in there direction, deep down he knew something was wrong but he was too pissed because he was ditched.

“Egon! Guys! Snap out of it, bud! I really need your help here!” Peter and Winston were both drenched in sweat and slime as they started to lose their balance.

“YOU GO STRAIGHT BACK TO HELL YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Winston yelled as his boots started sliding across the concrete.

“Damit! Hang on Winny” Peter said, pulling his arms back but the poltergeist jumped back, pulling harder.

“Goddamnit! Spengler! Ray! get off your asses and help!” Peter shouted, he was still oblivious to what was going on in the distance.

Egon's watery eyes darted up and stared at Peter and Winston. Egon stayed completely still, eyes wide and fearful as his big brain refused to process what Peter was saying.

As Winston ramps up his stream to full power light cast over everything, Peter looked over his shoulder about to yell at Egon and Ray but his words got caught in his throat when the light of the proton stream shined on Egon and Y/n.

“You gotta be shitting me” Peter grunts and slams his foot on the trigger pedal, then yanks the weakened ghost towards the glowing trap. The poltergeist shrieks in pain as it's sucked in and the ghost disappears.

The trap shuts and Winston drops his gun immediately, he runs back to Egon, Ray, and y/n. “Oh God, honey” he whispered as he took her limp hand.

Winston tried to take her into his arms but Egon just shot him a treating look and held her tighter. Peter was still trying to catch his breath, he was dubbed over with his hands on his knees. He breathed in and out until his lungs were ready for him to function correctly, he set up straight and looked towards his team.

He felt nothing but fear and anger when he saw her. His jaw clenched. “DAMIT” He shouts and kicks the trap across the asphalt. It clatters along the ground and crashes into the brick wall, he's lucky it didn't shatter everywhere.

Tears pricked his eyes as he got down on one knee next to Egon, like Winston he reached for the girl. Egon flinched back and held her closer still trying to stop the bleeding. Damn… She's lost so much.

“You touch her, I'll kill you” he said with tears streaming down his face. “this is all my fault” he sobbed into her hair.

For a moment Peter stood there shocked, he's never seen the doctor cry. Hell he's never seen Egon show any type of emotion until y/n showed up into their lives.

Egon only cried harder when the sounds of sirens was heard and ambulance lights flashed through the broken windows.

“We got you Honey” Winston whispered as he, and the other three boys gently lifted her up and met the paramedics outside.

The paramedics drove off seconds later driving like a bat out of hell trying to get to the hospital. When the sirens died down Peter felt his anger bubble over like an over filled boiling pot, hot and aggressive. He turns to

He then turns to Egon and seizes Egon by the lapels of his jumpsuit. Despite the Height difference, Peter was able to harshly slam the taller man into the side of the mansion. Egon winced in pain when his back hit the brick wall. Sure it hurt, but it wasn't as painful as it was to see y/n covered in blood. “What the fuck is your problem?! Huh?! Do you want her to die! Is that what you want!” Peter shouted as he jerked Egon forward and slammed him into the wall again, his glass fell lose hanging down on tip of his nose.

“Peter” Ray croaked out, he was ignored while Peter let out all his anger.

“You love her huh?! Could have fooled me. You just let that damn thing destroy her insides!” he threw a punch this time, Egon fell to the ground as Winston and Ray pulled them away from each other. Egon sinks to the ground. His throat constricts, he's unable to breathe as tonight events flashed in his mind on repeat.

“It's no one's fault!” Ray shouted as he placed his hand on Peter's chest and pushed him backwards. “Tonight was an accident! A terrible, terrible accident!”

“Do you think she would have wanted us to tear each other apart over her?” Winston asked, kneeling down to help Egon up. “I could have happened to any of us”

Peter clenched his fist. “but it's not supposed to happen to her! Our job is not only to get rid of the ghost but to keep her safe too!”

Tears spill down Peter’s face as his rage melts into pure sorrow and he falls to his knees next to Ray. Peter screws his eyes shut as he busts into uncontrollable sobs, Ray put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

After the team got done grieving and losing their shit, they loaded Ecto-1 up. Egon was silently sitting on the curb, back to his usual unemotional self. It killed Ray to see him so blank again, but then again he could see every ounce of pain that Egon was feeling.

Ray came up to egon and smiled softly. “I got a call from one of the nurses, y/n is still in surgery but they have high hopes she'll pull through… she had a blood transfusion too”

Egon didn't say anything, only slightly nodded and picked at the fabric of his jumpsuit. Ray sighed and rubbed his shoulder. “let's get cleaned up and we'll go see her”

Egon didn't move, Ray sighed and tugged him up. “come on buddy”

As Ray lifed egon up a pair of head lights appeared, it was Dana. Ray smiled at her softly as she got out of the car quietly, Oscar was fast asleep on his car seat.

“oh no” she whispered. Ray didn't say anything and told her to take Peter back to their apartment.

Dana silently and gently got Peter in the back seat of her car, he immediately gave Oscar and gentle hug and kiss his forehead. Dana shut the door and pulled Ray and Egon into a tight hug, not caring they were covered in blood and filth.

“get home safe and keep me updated with Y/n” she whispered and kissed Egon on the cheek. She got in the car and took her boys home. Winston sighed and walked over to be with his friends. “everything is loaded up”

Ray sighed and rubbed his forehead, it's been and long night and he never wants to live anything similar to this in the future at any given moment. He gripped Egon's shoulder and the three piled into Ecto-1 without another word, Winston drove since he was the only one who felt 'okay' to drive at the moment.

~at the Firehouse~

When the boys got home they silently put their equipment away and separated, Winston grabed his car keys and started his journey to the hospital while Egon and Ray went upstairs to clean up.

As Egon walked through the pitch black bedroom he couldn't help but brush his fingers over the bed she slept in, it was the nicest in the room, draped in soft blankets and fluffy pillows. It was always made nice and had a panda bear plushie Ray gave her long ago.

Egon let out a tired sigh and continued his journey to the shower room, since their home was an old fire house there was dozen shower heads in the room and they all had privacy cubicles and harsh forlecent lights.

Egon looked down at studyed his curnt state, covered in the blood of the woman he loves, he continues to question himself why he didn't just tell her when he had the chance. Egon agressevelly tries to break free of confines of the jumpsuit, it felt too constricting now. He ripped it off, breaking the zipper in the process.

Egon slames the ruby stained clothing to the bottom of the trash can, jumpsuit and all, and turns on the shower to it's hottest Temperature. After taking off his bent up glasses, he steps in and watches the first layer her blood run off of his body and fall down the drain. He opens his eyes and staired at his hands, the blood was still there. His chest heaves in panic as he scrubbed his hands raw. They were a hint of pink from the blood and so was his chest, he couldn't get the blood off. Dispite the scolding water a shiver went down his spine as he slumped against the cubicle wall.

“the blood…” he croaked out to Ray after he got out of the shower, he stood in front of Ray holding his shaky hands out infront of him. Ray looked up and saw his pink hands and since egon only put a pair of pajama pants on he saw his chest was stained with blood as well. “it won't come off Ray”

Ray didn't know what to say, he stood up and gave him a hug. “you should get some rest” he whispered, Egon flinched out of his arms and looked at Ray like he had three heads. “We're supposed go to the hospital”

Ray took a deep breath. “Egon your exhausted, scared… I promise we'll go in the morning, Winston is in the hospital waiting room as we speak”

Egon didn't protest so Ray went to take his turn in the shower. “I need to know if it's possible that two people can stay happy together forever.” Egon said softly.

Ray turned around and shrugged, he gave him a serious look and said, “in my opinion, the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are”

Egon nodded soulfully, “I just wish I had the brain capacity to tell her I loved her”

“It's not about brain capacity, but if you ask me y/n loves you for who you are” Ray said as he left to take his shower Egon's eyes trailed back to y/n's bed. The warmth of it and hint of her perfume beckoned him over. He silently crawled under her soft blankets and holds her stuffed bear to his chest. He buried his face into it and let the tears fall freely when her sent fully engolfed him.

He felt so exhausted but couldn't bring himself to go to sleep. Instead, he stares blankly at her night stand. It was small and neatly cluttered, it had small desk lamp she painted flowers on it and copy of The Outsiders and To kill a mockingbird. Next to the novels was a small picture frame that held a photo with all five of them. In the photo they were all standing infront of Ecto-1, y/n was setting on the hood while Ray and Egon set on either side of her. She hand her arms around the both of them while Peter stood next to Ray holding up devil horns and Winston stood next to Egon with his big goofy smile. Those boys ment everything to her.

Even with all the joyful things on her desk he could be looking at, his eyes just stared at the red telaphone was was in the open nightstand drawer, he waited for a call.. A call from anyone to tell him she was okay. He didn't know when he fell asleep, but when his eyes closed they didn't opened back up. When Ray got out of the shower(blood stained like Egon) Egon was fast asleep.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

It was barely 6 o'clock in the morning when Egon woke Ray up so they could go to the hospital. Sun was barely up when Ecto-1 drove down the partly empty street, the city wasn't even awake yet. The car was completely silent, the only sounds was Ray's loud yawns as he silently drove down the street.

Egon just wanted to see you, the hospital probably wasn't even opened yet but that didn't matter. By the time the hospital comes into view, the sky was a mixture of purples and orange as the sun slowly peaked from behind the tall buildings of new York.

The two men were completely ignored when the walked into the hospital, the nurse who was at the front desk let them pass by as she fought to stay awake during her shift. The two men went into the waiting room and saw Winston and Peter fast asleep, they were both in the uncomfortable chairs snoring away. Winston had his arms crossed over his chest and his legs were propped up on the tiny coffee table, Peter had his head tilted back and was using his coat as a blanket.

“I'm gonna find y/n's room” Egon said bluntly and left Ray with the snoring men, Ray sighed and just slumped on the couch that felt like it was made of bricks and plastic, it didn't matter how uncomfortable it was because he was out like a light again.

Egon walked down the quiet hallway, it was deserted and there was no night shifters in sight to kick him out. He didn't relize how nervous he was until his hands touched the door knob of her room, his fingers flinched away as he feared the worst. He didn't want to see her all battered up with wires sticking out of her, he only hope she was just resting peaceful on the other side of the door.

He gently knocked and peaked behind the door, he sighed when he saw her peaceful sleeping with a dopey Black dog plushie. Winston got it for her no doubt. Not wanting to wake her, he silently pulled a chair next to her bed the pulled her cold hand to his lips, he kissed it softly then gently held it.

Y/n shifted softly, the sudden movement make Egon fully alert.

“hi…” she smiled softly, he sighed in relief and rested his forehead on her leg. She tilted her head and gently brushed her cold fingers through his curls, the contact made his wall suddenly crumble. Tears of both gult and relief soaked her blanket. “I'm sorry… S-so sorry”

“Eggie… It's okay… Egon Everything is okay now” she cood. It was the first time ever she's seen him cry and she held no judgment. The only judgment was the one he was pushing on himself. “this is all my fault… I'm sorry”

“it's not your fault Egon…We're both safe now” y/n rested her hand on his cheek and he immediately nuzzled his face closer basking In her touch. His hand rested on top of hers and kissed her palm. “I love you”

The statement took her by surprise, but she wasn't disappointed. Egon didn't know how long she's been waiting to hear that and if she wasn't hurting and looking like a Freddy Kruger victim, she's be jumping into his arms or dancing around.

She smiled and pulled him closer, he got the message and leaned over to her making sure he didn't put any of his wight on her aching body. Their lips brushed up against each and this time there was no interruptions. The kiss was so gentle and held so much passion, he kissed her like it was the last time he'd every be able to do it. He pulled away and rested his forehead on hers.

She smiled softly. “I love you in every universe”

#Egon spengler #egon spengler x reader #Egon spengler imagines #harold ramis #Ghostbusters imagines #Ghostbusters x reader #80s

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