#sam reader insert

[godmadeaterribleerror]

I'll Crawl Home

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, memory loss, angst, pining (unrequited love but not really), smut (blowjob, fingering, p in v sex, creampie), love confessions, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: You don't know who these men are, but they seem to know you. Your body seems to like the Handsome one a lot. But the more you manage to remember, the more lost you feel.

Author's Note: This might be one of my favorites. Enjoy!!

Title from Work Song by Hozier

Word Count: 8.6k

You don’t know who these men are. 

There are three of them, all gathered around you with frowning faces and drawn brows, and they seem worried. The tall one in the middle keeps saying your name and asking the one in the tie and trench coat if he can figure out what’s wrong with you. Trench Coat keeps snapping variations of no, he can’t, because the object was guarded against outside interference. 

The third one is silent. He’s a little behind you and wearing flannel like Tall, but his hair is shorter, he’s less lanky, and he’s touching you. His hand is on your arm, his grip so tight it almost hurts, and you’d… barely even noticed. Not because he’s almost inhumanly handsome, or because when he does grumble something in his voice is deep and soothing to your mind, but because your body hadn’t seemed to really register it. And if it had, it hadn’t been worried at all.

But you’re worried. As your brain starts to kick into gear—dragging itself out of an odd, hazy sludge—you are very worried about why Trench Coat, Tall, and Handsome are so close to you. Why Trench Coat keeps saying you’re sick—you’re tired, but overall you feel fine—and why Tall knows your name. Why Handsome is still touching you, why he’s so quiet, why when he looks at you your skin heats and your heart does a little, happy hum.

Why when you yank your arm from Handsome’s grasp, he blinks at you in confusion. Why he says your name so slowly. Why when he reaches back out to you, your body leans forward of its own accord. 

“No!” You shout, and it’s more at yourself, but Handsome’s whole face falls, and he looks like he’s been shot, stabbed, and bled out.

“Shit, she’s talking- Hey,” Tall says your name, reaching to grab your shoulder, and you start to crawl away from him. “Can you- Wait, where are you going-“

“She seems to be experiencing panic.” Trench Coat tilts his head, glancing over your shoulder. “She is likely trying to get to Dean.”

You follow his gaze, and your body is moving to where Handsome—Dean?—had backed away.

“Fuck!” You try to scramble to your feet, ready to run for your life, but you barely make it to your knees before darkness clouds your vision and your head starts to spin.

All three men shout your name, but Dean’s deep voice is the loudest, and when the world grows clear again, he the one who’s holding you upright.

Your body is slumped into him. It’s the same way you’ve slumped into your bed. The same way you used to slump against you mom when you were a kid, because you never thought she could hurt you. Because she’d felt like the safest place to be in the world.

But you don’t know Dean. 

“Don’t- don’t touch me-“ You try to shake him off, but he doesn’t let go. He just lowers you carefully down and moves away, staring at you with an expression that makes your heart ache for reasons you don’t understand. “Who are you people?!”

Tall says your name again. How the fuck does he know your name. “It’s just us, it’s-“ Tall moves to touch you, and frowns when you flinch away.

At least you still know how to flinch away. 

“I don’t knowwho the fuck you are,” you hiss at him. “Or what the fuck is happening, but I want to go home.” You hug yourself, everything suddenly cold, your voice growing small. “Please let me go home.”

Trench Coat nods. “I am able to-“

“Cas.” Dean grunts from behind you, and Trench Coat—Cas—frowns at him. “Don’t.”

“She has requested something I can assist with-“

“She doesn’t fucking know who you are.” Dean snaps, stomping past you, never looking down. It makes the ache in your heart worse. “What the hell do you think is gonna happen when you zap her back to a home she doesn’t remember?”

Tall shakes his head. “We don’t know that she doesn’t remember the bunker-“

“Yeah? Hey,” Dean says your name, his glare and tone firm. Your body has a very confusing reaction to it, your thighs squeezing together as your stomach fills with heat. “You believe in angels?”

You blink. “Like, with wings?”

Dean gives Tall a pointed look, and Tall just shakes his head again.

“That doesn’t prove anything-“

“It proves enough, Sammy.” 

“No, it doesn’t!” Tall—Sammy—crosses his arms, glaring at Dean. “She remembers her own name, it’s not unreasonable to think she might remember her home!”

“That’s cause her name is her name! She doesn’t remember who we are! She’s not going to remember anything else-“

“It may be productive to find out what she does remember before we make assumptions.” Cas cuts Dean off with clipped words, and barely flinches as Dean glowers at him. You’re impressed. Dean seems scary.

Even if your body doesn’t seem to agree. 

“Good idea, Cas, let’s just-“ Sammy drops to the floor in front of you. “Hi, I’m-“

“Sammy?” 

“It’s actually Sam- wait.” Sam blinks at you. “You remember my name?“

“No.” You shake your head, nodding up to Dean. “He said it.”

“Oh.” Sam follows your gaze with a small frown. “Do you know his name?”

“It’s Dean.” You whisper, and another strange expression flashes over Dean’s face. “But I don’t remember it, I just heard it. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s jaw clenches, and Sam sighs.

“Don’t apologize, we’re just- It’s complicated.” Sam runs a hand through his hair, scanning carefully over your face. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

You nod—you don’t seem to have a choice, and you’re not nearly as panicked as you should be—and Sam swallows.

“Okay, you know your name, so how about- What year is it?”

You tell him, and he nods slowly. It goes like that as he asks you the date, the president, how old you are, and when your birthday is. It only flips when he asks you where home is, you answer, and all three men gape at you.

“What’s wrong?” You look between their identical expressions of worry. “That’s where I-“

Sam says your name carefully, his voice tense. “You haven’t lived there in almost six years.”

You blink at him. “No… I- I live there now.”

“No, you-“ Sam lets out a long breath. “How about this, do you know what your job is?”

“Yeah, I’m a librarian.”

That was clearly not the answer they wanted, but Sam pushes on. “Okay, what kind of car do you drive?”

“I don’t drive.” You glance up at Cas and Dean, and they’re exchanging a taut look. This is so fucking weird. “I, um, I take the bus.”

“Fuck!” Dean shouts suddenly, throwing his hands in the air. He sounds agitated. It’s making you agitated. “Goddamnit, she doesn’t remember anything-“

“Actually, she seems to remember selective things.” Cas lowers down as well, his gaze seeming to drive right into your soul. “Are you aware of how you arrived here, in this room?”

You aren’t. You try to remember, and it hurts. Your whole head lights up with pain and you double-over, but that seems to answer the men’s questions all by itself, and they exchange low, tense words as you lay on the floor.

Dean keeps looking at you. He’s not speaking to you, but he keeps staring at you, and your body always seems to respond to it. His jaw clenches as Cas helps you to your feet, and your legs want to walk right into him. Dean scowls as Sam explains that you do know them—that they’re your friends, and you’re cursed, and they’re taking you somewhere safe to help you—and your skin prickles under the feeling of it. As they move you into a sleek black muscle car and take off down the road, Dean keeps glaring at you in the rearview mirror and you want to reach out and touch him. You think it would be really good to touch him.

You really want to touch him. He’s beautiful, in the shadows and low lights of the highway, and right now it’s really just Dean in the whole universe. 

Just Dean. Here. With you.

The wind is cold in your hair and loud in your ears, but the Impala is warm, and the music is louder.

Dean is louder. Singing at the top of his lungs and drumming a little off beat on the wheel, his eyes alight and his smile wide. 

He’s warm, too. You giggle and roll your eyes when he makes a terrible joke, and he grabs your face with a strong, rough, warm hand to pulls you into a kiss, all as the road keeps rushing past you-

Cas says your name, and you blink at him. You’re not sure what the fuck just happened.

“Are you experiencing memory recall?”

“I, um, what?”

“Your eyes.” He says, and you notice Sam twisting around to watch from the passenger’s seat. “They began to move in a manner similar to human REM sleep, however you remained awake the whole time. Were you thinking of something you had previously forgotten?”

“I, uh,” you glance in the rearview mirror. Dean’s suddenly fixated on the road, his grip on the wheel white knuckled. “Have I been in this car before?”

“Yeah, you have.” Sam’s words are cautious, his eyes trained on you. “A lot. Cas, you don’t think-“

“I do. I believe it may be our best shot.”

And that’s how it begins. The moment you return to the bunker—a strange, underground building they claim you’ve lived in for years—you’re rushed through the grand tour in the hopes of triggering just a little more of your memory.

You’d consider it useless if it wasn’t working. If your hands didn’t already know how to sort through their strange classification of books. If you didn’t get flashes of laughter and visions of Sam and Dean around a table in what they call the War Room. If Sam doesn’t show you the kitchen, and suddenly your brain is washed over with a memory of sitting at the table, across from him and Dean.

Dean winks at you as Sam tries to show you something on his laptop. You’re going to kill him. He’s being obvious, and a little mean.

It doesn’t stop you from following him out of the kitchen only minutes later, even though it snaps your dignity in half.

“You’ve got something?” Sam’s almost jumping in front of you, and you give him a small smile. 

“You drink smoothies.”

“They’re healthy.” Sam shrugs, his voice raising to a shout. “Cas! It’s working!”

Dean shuffles into the kitchen, barely glancing at you. “Cas left. Said he’s going to look for a better fix.”

Sam frowns. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He told me. And you should bring her to her room.”

Your eyes widen as Sam nods, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Shit, yeah, good idea. C’mon,“ Sam says your name, walking to the hallway. “This should be good for you.”

When you see your room, it does seem like your room. It’s decorated how you’d decorate it, clothing scattered on the floor that you recognize, the walls painted how you’d paint them, but there’s also a shotgun on the dresser and a knife on your bedside stand.

“Shit, sweetheart, this is an awesome gun, where’d you find it?”

You look up at Dean from your bed, fidgeting with your blanket between your fingers. “It was in one of the storage rooms. I can show you later, I think there were a few more.”

“Hell yeah,” he aims it at the wall, his smile easy and boyish. It’s adorable.

You wish he’d stop.

“Dean?”

He hums, still turning the gun in his hands, and you take in a long breath.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

Dean freezes, his eyes wide and almost panicked on yours as he sets the gun back down.

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. I mean, it’s us. We can be cool.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, cool. You have a problem, I take care of it. I have a problem,” he gestures between your bodies with raised brows, and you sigh.

“Okay.”

“Awesome.”

“Yeah.” You smile at him, and this might consume and destroy you. But fuck you, you’re going to let it. “Awesome.”

“You got anything?” Sam asks, and you nod. You might have too much. 

And none of it is making any make sense at all.

The week passes like this. More small memories come to you in visions, your head pounds and stabs with pain, Sam hangs over your shoulder and shows you countless places you can navigate but don’t recognize—their dungeon, their gun range, a place called the Dean Cave, a field, and a corner store down the street—all as Dean swirls around your head, but remains just out of sight. Barely crossing your path, looking like a deer in headlights when he does.

But you think you’ve sat with your legs over his lap in the Dean Cave. You’ve trailed after him—holding onto the sleeve of his jacket—in the corner store. You’ve had his body wrapped around yours in the gun range, his voice low and teasing in your ear as he guides your hands.

And the most memories come in your bedroom. Sitting on the mattress with him towering above you, lying on the floor with him under you, giggling as he pins you against the door.

He still won’t look at you. He doesn’t even acknowledge you anymore. He’s locking himself in his room, only coming out to get food, sort through the library, or take his car and leave for hours on end.

Sam is worried.

“This… isn’t like Dean.” He tells you, frowning at the door Dean had just disappeared through. “I don’t know what’s up with him, but you guys were really good friends before. Like, really good.” He gives you an odd look. You’ve been getting a lot of those lately. “There was a while where I was pretty sure that he was finally-“ He shakes his head, cutting himself off. “Never mind. I’ll talk to him later.”

You sleep in your room again. It’s felt strange, because your body doesn’t seem to like your mattress. It doesn’t relax into it like it should, if you’ve really been sleeping here for years. You keep waking up reaching for the other side of the bed. You keep being unable to fall asleep at all because something feels off. 

He’s still here when you wake up. His arm heavy over your stomach as he presses your back against his chest, his breath hot on your neck. 

You should’ve kicked him out last night. You try to never let him fall asleep next to you, let alone wake up in your bed. It’s cruel to you.

Because now you have to have this, and then let it go. You’ll never be able to wipe the feeling of Dean wrapped around you from your skin, and your muscles will never forget how easy it was to relax when he was holding you. 

When you roll over your hands will always know how to linger on his bare, warm chest. Your fingers will always know how to map his every freckle, even if you were blindfolded and submerged underwater. 

Your heart will always know to slow down when you look at him. Especially like this. He’s peaceful here. His eyelashes fluttering and his lips parted, his brow dropped to yours as he sleeps. 

As he has no way to know that he’s doing it.

He’s vulnerable. Dean’s body is letting him rest with you at his side. It’s letting him fall into a strong sleep with steady breaths and slack muscles, even though there’s something foreign pressed against him.

And that’s why this is cruel. It feeds your hope that this could be more. That Dean could ever see you as you see him, that he’d chose to rest with you because deep down, he loves you like you love him.

Deeply and powerfully. Irrevocably and brutally. Made of gnashing teeth and blood caking your nails, but also simple in loud music and wind, soft in golden streetlamps that cast halos around his head. Concrete. Dependable. You will always love Dean, even if you lose everything else you’ve ever had.

And he will not love you.

And this is cruel.

But you still let your face bury itself in his neck. You still let your nose memorize the evergreen and amber smell of him. You still let his skin leave burning marks on yours, as he stays asleep. 

And you just watch him. 

You have to drag yourself out of bed. You have to give Dean a close-lipped smile when he walks right past you in the kitchen, and not scream when his skin brushes yours.

It’s not foreign. 

It feels like you.

And you’re so lost. 

You don’t ask any questions. The few questions you have asked made Sam sad, like you should already know the answer, and he always does this puppy-dog face that breaks your heart. The only questions you’d really want to ask were questions about Dean. About if Sam talked to him, about why—if you’re as close as Sam claims, if these strange snapshots are true—he won’t even look at you. About how he’d looked at you before.

About how you’d looked at him.

But Sam’s too busy for you to even really consider it. He’s calling Cas and someone named Rowena all the time, he’s researching day and night to try and fix you, and he’s coming up with strange new ways to trigger your memory every day.

“Sit there.” He points to the driver’s seat of the Impala, moving around the hood of the car. “You’re driving.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know how to drive stick-“

“Yeah, you do, Dean- fuck.” Sam groans, rubbing his forehead. “Well, let’s try having you sit in it? Just to see if anything happens?”

You nod, and things do happen. When you put your hand on the gear shift, a phantom of a bigger, calloused one covers it, and suddenly you can drive stick. You don’t even have to think about it, you just can. 

It might be worse when you think about it. Sam makes you drive—telling you to go somewhere and refusing to specify any possible destinations—and whenever you try to actually dwell on what you’re doing, you make a mistake. 

So you let your body take over. You drive the Impala where your hands want you to go, and where they want you to go seems to be a dive bar parking lot.

“Huh.” Sam glances around as you both climb out of the car, a small frown on his face. “I’ve never been here before. I know it’s a stupid question, but do you know where you are?”

“No,” you sigh, letting your feet carry you to the edge of the pavement, letting your knees bend down as you sit on the curb. “Not at all.”

“Shit.” He mutters. “Well, you want a drink while we’re here?”

You nod, Sam goes into the bar, returns with two beers, and drops at your side.

“This is…” Sam glances at you, his voice soft. Apologetic. “I’m really sorry this is happening. I mean, Dean went through something similar a while ago, but at least we had an idea of how to handle that, you know? I’m- I don’t even know where to start here.” He says your name, rolling his bottle between his hands. “All we’ve got is Dean saying you touched a cursed object, but he’s being really weird and when Cas and I went back to the building there was nothing. We’re going to fix this, I promise, but...”

He sighs, trailing off, and you clear your throat. You haven’t just sat with Sam since this—whatever this is—started. This might be your only chance to try to get answers in a way that doesn’t make your skull cave in and your heart burn.

“Can I ask you some stuff?”

Sam nods, and you take a long, slow breath.

“How did I end up here? Doing,” you gesture vaguely to the air. “This.”

A small smile ghosts over Sam’s lips. “Dean and I were hunting a vamp nest, and you were one of the witnesses. You helped us out a little, we told you some stuff about how you deal with vamps, and then you got kidnapped. We- Well, we tried to save you, but by the time we got there you’d kind of saved yourself. You’d covered yourself in dead man’s blood from one of their discarded vics, and none of them would go near you. After it was done, you asked to come with us, and you haven’t left since.”

“And we’re… friends?”

“We are.” Sam says, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. “I mean, I know you and I are. You helped me organize the library when you moved to the bunker. I taught you most of the stuff about the lore, and we made up a game about it. Dean calls it dumb, but he just hates that he’s bad at it. Sometimes you go on runs with me, and then you say you’re never running again. You’re the one who convinced me to ask out my girlfriend-“

You blink at him. “You have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah, Eileen. You’re friends with her too. You’re friends with everybody.” Sam offers you another smile, and this one seems less painful. “Even Rowena likes you. We didn’t have to threaten her to help us out here.”

Even as you return Sam’s smile, a last question eats at your tongue, and you’re too tired, too confused to think better of asking it.

“What about Dean?” You whisper. “Am I friends with him?”

Sam sighs. He seems to do that a lot. 

“Yes. Kind of. I… I don’t know.” He mutters, frowning at the pavement. “It’s complicated. I’m not- This isn’t really my place, you know?”

You swallow. “Does he hate me?”

Sam laughs at that. A loud, full laugh that echoes around the parking lot. 

“No.” He shakes his head, clearly amused by something you don’t understand. “I don’t think either of you could hate each other if you-“

“I fucking hate you!” You scream, shoving his chest. He doesn’t flinch. He never flinches. 

Asshole.

“You’re drunk.” Dean grunts your name, catching your hand against his chest. “We need to go home.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Winchester-“

“Yeah, you are.”

Dean starts to tug you across the parking lot, back to the car, and you hate that you just let him. You always let him. He takes you somewhere and you just follow him like a fucking lapdog. Waiting for him whenever he leaves. Whining and whimpering at the door when he’s gone and lighting up from the inside when he returns. 

Barely getting a treat or a smile when he pays attention to you. Only really getting his attention in brief flashes that build your body to an explosion before leaving you to pick up the pieces yourself. Leaving you alone, wracked with a love he can’t return, mending your own heart until he asks to break it again, and you let him.

“You’re going to sleep it off.” Dean mutters from ahead of you, and there are little blond hairs at the nape of his neck that seem silver and gold in the low light. Just another piece of him that’s impossibly beautiful. Another piece you get to touch but never keep. 

“I don’t need to sleep it off!” You yank your hand from his grip as he tries to guide you into Baby, and drop on the curb with a dramatic sigh. “Just leave me alone, Dean.”

“I am not fucking abandoning you at some sketchy bar-“

“Why not?” You raise your chin at him, narrowing your eyes. “Afraid I’ll find someone else? That I’ll crawl into another bed, and they’ll actually like me, and you’ll lose your favorite pet?”

He scowls. “We’re not having this conversation right now-“

“Why not?! You know it’s the truth, Dean! I’m just, I’m your fucking toy and you hate sharing-“

He says your name in a low warning, but you can’t stop now. This pain has been building up and up in your chest and lungs for years, and now that it’s out it’s volcanic. You couldn’t keep it in if you tried.

“But you’ll never actually care about me! I’m easy for you! That was the fucking deal, right! We’re easy for each other and that’s it, just using each other until one of us fucking dies! You keep acting like I mean nothing and then you get all fucking possessive when I try to get over you-“

“You’re not trying to get over me.” He mutters, not fully meeting your eyes. “You don’t have anything to get over. You’re just fucking wasted-“

“Yeah, I am, because you won’t just say that I matter to you-“

“Of course you matter to me, you’re my friend-“

“You’re not my friend!” You scream, your voice echoing through the parking lot. Your head is starting to spin. “Friends don’t do this to each other!”

You’re dizzy. You feel a little faint. 

And you’d just spend an hour telling Dean you hate him. But he’s still grabbing you and keeping you steady.

You really wish he wouldn’t. It would make it easier to pretend you really did hate him. That just his touch didn’t make you feel safe and cared for, even when the dickhead didn’t really care. 

“You done?” He asks, and you hum, something hot and wet stinging at your eyes.

“I hate you, Dean.” You mumble, even as you slump into him. “I fucking hate you.”

He brushes some hair from your face, and your eyes flutter. “I know you do, babygirl.” He mutters, and you don’t think he knows you’re still awake. “Let’s go home.”

Sam’s frowning at you when the real world comes back into view. And when you whisper that you’d really like to leave, he doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t even make you drive, or try to talk to you as you stare out the window. 

He doesn’t push for the rest of the day. He shows you a few more things that trigger smaller memories, and you don’t see Dean at all. 

But he’s everywhere. In every memory. You walk through the library as Sam explains a system you allegedly designed, and a memory of you explaining this exact system to Dean flashes through your brain. He’d made jokes, and you’d giggled, and his smile had numbed your brain. You try to make yourself dinner, and suddenly you’re laughing and throwing food at Dean, right before he presses you against the counter with a searing kiss. You wander through the halls and you can hear heavy, controlled steps behind you. You return to your room, and he’s at your side in bed, wearing the same flannel from the memory in the parking lot. Making you drink water and helping you change, muttering low apologies you can’t actually really hear. Tucking you in bed and tracing his hand over your face, grabbing you a trash can to vomit in when you shoot back up, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. 

His whole face is set in that memory, but it’s all hazy. You don’t know if you trust it, because all the other memories have been sharp and clear, but this one is dreamlike. Like even before you lost your memory, you weren’t sure if it was real. The you who all this happened to might have just made this up for herself. Made up Dean holding her hair back and pressing a soft kiss to her brow as she lay back down, even though you can still feel the warmth of his chapped lips in that exact spot. She might have made up Dean smiling at her when she mumbled that she didn’t actually hate him. She might have made up him staying when she begged him to in a soft voice. 

You don’t know. You don’t know anything. You’ve never felt more lost, never been in more pain. Your body is where it’s supposed to be, but your brain isn’t. It’s restless and worried and tearing itself apart, and when you fail to sleep your body knows how to walk through the halls, even as your whole mind spins and shreds itself to pieces.

Sam was sorry this was happening to you, but you don’t know why. You don’t know him. Every time you’ve seen Cas since you’ve returned, he’s asked you questions you don’t know the answers to. Every day your body remembers things, but you don’t. You want to, you want to so bad, but you’re adrift and drowning in a vast, cold ocean and you can’t even remember how you got there. You keep feeling like there’s a lifeline, just out of reach, but you can’t grab it. It’s not in your room, or the kitchen, or the library. It’s nowhere Sam takes you, nowhere you remember how to go.

You feel like something had been guiding you, anchoring you in the waves, and now it’s missing. Vanished from your hands. 

And now you’re lost, and in pain, and alone. Wandering aimlessly through the depths of the bunker in the dead of night, searching for a lighthouse you’re not sure exists.

You walk into the War Room, and Dean’s already there. Glass of whiskey in hand, head tipped back and eyes closed, the fancy headphones you’d gotten him for his birthday blasting music so loud you can hear it from across the room. You walk up behind him and run a gentle hand over his cheeks, and he doesn’t flinch. His eyes just open slowly and find yours in a second, his attention soft as he tugs his headphones down, grabs your hand, and kisses your knuckles. 

“Hi.” You whisper, and he grins.

“Hey.”

“It’s late.” You run a hand through his hair, and he lets you. He’s amazing and horrible, so he lets you have this. “It’s bad for your back to sleep in a chair.”

“Bad for my back?” He chuckles. “I’m not that old, sweetheart-“

“It’s bad for everyone’s back-“

“Sam sleeps in his chair all the time.” Dean raises his brows at you, and you swallow. “You’re not on his ass about it.”

You sigh. You don’t want to entertain this. You’re too tired for the fight that it will lead to. “Please just go sleep in your bed, Dean.”

He hums, and you let him guide you around the chair, until you’re standing between his legs.

“Maybe I will, if you’re there with me.”

“Don’t say that.” You whisper, unable to move away. He’s going to break your heart again. You’re going to let him, because your heart is traitorous and loves being broken by Dean. It just likes that Dean has to touch it to break it. “Please.”

He shakes his head with a long, deep exhale, and doesn’t say another word. 

But he doesn’t go to bed either. He stands up until you’re trapped between his body and the table, and places his whiskey down, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s scanning over your face with an expression like he’s lost, like he’s looking for something he’s desperate to find but terrified to see.

You don’t know if he finds it. 

All you know is that he’s touching you, and you’re molding into him, and whatever he does to you, you’ll allow. 

As long as it’s Dean doing it.

He unplugs his headphone until the music is filling the War Room, picks up his iPod, and changes the song. This one is soft, a gentle melody drowning you in honey and a daze of Dean. You didn’t think he’d own a song like this. It’s slow and romantic, and it flows so easily as he takes one hand in yours, places the other on your hip, and moves you away from the table.

He starts to sway, holding you steady in his arms, and soon you’re dancing. Really dancing, in measured, easy steps that Dean guides you through. You didn’t think he’d know how to do this. You didn’t think he’d ever do it with you.

But you’re lost in him, and you’ve never felt like you’ve belonged anywhere else. You’re drowning in the song, but Dean’s drowning with you, so you know exactly where you are. Trapped in this infinite and fleeting moment, trapped in Dean’s eyes, trapped in the warmth of his light, casting over your body and guiding you wherever you’ll need to be.

When he leans in to kiss you, you don’t push him away. You could never push him away. Your hands only know how to curl in his shirt and your lips only know how to crash into his. Your tongue always craves Dean’s taste of whiskey and pecan, and your body always knows how to catch the small sparks of lighting his touch creates, then throw them through your whole body.

And Dean always kisses you with everything he has, but this is different. It’s not desperate and needy, it’s long and deep and feels like home. When he sucks on your lower lip, it’s like he’s trying to leave a mark. When his steps still and he dips you down, you gasp, and he breathes it in like it’s more than oxygen. When your arms wrap around his neck, he pulls you closer, like you could be absorbed into his body forever. 

When he pulls away—the song long over, the only sounds in the world his ragged breath and your heartbeat in your ears—he still doesn’t speak. And you don’t move. You’ll be a statue until Dean’s command brings your back to life. You’ll be cold marble, sinking down, down, down until he takes your hand and reminds your body how to be.

And that’s pathetic.

But when he squeezes your hand in his, presses a soft kiss on the space between your eyes, and starts to guide you out of the War Room, you don’t even try not to follow him.

Because Dean would never let you stray from where you’re safe. Next to him.

Your legs are carrying you out of the war room, down a path that they remember but you don’t. To a door that your hand aches to push open, into a room where the air is warm but fresh, and an overwhelming smell of amber and evergreen tints against your nostrils. They don’t seem bothered by it. They seem to relax into it, like it’s an anesthetic. 

This must be Dean’s room. If your body couldn’t tell you that, your increasingly fragile brain would still piece it together. It’s obviously lived in—clothing on the floor, sheets messy on the bed, small bits of evidence scattered on the shelves and dresser—and there’s only one lived in room you haven’t entered before. Dean’s.

Sam hadn’t even shown you where it was.

Apparently he hadn’t needed to. Your whole body had pulled you here.

And that’s your shirt, on the bedside table-

Dean peels off your shirt without a word, discarding it to an unseen corner of the room. You fumble with his belt, your need growing and growing with every second his hands map over your body—he’s already explored it, found places you didn’t even know existed yourself, but he never seems to get sick of you—and Dean just chuckles, keeping his brow pressed to yours as he takes care of it himself. His jeans have barely fallen around his ankles when he grabs your face between his hands and kisses you until your knees are weak.

Neither of you are speaking. There’s nothing to say that hasn’t already been screamed or sobbed or snapped, hasn’t been moaned or mumbled or whispered. 

All that left to do is touch each other, like you have a million times before. Like you will a million times again, because you can lie to yourself that one day your patience will run out and you’ll leave, but you know you won’t. Dean’s changed your body on a level that feels deeper than skin. Your heart only knows how to beat for him. Your brain only knows how to think of him. Your hands only know how to palm at his dick, tenting through his boxers, and your lips only know how to part as he groans down your throats.

You fall to your knees, free him from his underwear, wrap your hand around his proud cock, and look up at him with a soft smile. His massive, rough hand has tangled in your hair, his eyes hooded and throat bobbing, and when you take him in your mouth you know exactly how to play him like an instrument. How to suck when he bumps the back of your throat, how to flick your tongue over the head of him, how to squeeze and jerk off the base of his cock where you can’t get him between your lips. You know to keep going as he starts to groan your name in a low warning, because if he wants to cum in your mouth, you’d never stop him.

That’s another taste you’ll always crave. Salty and bitter and so purely Dean, marking you in a way he can’t take back.

But he pulls you off with a firm tug of your hair, wiping a little drool from your lips with his thumb before tilting your head up and crashing his lips into yours. When Dean hauls you to your feet you crumple into him, and when he tosses you onto his bed you giggle, crawling backwards and spreading your legs in a silent offering you’ve given him a million times before, and will never stop giving him as long as he takes it.

And he always takes it. Dean’s eyes always darken, and he always prowls over you. But it’s never like you’re prey. Never like you’re just a body to be taken and notched on a bedpost. 

It’s like you’re something he’s trying to bathe himself in. Like an external piece of him he’s trying to protect and tend to by covering himself in it. It’s why he always dives down between your legs first, keeping you pinned to the bed with a hand on your stomach, shoving his tongue deep into your cunt and pressing his nose on your clit until you’re writhing and suffocating him between your thighs. When he moves to pull that bundle of nerves between his lips—pressing his tongue flat against you and sucking—a coil in your gut snaps, and you drown his face in your release.

Your body only ever does that for Dean.

You don’t think he knows that. And every time you think to tell him, he’s always already moved on. Risen above you and shoving two fingers into your still raw and sensitive pussy, finding the deepest part of you like it’s a magnet, and rubbing on it as he watches you come undone once more. 

He cleans his hands with his mouth, licking them and smirking at you as you reach for him, trying to grip his body and pull it down over yours. He usually takes his time—teasing and edging you until you’re a whining mess—but tonight really is different. His smile on your flushed, already wrecked face isn’t taunting or lustful, it’s relaxed. And he still doesn’t speak, but when he kisses his way over your navel, up your chest—stopping to suck on one nipple as his hand plays with your other breast, because he’s Dean and he can’t help himself—it’s louder than anything else in the world. He’s taking him time because he’s trying to keep you in his bed. He knows that once this is over, you’ll gather your things and leave, like you always do to protect yourself.

So he’s giving you a reason to stay.

He nips and sucks up your throat and over your jaw, plants kisses everywhere on your face but where you’re begging for him, and pins your squirming body to the bed with his full weight before his mouth finally makes its way to yours. 

He’s kissing you into the mattress, kissing you until your lips are swollen and your head is spinning from oxygen deprivation. He only pulls back to watch his hand stroke his cock, right before he guides himself into your dripping, fluttering pussy and bottoms out in one thrust. He lets out a low grunt as you adjust, and when he rolls his hips, you moan.

And he falls right back into you.

From there it’s only Dean. Fucking you until you’re scratching at his chest and putty in his arms, your mouth is slack as he groans and grunts above you. He hikes your thigh up to push his cock in at a deeper angle and marks your neck and shoulders with bites and hickeys that you hope never fade, building his speed until you’re just a squirming, whining mess and he’s slamming into you at a brutal pace. 

He doesn’t slow down when you cum, clenching around his cock and screaming a high whine of his name. He only swallows the sound with a bruising kiss, plunging his tongue down your throat and rutting harder and harder into your cunt. All you can do is take it. You’ll always take it. If this is how to you get to have Dean, you’ll never push him away.

He cums with a roar against your lips, trigging one last, small, shuddering orgasm through your body, and collapses on top of you.

Dean rolls you over until he’s beneath you, caging you against his chest with big, strong arms. He doesn’t pull out—letting his cum drip down and dry on your thighs—and when your look up at him he’s staring at you with a drunken, awestruck expression. 

His eyes are already drooping, his breathing slowing to an even, steady pace as he keeps you trapped against his body. You wish your hands could remember how to pry him away before he falls asleep, because now you’re going to be trapped here for a long, painful night where Dean’s sheathed inside you and you can smell and taste him everywhere, but he’s still not yours to have.

Yet, you can’t move.

And right as his eyes close, he mutters your name. You almost don’t hear it. You’re not sure you did hear it.

“Dean?”

He repeats your name, and it’s barely a breath. 

“Wha-“

“I love you.” He mumbles your name one last time, and you gape at him. He doesn’t even know he’s speaking. “‘m sorry. Love you. Don’t leave.” He buries his face in your hair, and he won’t remember this in the morning. “Please don’t leave me.”

“What are you doing in here.” 

You drag your gaze away from the bed and turn to see Dean, wearing flannel pants and a white sleep shirt. He’s not glaring at you, even though you’ve invaded his room without permission. He just looks weary. Tired.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, rooted to the spot. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

Something pained flashes over his face, and you feel small cracks form across your heart.

“Whatever.” He mutters, walking right past you without another glance. “Get out.”

“No.”

You don’t know why you said that. This isn’t your place to be, especially when Dean doesn’t want anything to do with you. When he doesn’t want you here. But you don’t feel adrift here. And you don’t want to go.

Dean stares at you. “What.”

“I’m not going.” You hug yourself, your eyes moving back to the shirt on the dresser. “That’s my shirt.”

He huffs, rolling his eyes as he mutters to himself. “So a fucking shirt you remember. Awesome.”

You swallow. “Why do you have my shirt, Dean.”

He goes rigid, but doesn’t speak, so you keep going.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” You don’t realize you’re walking forward he’s closer. It feels right. “Sam said-“

“Sam doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.” Dean grunts, but he doesn’t move away. Even when you move closer. Even as you push on.

“Then you tell me.” You sound like you’re pleading. You kind of are. “Every time I remember something you’re there, but you won’t even look at me! I don’t know who I am, I don’t know what’s going on, and I keep thinking about you but you’re acting like you want nothing to do with me-“

Dean’s jaw clenches, his words pushed through his teeth. “That’s not true.”

“It is! You can’t even stand to be in the same room as me!” You feel like you’re going to cry. You haven’t even wanted to cry, not since this began, but something has crashed down inside of you, and this room feels like a safe place to fall apart.

Dean feels like a safe place to fall apart.

“I’m, I’m so lost, and I don’t know what’s going on, and everything keeps coming back to you but I don’t know who you are! You won’t tell me who you are, Sam won’t tell me who you are, and I feel like I’m supposed to know but I don’t! I know who I am but I feel like I’m missing something, and everything hurts, and I just- I need to know-“

Dean grunts your name, and you let out a choked sob.

You’re sick of being lost. You’re sick of not knowing. And when you meet Dean’s eyes they’re like a beacon, and you can’t help but float into them. 

“Who am I to you, Dean?”

“You’re the love of my life.” His voice is hoarse, and his eyes widen slightly at his own answer. You don’t think he expected it. 

“I’m-“

His hands grab your face—holding you so carefully, like he’s practiced this a million time—and you melt into his touch. 

“You’re everything to me, and I- I fucking failed you.” Dean’s thumb traces over your cheekbone, wiping away a tear. “I can’t fix it. I’ve been fucking trying, baby. I promised you I’d try, but I can’t. I- I can’t. I need your help but you’re-“ He makes a low, strangled sound, dropping his brow to yours. It fits perfectly there. “I can’t do this without you. I never tell you that, I never say that I need you, but I do, and I failed you, and now you’re-“

Dean’s whole body shudders, and your arms wrap around him on instinct alone. He falls over you, clinging to you like you’re going to vanish, and-

“You don’t have to do this.” Dean mutters in your ear, and his hug is going to suffocate you, but you don’t care. Maybe he’ll leave an indent on your body. “We can just fucking destroy it-“

“Because trying to destroy cursed objects has worked out so well for us, historically.” You give him a sad, dry smile, and he shakes his head. 

“There’s another way. There’s always another way-“

“We don’t have time for another way. And it won’t be permanent. All curses can be cured.”

“But we don’t even know what the hell this one does!” He shouts, and you don’t wince. He’s not mad at you. “‘Taking what you value most’ could mean anything, could fucking do anything-“

“I know. But it will kill you if I don’t-“

“We don’t know that-“

You do know that. So does Dean. This object latched onto Dean, and it will either leech his life slowly, involuntarily, or take something from you, along with a piece of your memory. And you’ll lose whatever you need to if it keeps Dean safe.

“Listen.” You hold Dean’s gaze, making your voice firm. “Don’t tell Sam and Cas. They’ll get caught on what happened, and you’ll all start fighting, and we can’t afford that. You just need to find what I value, bring it back to me, and I’ll be okay. Got it?”

Dean shakes his head. “How am I supposed to know what you value if you won’t tell me-“

“I don’t know.” You sigh. “I- I honestly can’t think of what I value most, but hopefully you’ll notice something is missing, and you can track it down.” You give him a soft smile. “I believe in you, Dean. And if I’m awake, I’ll try to help you.”

“You won’t remember-“

“It should only take my memories relating the thing. I probably won’t even know anything is wrong.”

“But I’ll know.” He mutters. “And what if I don’t get the thing back to you-“

“You will get it back to me.” You say simply. He’s Dean. You trust him with more than your life. “And I’ll be okay.”

You start to move away, but he doesn’t let you go. He’s pallid and bloodless from the object draining him, but he’s still strong. And you don’t really want to leave him at all. 

“Don’t. Please.” He mutters your name, and it sounds like a prayer. “I’m not worth this, baby.”

“Of course you are.” You smile at him, tears stinging your eyes as you manage to force yourself away. “I love you.”

His eyes widen, and he looks like he wants to say something, but anything he can say will only make you hesitate.

So you turn away.

Right before you touch the object you have a thought. An epiphany that—if your hand wasn’t already pressed on the object’s cool surface—would have made you break down and scream for Dean to make you stop, to drag you away.

But it’s too late. And everything goes dark.

“Dean.”

He leans back to look at you, and you know him. You know everything about him, and it’s destroying your brain and body, trying to break out but trapped down. This pain is horrible.

But Dean is good.

“You love me?”

He swallows, but nods. He seems afraid. Tense under your hands, like you’re going to push him away and he’ll have to just take it.

He won’t. Because you do the only thing you’re certain you know how to do.

You kiss him.

It’s like fireworks, but there’s no electrically you haven’t felt before, no colors you’ve never seen. You’re swept up in his waves and wide fire, but it could never drown or burn you. You’ve adapted to move with it, to breathe in his water and smoke and trust him to bring you exactly where you need to be.

Against his chest, dipping and holding you steady, pouring his all and then some into your body. And your memory doesn’t crash back into you, it just washes over you like rain. 

Dean pulls back, and you smile at him like you always have. Like you always will.

“Hi,” you whisper, and he grins. 

“Hey,” Dean says your name, and you’ve done this dance before.  “Are you-“

You kiss him again, and you know exactly who Dean is. What he is to you, how he loves you in strong, unspoken silence that kills you and cures you all at one, and how you might be built to love him. 

You are.

And he’s built the same way for you.

End Note: Obsessed with love as a thing that happens to you physically, if you can't tell. Thank you for reading!

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[corinthianism]

corinthianism's fic recs

here are my personal favorite fanfics! idk how often i'll update this, but i hope you like them as much as i do :) *indicates smut

last updated: march 26, 2024

MARVEL

loki laufeyson - from the void, with love — by whirlybirbs (my fav fanfic of all time!!! i think about this fic several times in a day bro) - riptide — by starks-hero - the tailor* (series) — by birdofhermes (ao3) - time after time (series) — by goldencherriess (ao3) - a friend from work — by cozy_the_overlord (ao3)

thor odinson - god of fertility* (request) — by charnelhouse - highway don't care (but i do, i do)* (part one, part two, part three) — by spacelabrathor

peter parker (andrew garfield) - agree to disagree — by delicate-dorothea - nerdy peter (request) — by webslingingslasher - good boy x bad girl trope (request) — by webslingingslasher - hold you here, my loveliest friend* — by p3mybeloved - your friendly neighborhood sensitive spider* — by jin0 - glad you're home — by withahappyrefrain - the mechanics of a soul — by irndad - 3 is the magic number* — by withahappyrefrain - crush — by ptersparkers - as it goes — by forever-rogue - here comes the sun (part one, part two, part three) — by withahappyrefrain - stability, reciprocity, and a romance for the ages (series) — by privateanxieties (ao3 - need an account to read)

steven grant (moon knight) - hold me close — by stormkobra-5 - gift of min* — by astroboots - puzzles* — by stormkobra-5 - first time* — by luvpedropascal - domestic adonis* — by peterman-spideyparker - where it starts — by silversweetpea - fallen from heaven, grown on earth* (series) — by davosmymaster (ao3) - call me poe* — by kittyfandom (ao3) - elemental — by batsingotham (ao3) - the boy with the thorn in his side — by eating_flowers (ao3)

marc spector (moon knight) - not him — by loud-mouth-loser - it's worth it, it's divine* — by the-archxr - i'm getting to know someone — by davosmymaster (ao3)

wade wilson (deadpool) - tea and sympathy (series) — by bucketsoffrogs (ao3)

SHERLOCK (BBC)

sherlock holmes - your hidden strength — by okay-j-hannah - sublime dexterity* (part one, part two) — by daydreamtofiction - literally everything by starks-hero

SUPERNATURAL

sam winchester - playing house (part one, part two) — by uncouth-the-fifth - baby i'll stay (heaven can wait) — by uncouth-the-fifth - move over.* — by ggwritesstuff - where's your head at?* — by beau55515 - birthdays: sam winchester style* — by karleekarma (ao3) - the comforts of home — by zepskies - under the hood* — by shawslut

dean winchester - whether you like it or not — by kbeautimous (ao3) - reading you wrong — by zepskies - cherished — by thatonewriter15 (ao3) - soft touch — by wearywinchester - i love her, that's why* — by kaleldobrev - drivin' me crazy* — by lis-likes-fics

castiel - salt n' lick* — by aperfectgrace (ao3) - a bite of apple pie (series) — by ac_deanc (ao3)

THE SANDMAN

the corinthian - bring me a dream* (series, ongoing) — by placeinthemiddleofnowhere - nihil — by lis-likes-fics

dream/morpheus - sweet dreams (are made of this) — by stranger-nightmare

CRIMINAL MINDS

aaron hotchner - from eden — by heliotropehotch - gold star — by honeypiehotchner - love, an abstract concept — by luveline - honeymoon phase* (series) — by hotchsbitch (ao3)

THE BOYS

soldier boy (he's absolutely horrible but so. so. hot.) - break me down* (series) — by zepskies (go read their other stuff too!) - talk to me — by zepskies

homelander (also absolutely horrible. would sleep with him.) - if i can't have you — by watchstarscollide - milky white* — by after-witch

GAME OF THRONES

jaime lannister - i'm not made by design — by ichorai (this legitimately changed my brain chemistry)

STAR WARS

obi-wan kenobi - like turning on the light* — by full-time-make-believer (deactivated acc) (this also changed the trajectory of my life) - where it wasn't* — by 221bshrlocked - your thoughts are loud — by spidersbane - empty me out* — by 221bshrlocked - house of memories* (series) — by meshlasolus - bad idea, right?* (series) — by mischiefling (ao3) - you make me feel like dancing — by saradika (ao3) - it's a wonderful lie — by firstofficerwiggles (ao3) - temptation's kiss — by karasong (ao3) - you make my dreams* — by wickedscribbles (ao3) - like a living mirage — by karasong (ao3) - broken drought* — by rosalindbeatrice (ao3) - never grow up — by doihavetoloseyoutoo (ao3) - never ending story — by kybercrystal (ao3) - volveré* — by kxnobi (ao3)

din djarin (the mandalorian) - the savior* (part one, part two, part three) — by dindjiarin - significant — by softlyspector - touching din — by archieimagines - uncharted territory* — by pedrito-friskito - creed* — by wheresarizona - home is wherever i'm with you* (part one, part two, part three) — by saradika

DRACULA (BBC)

count dracula - the székely* (series) — by theplumsoldier

LOTR/THE HOBBIT

thranduil oropherion - a boon* (series) — by inksplots (ao3) - beauty and the beast (series) — by tamurilofrivendell (ao3)

DOCTOR SLEEP

dan torrance - of monsters and men* — by helaintoloki & obitwo - domestic life (headcanons) — by thornsinmycrown - smut alphabet* — by daincrediblegg

[parkers-gal]

make-believe girlfriend J.B.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader, a smidge of grumpy x sunshine

wc: 3.1k

warnings: use of nickname 'peaches.' long distance relationship

summary: after a three month long mission, bucky returns and he has a girlfriend. the team doesn't believe she exists

a/n: i loooooveeee this i hope u do too ! <3

⋆˚✶˚‧⋆｡˚

it was supposed to be a simple mission followed by a month long sabbatical. three months steve told bucky in between sets in the training room. two months to finish the mission, one month to just… explore. you need to get out, discover, to just- i don’t know… do something else besides be a soldier.

bucky had laughed at first. “coming from you? the world’s best soldier? that’s rich.”

“i know i’m not one to talk. but i care about you, buck. wakanda was good for you, i just want you to be at peace again.”

bucky hummed. “i’ll think about it.”

steve nodded, then after a beat, added “if not for you, do it for me.”

that was two weeks ago. now, bucky can’t even believe he’s packing his bags and loading onto the quinjet. alone. for the first time in almost 70 years, he’s afraid of something. of what, he doesn’t know. that’s what’s so nerve wracking about the entire ordeal – with hydra, he’d always known who to fear, who to submit to. when he was fighting on the field, there was always a bad guy, an alien, a man with a scepter. but this was out of his experience. 

footsteps sound behind him. dropping his duffel bag by his backpack, bucky turns around calmly, trying to read steve’s face.

“you can call every once in awhile… if you want to. or just- you know. don’t forget your check ins.”

bucky nods. “it’s just a couple months, steve. i’ll be fine.”

he laughs a little. “i know. i don’t want you to think i’m pushing you to get out.”

“i know you’re not.” a hesitant smile spreads on his face. steve can see right through it, but he doesn’t comment, merely offering a hug. he pats bucky on the back as they always do, and once again, bucky is alone on the quinjet. 

it was scary at first. chicago is so different from his little corner in brooklyn, safe in a bubble of familiarity. his apartment came pre-furnished, and felt more home-like than his bare apartment in new york. it was easy to play along, to act like he was playing a part on a mission.

but then he met you.

the walls of his facade started to crumble, and he found himself seeping into the soft sheets of his bed instead of a thin blanket on the hardwood floor. it became harder and harder for him to convince himself that he was faking the enjoyment of this trip.

you worked at the cafe nearby his apartment. his neighbor came home one day as bucky was leaving, and the smell of her coffee coupled with the croissant in her other hand was enough encouragement he needed to try out the restaurant. 

the bell at the front alerted you of a new customer. you smiled while frothing some milk for an order, “i’ll be right with you!” you chirped sweetly. 

the way you moved behind the counter had bucky in a trance the first time he laid eyes on you. the atmosphere around you was bubbling; it was as if bucky had walked right into a room of sunshine, and you were the star, beautiful and gentle and sweet. he wanted more.

dusting your hands on your apron, you stepped towards the register. “what can i get for you?”

a pause. worry was etched on bucky’s face.

“have you been here before?”

he shook his head. “i don’t know what to get, i’m sorry.”

you smiled again, soft and reassuring. it melted his insides. “that’s okay. would you like any suggestions?”

he finally grew the courage to look at your eyes. his mouth went a little dry, lips parted in shock. you were just so beautiful. he couldn’t describe it. “yeah.”

another comforting smile spread across your face and it soothed him immediately.

“i think our latte macchiato is one our yummiest drinks. i usually get the peach cobbler croissant. it’s amazing when it’s warm and gooey.”

“peach cobbler croissant?”

you nodded, “house original. don’t knock it ‘till you try it,” another smile. 

this time, he smiled back. “okay, i’ll have those, then.”

“great!” you finished registering his order before moving back towards the various coffee machines, lightly singing along to the music playing. a few more people trickle in and out, and bucky takes his time admiring the quaint cafe. 

“hey,” you lightly call. “i never got a name for that order.” you hold a cup of coffee in one hand, a sharpie in the other. 

bucky steps closer to the counter, a sudden surge of confidence rippling through him like it used to back in the 30s. “can i give you a number for it too?”

your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. with a shy nod, you place his cup on the counter and take out a notepad from your apron. he recites his phone number and, with a grateful smile, leaves the shop. his legs almost give out as soon as he steps outside. he’s never been so nervous around a girl before. 

he finished his mission two weeks earlier than planned. that gave him a month and a half to do whatever he wanted in the city. what he really wanted was you. every morning, he’d try a new drink and whatever breakfast special you had that day. and every day, at the end of your shift, bucky would walk you home. or sometimes, you’d walk to the park and sit on the bench and just talk. 

by the second week of this, bucky asked you out on that bench. 

⋆˚✶˚‧⋆｡˚

stepping into bucky’s apartment, you place your keys in the bowl by the front door, and drop your apron next to your shoes. bucky lounges on the couch, a book in his lap and the tv on low.

“peaches?” he closes his book. “why didn’t you call me? i would’ve come to get you.”

you hum, sliding onto the couch beside him. “didn’t wanna bother you.”

he tsks at you before kissing your forehead, pulling you into his side. “how was work?”

you shrug. “i saw the cutest dog. i gave her some whipped cream and it was so cute.”

he smiles, squeezing you close. “wanna watch tv and order in?”

you nod, shuffling to grab the remote and putting your feet in his lap. “wanna watch gilmore girls?”

he massages your sock-clad feet and hums in approval at your question. 

it’s odd how quickly he let go of his life at home. something about you made him want to be everything he thought he could be before the war, before hydra, before everything. he does miss home – new york city, the avengers compound, his clanky washing machine, steve and yes, even sam. but the longer he spends here, the more his home starts to feel like you. 

“i think i love you.” the words slip out before he can register them, and his hands freeze in the middle of massaging you. you turn your head slowly, eyes softening upon hearing his words. “i’m sorry, it’s way too soon to say that i don’t even know why i-”

“i love you too.” you cut in. “i think i’m falling in love with you, bucky barnes.”

his eyes well up and he tugs you closer. “really?”

you nod, a grin breaking out on your face. “really.”

seeing your smile makes him start to smile too. “i’m falling in love with you, too.”

when he kisses you, it’s tender and caring, and his hand cups your face gently. he tastes faintly of apricot jam, and you sigh into the kiss, tugging him closer. “i don’t want you to go.”

he rests his forehead against yours, frowning. “aww, peaches.” bucky places a feather-light kiss to your cheek. “i’ll miss you so much.” 

you nod in acknowledgement. “don’t know what i’m gonna do without you here.”

“i’ll visit as much as i can, honey.”

you huff, sniffing just below his jaw, inhaling his scent. “i know,” you pout. “but i really love being around you.”

bucky can’t help his smile from forming. you’re just so cute, missing him already when he hasn’t even left yet. 

“good thing i have two weeks left to spend as much time with my girl as possible.”

his fingers slip down to your waist, pressing into your sides. laughter bubbles from your throat as you try to pry him off you. bucky chuckles at you, the adorable giggles spewing from your mouth are enough to make him kiss you again. 

“you’re so pretty, peaches.”

you huff, out of breath from the tickling. “yeah?” it’s your turn. “you think so?”

“what are you doing…”

“…nothing…”

“peach- hey!” 

you attack his freakishly hard abdomen, squeezing the muscles with all your might until bucky pulls you up and plops you into his lap, laying back on the couch. satisfied, you rest your hands against his chest. 

“i wonder what stevie’ll think of you.”

your brow quirks. “you mean… captain america?”

bucky laughs, “that’s not his real name.”

you slap his chest lightly. “i know that, silly.”

“don’t know how i got so lucky.” his eyes twinkle at you.

lacing your fingers with his, you give his hand a squeeze. “me too.”

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bucky skillfully lands the quinjet on the helicopter pad at the compound. after showing you all the cool gadgets on the plane, bucky was reluctant to leave your side, but you kissed him and promised to facetime as soon as he was settled in, and bucky couldn’t say no to that, so he kissed you goodbye and waved as he took off, never having been so sad to return to his home in new york.

strolling into the compound, his backpack dangles from his right shoulder as he holds his duffel bag in his metal hand. he makes his way to his room, passing wanda and vision in the kitchen who say ‘hello’ while making some sokovian dish. 

while he unpacks, steve knocks on his door despite bucky leaving it open. 

“hey, buck. how was it?”

closing his dresser drawer, bucky shifts towards steve who steps into the room. 

“it was good. i think… you were right. i really needed that.”

“that’s awesome, man. i’m really happy for you. maybe we can talk about it tonight, have some beers and just catch up?”

bucky nods, already grinning to himself when he thinks about telling steve about you.

he showers, facetimes you for a good hour, before friday alerts him that dinner is ready. he finishes his call with you and heads towards the kitchen, finding sam and steve spread on a table with food. natasha and wanda have taken their plates to the tv, opting to watch a new episode of some show. peter and tony are too caught up in some math problem to leave the couch.

“what’s up, terminator?”

squinting at him, bucky grabs a beer and pops it open with his metal arm, taking a seat beside steve at the round table. “so,” steve talks in between mouthfuls of food. “tell us about the trip.”

taking a gulp of beer, bucky bites the inside of his cheek. “i… met a girl.”

silence overtakes the three of them. 

“what?”

“really?”

bucky nods, a blush already heating up his face. 

“so… are you dating?” steve put his fork down to really look at bucky, still shocked at the sudden news. his friend nods in response. 

“wow.” sam leans back in his chair. “i don’t believe it.”

“what?” it’s bucky’s turn to be shocked, eyebrows furrowing at sam’s confession. “what do you mean you don’t believe it?”

“you go on a three month long trip and suddenly you have a girlfriend for the first time in 70 years? no way.”

“sam, be nice.”

“i am being nice.” he loads up his fork for another bite. “i’m just saying i’ll believe it when i meet her.”

“well, she lives in chicago, bird-brain.”

“who lives in chicago?” natasha suddenly appears in front of them, an empty glass in her hand, presumably here to refill it. 

“bucky’s girlfriend.”

“sam!” steve slaps his shoulder

natasha’s mouth drops open. “you got a girlfriend?!”

bucky’s mouth forms into a disapproving line. “yeah, and sam doesn’t believe she exists.”

she laughs at this, beckoning over wanda and tony.

bucky wants to hide in his room at the sudden amount of people staring at him. 

“i’m with sam on this one.”

“really tony?” steve’s tone is teasing but he can’t help but feel bad for bucky. “you too?”

“i’ll believe it when i see it.”

“whatever.” bucky mumbles, his plate empty and beer gone. “you guys don’t have to believe me.”

“okay, buddy.” sam laughs. “good luck keeping up the act.”

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it’s been five months since bucky was first in chicago, and the team is nowhere near closer to believing in his relationship with you. they’ve walked in on him on the phone, smiling down at his text messages, him on call with you, even him calling a local flower shop in chicago to send you flowers. still, only steve believes you exist, but even he is starting to grow wary. somehow, bucky hasn’t shown any photographs of you, no letters, not even a video call to prove your existence. 

“i don’t know what else to do, peaches.” bucky pouts into the phone. on the other end, you laugh softly.

“they still don’t believe you?”

“sam thought i was texting myself today. myself! i told him i don’t even know how to do that! when i tried to show him photo of you, he said it doesn’t count unless i’m in the photo with you. then he said something about shop photo.”

“... do you mean photoshop?”

“yes! that!”

you giggle at him again. 

“this isn’t funny, peaches.”

“sounds awfully funny to me.” you can’t help but tease him. “why can’t you just put them on the phone?”

“they think i’m just gonna hire someone to pretend to be my girlfriend.” 

you don’t respond for a second, merely humming. “i’m sure we’ll think of something.”

the conversation changes and after a few minutes, clint comes by to get bucky for training. 

“hey, you’re late for training. steve is already downstairs waiting.”

“oh crap,” he pulls his phone closer to his ear. “i’m sorry, peaches. i gotta go. i love you.”

he hangs up after a moment and then moves to grab his gym bag.

“that your pretend girlfriend?” clint points to the phone.

bucky rolls his eyes. “not you, too.”

he raises his arms in defense. “sam has a good point.”

the two of them walk down the hall. “i don’t think he makes a good point.” he grumbles. clint laughs at him, entering the gym where nat and steve are sparring. 

“he’s here.” sam calls out, alerting steve. “what were you doing? calling your fake girlfriend?”

“she’s not fake.” 

“your make-believe girlfriend.”

“alright, sam,” steve interjects. “let’s just get started.”

by the time training ends, bucky just wants to cuddle on the couch with you and fall asleep. but you’re not here, and you haven’t texted him back since your phone call earlier. so, he’s stuck lounging on the couch, freshly showered, watching movies with the rest of the team for some “bonding” that steve insisted on. 

“why wouldn’t they just exchange numbers if they clearly like each other?”

“because,” wanda turns to bruce. “she wants fate to bring them together.”

“fate is not a five dollar bill. fate already brought them together! they’re just denying it.”

before anyone else responds, friday alerts them of someone’s arrival. 

“friday, who is it?” tony calls out. 

“she is not in the stark catalog or the shield workforce database, sir.” she responds.

“how did she get in here, then?”

“miss potts approved of her.”

they all exchange glances until the elevator doors slide open and in it, you with your overnight bag. 

stepping towards the group, you shyly call out. “bucky?”

he whips his head around, standing immediately. “peaches?”

a smile blooms across your face, dropping your bags to engulf him in a hug. he’s never hugged anyone so hard. 

“what are you doing here?” he kisses the top of your head. 

“i wanted to surprise you.” you speak quietly so only he can hear. “and i wanted to prove my existence” you giggle.

“who the fuck is that?”

“language.”

sam looks annoyingly at steve before focusing back on you two.

“sam…” natasha looks disappointed for him. “i think that’s bucky’s girlfriend.”

his jaw drops. “no way.” he scoffs. “no way she actually exists.”

“yeah, what?” tony looks around in shock. “and she just waltzes in here??”

you chuckle at the group of supers. “i thought you said they were smart.” 

bucky laughs at your comment. “sometimes they are.” 

“so you’re actually his girlfriend?” wanda studies you. “how did you meet?”

“bucky came to the cafe i work at.” you smile fondly at the memory. “we make the best peach cobbler croissants. i brought the recipe for you all to try.”

a few ears perk up at this. 

“what’s bucky’s middle name?” sam quizzes. “if you’re really his girlfriend.”

bucky wants to slap his forehead.

“uhm… pretty sure bucky is his middle name.” you laugh out. 

“oh.”

“that was a stupid question, sam.”

“i forgot!” he waves his hands around to dismiss what just happened. “what’s my middle name??”

“aren’t you supposed to be quizzing her about bucky?”

“not the point, peter.”

“you shouldn’t even be quizzing her.” bucky wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. “everyone, this is y/n. my girlfriend. my real girlfriend.” 

the sight of affection from bucky causes a silence to settle over the group, as if that was the definitive determining factor in this whole ordeal. 

“y/n, this is the team.” 

you smile, waving at them. 

“that’s steve.”

bucky points him out and steve immediately stands up, offering a hand. “it’s nice to finally meet you.”

you smile in response, the same soft one that had bucky falling for you in the first place.

“he’s the only one who actually believes you exist.” bucky whispers lowly into your ear, and the feel of his facial hair tickles you. “maybe we can all hang out later.” bucky announces, pulling you along towards the hallway to his room. 

he shuts the door behind you, pulling you into his arms. “i can’t believe you’re here.”

you tug at his henley, dog tags clinking as you pull him closer, wanting to kiss him after being void of it for so long. “kiss me already, barnes.”

and kiss you, he does. 

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bucky masterlist

[malereadermaniac]

Bachelors ~ Stardew Guys x Male Farmer Reader

Imagines in a headcannon style (kinda) with the stardew guys: first meets, dates, pinning, SMUT Characters: Alex, Sebastian + Short bonuses of Sam & Harvey! Top!Characters x Bottom!Reader Word count: 4.5k Nsfw / MDNI ~ amab m!reader / FDNI

Meeting Alex for the first time

The two of you met on your first day in the village. You had introduced yourself to his grandparents first, and as you were about to leave his grandma forced him to say 'hi'. Unlike the fairytales, you two were quite indifferent about each other for the first couple of weeks - Alex was his usual self whenever you'd see him, that being rude and arrogant, so you weren't his biggest fan. But since you'd promised to yourself that you'd make friends with every villager, you kept insisting on the brunette; chatting with him almost everyday and giving him gifts from time to time.

Alex didn't really get it, but he did feel weird the first time he met you; his heart beating faster and his words not coming to him. The jock of course brushed this off though, not even entertaining the idea of having some sort of crush on you, a man. On the other hand, you had come to terms with the fact that your want to be friends with Alex was partially driven by an attraction to him. Hey no judgment here! It would be hard for anyone to not get hot and bothered when you see the man shirtless on the daily; flexing his muscles and working out while he chats with you.

Mutual pining

It didn't take long for Alex to start catching feelings for you, but it did take long for him to accept that fact. After a month or so of knowing each other, Alex started to feel more comfortable around you, meaning his tough exterior started to crumble and the real Alex showed himself to you. The fact that Alex felt so comfortable around you made him feel some type of way, he'd never been able to be so raw and real with anyone; family or friend, girl or guy. It took many late night conversations with you, avoiding looking into your eyes too long and hiding his tan face as it turns to a pink hue, for the gridballer to come to terms with the fact that he had not only caught feelings for you, but he also had the MASSIVE hots for you! I mean, anyone with eyes with have the hots for you. You were a farmer, so your body spoke for itself, but your kindheartedness and way with animals made the bachelors of the village swoon for you! And as you and Alex hung out more and more, the brunette would catch himself admiring you a little too much; oh and this got worse as summer came by! The amount of times Alex would pop a boner cause he'd seen you shirtless was ridiculous... He couldn't help it! Your body, your arms, your chest, your belly UGH! Let's just say every inch of you had crossed Alex's mind when he would deal with the hard problems you'd cause him.

Pinning over Alex wasn't exactly easy for you. Up until the very moment the meat-head asked you out, you were convinced he was straight! So your very massive crush on the jock was kept on the low, reserved for late night fantasies and daydreams when you would spend time with him. But it would get harder and harder not to blush around the muscular man, especially since he was comfortable enough around you to just whip off most of his clothes! The amount of damn times you'd gotten hard from seeing Alex's sweaty, tan muscles as he works out; his muscular arms flexing, his six-pack tensing, his thick thighs bulging out of his shorts (and that wasn't the only thing bulging out of his shorts!). In short, more and more time with Alex was expanding your spank bank more and more!

The only reason Alex finally had the guts to ask you out was because of Haley! Hilariously, the both of you would confide in the blonde about your 'unrequited' feelings and worries, without knowing that the other was telling her the exact same thing! Eventually the girl got rightfully fed up, so she just told Alex to shut up midway through a 'woe is me' monologue and told him that you liked him back. The closet lesbian wished she'd recorded how quickly Alex had sprinted out of her room and to your farm! The moment was quite romantic to be fair to Alex, for it being extraordinarily spontaneous. He'd picked up some flowers from the village square (which the mayor later scolded him for) and knocked on your door then and there. Despite it being quite late at night, you opened the door, and was happily surprised to see a panting Alex standing in front of you, with a shabby bouquet of flowers held out to you. And after a very stuttery and hesitant confession, Alex asked you out - to which you didn't respond for a moment, which of course made the Jocks heart drop to his asshole! DID HALEY SET HIM UP???? But after a few moments, you could only respond to his confession with a chaste kiss; which the both of you will never stop thinking about.

Dates together

Dating Alex is extremely heteronormative to be frank. The man had an abusive and probably misogynistic father, of course he'd want to be 'the man' in the relationship despite both of you having dicks! So he's always the one to pay for things, always helping you around the farm in his spare time, and always insisting that he's the one to plan dates so that you don't have to worry. But hey, you can't really complain - he's doing all of the hard work! Alex is always there for you, helping you with anything you need; which is a real turn on, but you can't help but feel bad that he does so much for you. This leads to you trying to help Alex in other ways, which does unfortunately continue the heteronormativity of your relationship. You'll cook for Alex and always have him round for dinner, and you always offer to help him round the house if he ever mentions a job his grandparents have given him - very stereotypical behaviour, but you both don't really mind it.

Dates themselves can be anything with you two, you're both happy just spending time together. If Alex wants to treat you to a fancy date, the two of you will have a late night wine and dine at the saloon followed with a very spicy night at home. But the more regular dates include TV nights at your place or beach days and nights!

Time alone (smut)

Again, Alex's masculinity tends to be on the more fragile side, despite it significantly improving since meeting you, so he continues his manly shtick in the bedroom as well. Not only does that mean that the brunette is strictly a top (which there's no complaints about), but also that he prefers to have a more dominant role when you two get it on. But this isn't a big problem for your relationship, your dynamic already being very binary makes this dynamic easy to adopt. When it comes to what you two like to do, Alex is addicted to doggy style, he just fucking loves giving you backshots; watching your ass jiggle as his hips smack against it, the sound of your skin slapping against his turns the man on so, so much! That is to say, Alex isn't opposed to any other position, sex is sex! As long as he gets to hit it, he doesn't really care that much. His libido really does match his personality, the jock likes to have sex so much that you got a bit worried he had an addiction at one point! But in reality, Alex just fucking loves you so much that he needs to physically express it (we all know that words aren't his strong suit). Genuinely, you could literally smile at your boyfriend and he'll get hard. You two have fucked in coops and stables just because Alex couldn't help himself after watching you be so kind and cute with the animals!

Speaking of location, whilst you two are most comfortable in the bedroom, beach sex does sometimes happen; and you both fucking LOVE it. After an afternoon in the water and chatting in the sun, Alex and you love to stargaze after the sunsets; and laying next to each other in only swim trunks, having no one else around, silence except for each other's breathing and the sound of the sea, of course the romantic atmosphere and the closeness gets you two going! Riding Alex as he lays down on the beach towel, his strong hands on your hips as you bounce up and down on his dick, the moon and stars shining behind you making you look incredible; it's just perfect. And when the tables flip and Alex is the one with the moonlight shining on his muscles and gorgeous face as he drills into you missionary style, you can't help but get so fucking turned on!

Oh and when it comes to any specific kinks? You already know that Alex 100% has a thing for sports gear. Fucking you whilst you're wearing his varsity jacket or his gridball shirt makes the jock feel slightly possessive over you, and that just turns him on even more. Giving you backshots whilst you wear a jockstrap? Alex has never been more hard! And holy shit does the man look hot as fuck in his gridball gear, just sweaty after a little practice, his muscles gleaming as his white jockstrap becomes almost see through, his high-socks accentuating his calves - your boyfriend just looks like a fucking sex god. And just as a little tidbit, Alex has a huge thing for blowjobs. He just loves running his fingers through your hair and looking into your eyes as he gets the best, sloppiest head of his life~

Meeting Sebastian for the first time

It's no surprise that you first encountered this emo on a rainy evening. You had gone out into the mountain on a late night walk, umbrella in hand as you walked the dim path; that was when you saw Sebastian's hooded figure just standing on the cliff, smoking a cigarette. You swiftly introduced yourself to the taller man, checking that he wasn't about to die of hypothermia from the cold and offering to share your umbrella. The encounter wasn't awkward, it was silent, sure, but it was a comfortable silence - the sound of the rain and the soft drags of Sebastian's cigarette made you feel oddly calm. Though few words were spoken, you two got to know each other pretty well, well enough to hang out the following week.

Being friends with Seb was great! He liked his alone time, so you two weren't constantly together, but the times you two hung out were always good. It was just that... there was always this weird, light tension in the air whenever you and the emo were alone. Prolonged eye-contact, lingering touches on his arms and shoulder or on your thighs and hands, and complimenting each other would always result in beat-red faces. You were very aware of the fact that you were crushing on your very handsome friend, so you would jokingly, lightly flirt with Sebastian; you would compliment his piercings (cause YES he 100% has piercings), play with his hair and call him a hunk whenever he revealed his muscles. It was all playful though, it wasn't as if every single one of your actions was making Sebastian spiral more and more about his sexuality!

Mutual pining

Seb didn't take long to come to terms with the fact that he was actually head over heels for you, it was more his sexuality he was struggling with. But outside of his constant internal debates about how to label himself, Sebastian was more than willing to flirt with you and see how it goes. Sometimes, the two of you would smoke together, the taller man never letting you use one of your own straights and giving you one of his own - he'd even changed the brand of cigs he'd buy to the ones you like. He liked asking you to go for a smoke whenever it was windy, to make sure that you cling to him for warmth; and if Seb got lucky, you wouldn't be able to light your cigarette because of the wind, allowing him to swoop in like a saviour and light your cig with the end of his, bringing his face so, so close to yours. So close that he could feel your breath hitch from the proximity, so close that he could look into your eyes with no distractions. Sebastian would become more talkative around you, he still wouldn't chat as much as you did, but the emoboy would show more and more of himself everyday. Oh and as Sebastian became more and more desperate to share his feelings with you, his flirting would get just a little more intense; compliments becoming part of his greeting whenever you two would meet up, touching becoming more common, and a little jealousy showing whenever other guys would get a little too friendly with you. Your part of the flirting was less direct. You would often compliment Seb on his piercings (as already said), touching the cold metal on his face with a smile as you look into the taller man's dark eyes. The two of you would hangout in Sebastian's room a lot, just rotting in bed as you chat or he does work, and you would do your best not to blush at the pair of designer boxers left on his bed or dresser (which Seb defo didn't leave out to push the boundaries).

Dates together

This man asked you out in the most romantic way possible. He made sure that you both had the evening free and said he wanted to take you somewhere. THIS MAN takes you on a ride on his motorcycle, making sure your arms are tight around his waist, your head resting on his back, and he takes you to a small cliff with the most beautiful view of the city. Sebastian then gives you a somewhat long speech about how much he's changed and how much his life has changed since you'd met him, how he's never felt this way for anyone and how he feels so alive when he's around you, how he feels like his heart is on fire whenever he sees you around other guys. And instead of giving a conclusion to his speech, he just puts his strong, veiny hands around your waist and kisses you. Safe to say you were fucking smitten after that.

Ever since then you two have been kinda inseparable, visiting each other for hours at a time, going on dates every week; Sebastian is an incredible boyfriend. To form some sort of tradition, on every anniversary, Seb always takes you on a ride on his bike and brings you back to that cliff where you two made it official; having set up a candle-lit picnic, he's just so cute. Even though you've both limited your smoking, the way you've done so is in itself very romantic. You two are allowed one cigarette a day, one for the two of you, not one each! So whenever it's your turn to have a drag, Sebastian will take a puff and shotgun the smoke into your mouth, his manly hand holding your face close to his, your lips just barely a millimeter apart.

Time alone (smut)

HEY EMO BOY! You just know that dick is huuuuge. Long, white and veiny with a pink tip. Sebastian is uncut and you already know that man has a prince albert! You've teased him about his dick piercing before, but he flips the tables real quick saying how he knows that you love it - and he's not wrong. Holy fuck does his dick just feel so fucking good inside you, and ten times better cause of that fucking piercing! The cold metal rubbing against your walls, the hard material jabbing into your prostate from time to time, making you fucking writhe underneath your boyfriend. Oh and Seb has a sleeper build for sure! All he has to do is take that hoodie off and give a little flex, and his whole body becomes like that of a Grecian statue - just massive arms, wide shoulders, rock hard abs, thick thighs, and massive, pillow-like pecs. It doesn't help that the muscular man's favorite position is missionary, making him seem even more massive and strong looming above you as he fucks the shit out of you. Another hot thing to point out is the obsidian coloured bars going through both of his nipples, contrasting the soft pink of his flesh so nicely - He's just so fucking hot!

Sebastian definitely has the hots for public blowjobs - he's usually not the biggest fan of PDA or even being in public, but damn he just can't help but get so turned on when your sucking his dick in public! Just the thrill of maybe being caught with his dick out and down your throat while on some park bench. He also can't deny that he likes to see the nature around him, the gravel beneath you as you're on your knees in front of him, the trees around and the sound of the water - it turns Seb on but he also just finds it beautiful, he can't help that he's an emo at heart, just so emotional!

But if Sebastian had to admit, he'd say that his ultimate sexual fantasy is just fucking like some gross, incel. Don't get him wrong, Sebastian is like the opposite of an incel! His political views are obviously very liberal! But he just can't deny the fact that the idea of fucking in his room, door locked, just spending the weekend in his room, just fucking, chilling and fucking some more without worrying about work, friends, or even getting up to shower, that shit just really turns him on! He's often fantasied about how you'd look fucked out on his bed, body drenched in sweat and at least 10 full condoms decorating your body and his bed - the idea gets him as hard as a rock! And who knows, maybe Seb has already booked you two a little cabin in the woods for your five year anniversary to do just that...

Bonus: Sam

Meeting Sam is a moment you think about very often. You first ran into him near the mountains, just sitting on a bench and playing his guitar, humming and singing along - and you found that so so attractive. You were thirsting over this man since your first meeting!

You had been pining over Sam since your first meeting, so your view on the friendship which prospered hadn't really changed. You were happy being friends with the guitar player, but you would drop small comments here and there, flirting with the man ever so slightly - which the neither of you really minded. Sam on the other hand, he realised that his feelings for you were anything but platonic and couldn't really hide it; this man couldn't stop blushing whenever you were even mentioned in conversation, let alone when he was actually around you! And let's be so real, his feelings for you were of course very romantic, but also incredibly sexual, so of course Sam was straight up jerking it to fantasies of you on the regular!!

Sam's confession to you was real sweet though, and quite heated as well... He'd asked to meet you at his house one day during winter and immediately invited you into his room when he noticed your pink nose and ears. He was stuttering and blushing as he professed his undying romantic feelings towards you, and his body only increased in temperature ten fold after you responded to his confession with a kiss. Sam couldn't get enough of your soft lips and smooth hands on his face, which turned what was meant to be a short kiss into a full blown make out sesh! The two of you were on Sam's bed for like an hour, just making out and grinding against eachother fully clothed. But before the guitarist could take things any further, Sam's mother interrupted the two of you with a knock on the door. And hilariously, when asked why he looked so flushed and sweaty, Sam simply said he was doing push ups...

Ugh and dating Sam is just so wholesome. Good luck kisses before shows are a must, and its a tradition that the two of you have stuck to; from when Sam was playing small gigs to when the two of you had left the village and moved to the city after Sam's band had skyrocketed in fame. The blonde had even written you a song and played it at one of his bigger shows at the time, dedicating it to you and going on a small rant about how important you are to him and that the band wouldn't exist without you (how fucking cute is that.

Now on the more spicy side of the relationship, when the two of you were still living in the village, Sam would always dirty talk and fantasise about being famous and fucking you like a rockstar; and he stayed true to his word. The both of you are usually very horny after Sam plays a show, what? like you're supposed to watch your boyfriend get all sweaty on a stage as he plays guitar and sings a couple of songs about you and NOT get really fucking turned on??? And whilst not making him sound like a douche, the applause and the thrill of playing for a bunch of people really gets Sam going, so show nights usually end up getting real steamy. You do sometimes get jealous because of Sam's numerous fan girls' behaviour, your mood souring slightly and your clingyness decreasing. Sam always notices though, and he makes sure that you know that you're the only one he has eyes for by rocking your world; starting the night with making you cum just from eating you out and fingering you, and then making you almost immobile after a couple long, pleasurable rounds. You already know that the man is good with his fingers, he's a guitarist for gods sake! Oh and that dick is good too, it's average and perfect that way, he's cut and has one prominent veiny on the underside, and the carpet matches the drapes but Sam makes sure that his bush is nicely trimmed; to ensure that you have no inconveniences when blowing him (which you do a lot).

Bonus: Harvey

You met him briefly on your first day in the village, but officially met and hit it off as friends when you went to him as a patient. A small friendship did bloom, you would hang out with Harvey from time to time, but there was ALWAYS some crazy tension of the sexual variety whenever the two of you were together.

It was kinda obvious that the two of you were pining over each other, but the first move wasn't made until you finally had enough of small compliments and lingering touches. After you had gone to the clinic for some ointment after scratching your arm up on the farm, you and Harvey had a usual moment of sexual tension and silence, his face just a few inches away from yours. You finally had enough and just grabbed the brunettes face and smashed your lips against his. Your fingers gently griping the doctor's brown curls as the two of you held a prolonged, passioante kiss. After said kiss, Harvey was RED in the face, and the end of your appointment was a little awkward. But during your next appointment, Harvey had mentioned that you two shouldn't let that happen again, to which you responded by kissing the man again. Harvey couldn't deny that he wanted to keep kissing you more than ever, but he had to pull you off, grunting out a "(Y/n). NO." in a disgruntled, HOT voice.

Harvey couldn't stop thinking about you though, so the two of you did start dating soon after the whole kiss fiasco. Dates together are really wholesome, the doctor being a true gentleman, so you two regularly go out on dinner dates where Harvey will wear his best dress and wine n dine you; usually giving you some sort of gift and showering you with compliments. Late night cuddles whilst watching something are a must for Harvey, he likes the feeling of his arms around you, it makes him feel as if he's keeping you safe. Oh and dating a doctor has many benefits to it, the second you start to get suspiciously tired or sneeze one too many times, Harvey is putting you on a mandatory bed rest and he's in the kitchen cooking up a soup within seconds.

In the bedroom, Harvey is just as wholesome and romantic as you'd expect him to be. This man loves missionary! He's such a sweetheart, he just wants to make sure you're doing alright and feeling incredible. The brunette loves to have sex with you, he's constantly complimenting you and praising you, making sure you know how good you're making him feel. Lotsss of kissing with this man, Harvey just needs to feel even closer to you even though he's inside of you; and he needs to convey his love for you in a more physical way on top of literally pounding you like mad. You have such a thing for Harvey's moustache, ugh especially while he's muching!! It just feels so funny, the hairs tickling you as the brunette's eating you out like a starved man. And he just looks so cute and hot when you can actually see him eating you out; his moustache pushed up slightly, his glasses getting pushed up his face and crooked from Harvey smushing his face into your cheeks, a thick blush covering his face. He's a little bit of a sub sometimes, likes it when you ride him and take control, Harvey likes to keep his hand on your hips as you gently ride him, letting out breathy moans as you show him just how good his dick is. Oh and he definitely has a thing for roleplaying patient and doctor cause it reminds him of how you two met n started out! "Dr are you sure this is necessary?" "Of course it is, now spread you're legs just a little more for me, let doctor get his probe in deeper"

Hope you guys enjoyed! Back home for chrimbo, might post a little who knows! I do have an essay to do for uni tho... Love ya guys! Laterz!

[bigtreefest]

Cinnamon Rolls

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve has to decide which is the lesser of two evils: waking you up from your nap, or letting the cinnamon rolls in the oven burn.

Word count: 1,686

Content/warnings: fluff! Kissing, cooking, Steve being too perfect and sweet, tickling

A/N: hehehe, thanks to @thezombieprostitute for always indulging my thots and whims, especially regarding my love for cinnamon rolls and cinnamon roll-like men.

Comments, reblogs, and asks are especially appreciated!

Dividers by @mikeykuns

Main Masterlist

You looked over the back of the couch and towards the kitchen in the open living area of the cabin you and Steve were staying in for the weekend. Tony had insisted, of course, that the two of you take some time off and away from the city, which at this point, didn’t take much convincing, even for two people who worked themselves to the bone as much as you and Steve.

The past three weeks had been grueling, as you guided Steve and the rest of the Avengers through a mission in a South American city via coms. It was a series of sleepless nights and food rations, but worth it for the safety of the world. Both you and Steve were willing to pay that price, but afterwards, somehow Tony talked you into taking him up on his offer for alone time in his remote property upstate.

It was nice, but cold, which you would’ve complained about if you hadn’t had a personal heater in the form of your super soldier husband. The same man who was bent over the oven right now, sliding in a tray of something that he wasn’t letting you see. What you were happy to look at in the meantime, though, was that ass, somehow still so plump and prominent in a pair of flannel pajama pants that you’d hardly seen him take off since you’d gotten here. One of your favorite sights, that probably would be until the end of time, was Steve when he was relaxed and comfy. And you knew he loved to see you the same way, wearing a pair of old sweats and his Army hoodie that he’d gotten soon after joining this century.

The view earned him a cat call whistle, and when he stood and closed the oven door, you were sure the blush on his cheeks wasn’t just from the heat in the kitchen. It was nice how much you could still make him a little bashful after all this time.

You watched his eyes, full of amusement and affection as he rounded the corner of the couch to move towards where you were curled up in a blanket by the fire.

“You gonna tell me what you and those buns have got cooking, good looking?”

Steve let out a lighthearted chuckle and the corners of his eyes creased, still as beautiful as ever. He shrugged as he lifted the soft throw blanket and settled in against the armrest before gesturing for you to snuggle up to him.

“No way. It’s a surprise. You can guess once it’s done, though.”

You sighed as you laid a hand and your head on his chest, adjusting until you were comfortably laying with him, legs tangled. Steve reached for the book you had turned upside down on the coffee table to keep your page and looked over a few lines.

“The Hobbit, huh?”

You nodded, the rustling sound of his threadbare hoodie on your ear just covering his faint heartbeat.

“Yeah, Bucky lent it to me.”

Steve exhaled a laugh through his nose, a boyish grin rising on his face. “That’s the least he could do. Punk stole my copy back in the day, then gave it to some girl he never saw again after he was done.”

You smiled in response to the way he reminisced about the old days. You absolutely loved when Steve would bring up his childhood memories. They were so different from yours, yet so full of parallels. Kids will be kids, after all.

You put your chin on his chest to look up at him, met with sparkling blue eyes, reflecting the bright light that bounced off the snow outside the windows.

“Of course he did. He was a charmer, wasn’t he?”

Steve leaned down for a kiss as you stretched to meet him.

“For sure. Not as much as me, though, of course.”

You playfully rolled your eyes along with him. “Right, of course. I’m sure you were a real heartbreaker back in the day.”

Steve’s eyebrows lowered and the corners of his lips turned upward in a sarcastic smile. “Left and right.”

You placed a reverent kiss on his sternum before resettling yourself on his pec, squishier than usual from not having been to the gym in a few days. It was perfect.

You smiled to yourself. “Well, I’m glad those days are behind you.”

Steve brushed a hand up and down your back. “I’d never break your heart, you know, I’d rather work to fill it with love every day. Forever if I can.”

Steve always knew exactly what to say to have you blushing, too, even if it was unintentional. The words that spilled out of his mouth warmed you from the inside out with how sincere they always were. You patted his belly gently, “and I hope to do the same for you.”

Steve hummed before he held the book back up in his line of sight.

“Glad we’re on the same page. Speaking of which, you want me to read for you?”

You nodded again, tucking a hand up under his hoodie, warming your cold fingers against his abs. “Mmmhmmm.”

Steve cleared his throat and began, his voice a smooth, deep rumble conducted through his chest and across your body. It was one of the best sounds, one of the best feelings, to be curled up close to him and taken care of. Cherished.

The gentle cadence of his voice carried in the cozy air around the couch as your breaths began to even out. Steve sensed it as your body relaxed into his, fully softened in a light slumber. He finished the page he was on just to make sure you were fully out before marking where he stopped and placing your book back on the table. He continued lulling you to sleep gently, his blunt fingertips drawing circles between your shoulder blades. Steve basked in the sunshine of enjoyment that came from how safe he knew he made you feel.

He sat there for a second, satisfied with everything in his life. With you, everything hard he’d gone through before was worth it. Nothing could break the feeling of fullness in his heart.

And then he smelled it. The cinnamon rolls. How long ago had he put them in? He craned his neck to look at the timer on the stove. They were just past halfway done. And Steve would rather die than move you right now when you were so peaceful. He considered his options and pulled out his phone.

Tony, can you remotely turn off an oven up here?

No. What part of ‘everything’s off the network except whatever you bring up there’ did you not understand?

Steve sighed to himself. He thought Tony was joking. Could he actually have a place somewhere so disconnected? He knew there was at least a Wi-Fi router, but really? Nothing else? Tony Stark has changed.

Why? Doing something else that’s keeping you from the oven?😏

Yes. But not like that. Steve rolled his eyes and opened up a different text conversation.

Sam, can redwing open doors?

Yeah, but the door probably won’t close again. He’s got lasers. You need help?

Steve sighed again. That wouldn’t work either.

No, I’ll figure it out.

One more try. Maybe Bucky and Nat?

Hey. Either one of you close to Tony’s place in the mountains? I got a favor to ask.

No. We’re at dinner in the city. Why? Everything ok?

Steve bit his lip in contemplation.

Yeah. Nothing I can’t handle. Thanks anyway.

He locked his phone and set it on the coffee table next to your book, running a hand over his face. He could do this. Maybe he could carefully carry you to the kitchen, just to take them out, then go back to the couch? But would that disturb you too much?

Maybe he could stuff pillows into his spot and you wouldn’t even realize you were clinging to something else. Yeah. That could work.

He looked back over at the timer on the oven. It had just reached two minutes left. Okay, he was gonna do it. Just move carefully and quietly and quickly to hit the button so the timer didn’t startle you awake.

But it was too late. Before he could even move a muscle, you were stirring. Eyes still closed, your nose rose to the air, taking a deep breath of the scent that had permeated the cabin. A smile took over your face and your eyes finally fluttered open, landing on Steve. Your voice held a light rasp to it.

“Cinnamon rolls. My favorite.”

Steve nodded. “Uh huh.”

You shifted to straddle his waist, arms clinging around his torso. “Cinnamon rolls made by my favorite cinnamon roll.”

Steve laughed at the long running joke of what you always called him, moving to sit up, big hands holding you steady against him. He stood with your body wrapped around his and made it to the oven before the loud beeping started, shutting everything off and setting the tray on the counter.

“Of course, darling.”

He set you on the granite beside the stove, kissing your nose at your whine at the loss of his touch. He opened the fridge and pulled out a container of cream cheese icing he had made, setting it in your hands as he sifted through the drawers for a knife.

You took off the lid, swiping a finger through the frosting and sucking it off with a moan.

“Dang, that’s good.”

You scooped up another bit, holding it out for Steve, but when he opened his mouth, you booped it onto his nose. With a giggle, you went to kiss it off but Steve was too quick, whisking you away back to the couch.

“Ohhh, you’re gonna get it.”

Before you knew it, you were kicking and laughing so hard that your stomach hurt, surrounded in a world of love and warmth with your husband. Even though this was a short trip, every day with him felt like this on the inside.

Bonus A/N: ohhhh sweet Steeb. Gimme this cinnamon roll🥺

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly @mercurial-chuckles @steviebbboi @thiquefunlover63

[tldrthor]

promises we intend to keep | steve rogers

Summary: The Avenger's spend time with their comatose friend, Cap's sanity slips from him as he spends every night by her bedside. Is blind faith enough?

Part 2 to things we shouldn't have said (prev. classic enemies to lovers stuff) // He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn't care less. // word count: 4.3k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

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“Hi, (y/n).” He settled himself into the chair next to the bed, the familiar antiseptic smell filling his nostrils, the beep, beep, beep of her heart like music to his ears. He had hated it at first, but now, it was evidence that she was still here. There was still hope. “I’ve got a break between meetings so I figured I’d come down and say hello.”

He leaned back, watching her peaceful features as unmoving as they had been for nearly a month now. He frowned at the wires connected to her neck and chest, knowing that if she was awake she would’ve hated that. Part of him wanted to rip them off, but his more rational thinking prevented him from doing that.

Dr. Cho’s words circled round his mind, as they hadn’t stopped doing since she spoke them all those weeks ago. “She’s not out of the woods yet. She died twice on the table, and requires all manners of intervention going forward. We’ll only know the extent of the damage when she wakes up –” The doctor had paused for just a second, trying to soften what was only certain to be a killing blow. “–If she wakes up.”

Every time he remembered those words, his knees felt as weak as Bambi on ice. The nausea he used to feel every time he entered this room had faded, and the shell-shock had worn. She still occupied every moment of his thoughts, awake or unconscious. Not that he had been doing a lot of sleeping.

He opened the book at the page he had last left off at, when Sam had come downstairs and dragged the Captain to bed himself last night. “Just to recap,” He spoke to her regardless of her response to him. “Laurie confessed to Jo, but she rejected him. Beth is still sick and boy, that’s rough.” 

He cleared his throat and began reading aloud.

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“(Y/l/n), I’ve had enough now.” Natasha charged through the doors to where (y/n) lay. She threw herself down in the chair, leaning her head on her asleep friend’s shoulder, trying to gain what little emotional support she could from her usual source of sanity amongst the chaos of the compound. “The boys are driving me crazy. I think you’ve made your point; Cap is sorry – he’s very, very sorry, borderline depressed – so you can come back.”

She smiled a charming, pleading smile. But no one was there to see it. She dropped the smile after a few seconds.

“(Y/n), it’s hard without you here. No one’s the same, and Steve won’t accept any missions so we can’t even escape. Sam and Bucky are about to tear each other apart, and Cap just wallows in the gym whenever he’s not here with you.”

More silence. 

“Anyways, Cap said that he wants someone here as much as possible. And we haven’t hung out in a while, so if you don’t mind we’re going to watch the new season of Love Island together.” She kicked off her shoes, stretching her legs over the hospital bed and getting comfortable.

================================================

The next visitor didn’t say anything as he walked through the doors, hovering by the foot of the bed. He uncomfortably brought his hands in and out of his pockets, shifting from one leg to the other. 

He eventually moved beside the bed, reaching a hand out to her forehead, to get rid of a hair that had found itself there. He stood there, staring, in silence for a while longer. He swallowed, took a breath, and spoke out loud;

“Kid, I don’t know if you can hear me.” He paused. “You probably can’t.”

He paced around the room, continuing; “I just want you to know, I got your little letter. Really, more of a stunt, very childish – anyway. I want you to know that if that’s your wish, I’ll help you out in setting up. But I also need you to know that you’re going to have to tell me that to my face. So you’ll have to wake up.”

“Also, I’m your boss and your sick pay is running out, so chop chop.” He joked to himself. He basked in the silence for another second.

“It’s not the same without you, (y/l/n). Hope to talk soon.”

“Mr. Stark, Mrs Potts is requesting your presence in the kitchen.” FRIDAY chimed in right on time. He muttered a be right up, taking one last look at his young teammate, and walked out the doors. 

================================================

A month to the day since she was shot, Steve couldn’t sleep. Before the whole debacle, he would’ve just gone to the gym and fought it out of his system. But now, he couldn’t bear being anywhere but in the medical bay. He couldn’t even count the amount of times he had woken up in that chair, neck in excruciating pain, the book on the floor. Or, the amount of times Bucky or Sam or Natasha had come downstairs and marched him back to bed.

He couldn’t help it. The thought of her waking up alone, not knowing where she is, was his greatest concern – scratch that, his greatest fear was her not waking up at all.

He didn’t take the time to change into proper clothes, instead deciding to head down in his pyjamas – ones that she had complimented him on, once upon a time. Red flannel pants and a matching henley – she had described it as ‘lumberjack chic’ and then explained that that was a good thing. He hadn’t realised back then, but Steve now thinks she might have been flirting. He cursed how much of an idiot he was before this disaster.

He wished desperately he could turn back time to then. Before he decided the only way not to love her, was to hate her.

“It’s me, again.” He spoke, taking his familiar spot on the chair next to the bed. He yawned, getting himself more comfortable, flicking the blanket they had all collectively decided was required over his legs. “Now, where were we?” He picked up the book again, reciting words from the pages until it fell from his hand, loud snores from his mouth filling the room.

================================================

When he awoke again, he was in the same familiar pain he always had when he spent too much time in the chair. This time he had fallen forward, his head resting on the bed and… his hand entwined in hers.

He sighed, giving himself the luxury of just a second feeling what he would never have. Her hands were soft, and smooth. Not like his own. They were warm, and comfortable, and something about her fingers holding onto his just felt right.

It wouldn’t be respectful to linger for longer than that, not without her knowing, but as he tried to pull his hand away –

Was that a twitch?

He stared at her hand, now more awake and alert than he had been all month. There was no way, he was definitely just going delirious through stress, or lack of sleep, or maybe his age had just caught up with him because –

A second twitch.

“Oh my god.” He glared daggers into her hand, as if that would do something. Maybe he really was losing his marbles. This was just wishful thinking. His heart feeling like it was about to thump, thump, thump right out of his chest. Do it again. Please, do it again. 

When it happened for a third time, and he saw it with his own eyes, he could only make a noise that could really only be described as a squeal. On his feet in an instant, his hand finding its way to her cheek, cupping her face.

There was no other sign of life. He stared and stared and stared. “Wake up, (y/n). Wake up, I’m here.” He pleaded. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he considered them; “If you wanted to prove a point, consider it proven. You’re not a liability, you’ve never, ever been a liability.”

“Just wake up. I am so, so sorry for everything.” His thumb stroked her cheek, his eyes staring at her face looking for anything that might indicate she was coming back to him. “Just wake up.”

Nothing.

He sat back down, defeated. He had gotten his hopes up, and it all came crashing back down. He placed his hand firmly back on hers as he leant his head on the bed, wet patches forming on the sheets as saltwater leaked from his eyes.

====================================

“Cap, we’re not saying we don’t believe you —” Sam was interrupted.

Steve turned away from his friends, growing more and more frustrated with every sentence uttered. They didn’t believe him. She had moved. She was coming back, but no one would listen.

“You don’t believe me. I promise her hand twitched.” His jaw tensed, his stare as far away from his friends as he could get.

“Stevie, we believe that you felt something, but you have to admit, bud, you’ve been hardly sleeping and pushing yourself too far. Nothing was picked up on monitors, how would that be?” Bucky reasoned, sitting in the same chair where Steve had been so convinced she was waking up, just hours ago.

He had called them to the room as early as he deemed was responsible that day, and they had come running. Only to find their friend still asleep, and the captain with red eyes and bags under them that only seemed to get worse and worse the more they looked.

Sam sighed, hand reaching up to rub his temple. He had had a pretty consistent headache himself for a good couple of weeks. “Steve, I completely understand. We all want her back, but you can’t keep torturing yourself over this. She’ll wake up, just give her time.”

“Sam, it’s been a month – the doctor said if she was going to wake up it would take around a week.” Steve pleaded, the tears welling in his eyes again. He didn’t care anymore about hiding it from them. They already thought he was crazy anyway.

Sam placed a hand on his back as he wiped the water with the back of his hand.

“We’ll wait as long as it takes, but it has to be we. You can’t be here all the time, Steve. It’s no good if she wakes up and you’ve killed yourself from lack of sleep.”

“I don’t want to miss the moment she comes back.” He whispered.

Sam and Bucky made eye contact, pitying looks cast between them. 

Bucky decided to speak, seeing Sam’s heartbreak at trying to reason with their normally solid friend. “Steve, you have to go to bed – don’t argue – but I’ll stay with her. I promise that if anything happens, I will let you know in an instant.”

Steve’s lips drew into a tight line, his eyebrows furrowed. Bucky continued; “Come on, just give me a couple hours, Stevie. I’ll chat to her, we’ll listen to music or something. I promise I’ll take care of her.”

“Come on.” Sam put his arm round Steve, gentle but firmly leading him away. He stole one last glance, as Bucky pulled out his phone to put on some music.

When the boys were finally away, Bucky turned to her. “You’re causing quite a ruckus, tiger. You always liked your sleep, but this is a bit much.” He laughed, leaning back in the chair. “There’s not much to say, kid – I know that the others have been talking your ear off. We need you back.”

He scrolled on his phone a little. Looking for the playlist she had shared with him – one to blend their music tastes. It was originally just for a mission they had to go on together, but turned into one of his favourite ways to bond with her. Music. He laughed again at the name: ‘Golden Oldie and the Wunderkind’ He remembered the day she had made up the name, they hadn’t stopped laughing for hours.

He clicked shuffle, smiling as I and Love and You by the Avett Brothers came over the speakers. “I know you like this song because it reminds you of Stevie.” He teased, but let it play out. He didn’t quite let himself sing, but he did mouth the words to his favourite verse;

That woman, she’s got eyes that shine, Like a pair of stolen, polished dimes. She asked to dance, I said ‘it’s fine– I’ll see you in the morning time’.

What he didn’t tell her, didn’t dare to say out loud, was that ever since he had mentioned to Steve that she liked the song, Steve had listened to it at least once a day. Particularly after they had their usual fights.

These idiots have a lot to figure out when she wakes up. He thought to himself.

================================================

Bucky got a few hours with her, listening to their playlist, occasionally chatting about the song choices. He briefly tried to read the book on the side, but when he saw it was Little Women, he put it right back down again. 

“Sorry, tiger. Not my vibe.” He chuckled.

The doors opened slowly, revealing a slightly-less-haggard Captain America. He had put actual clothes on, looked like he had slept at least a little bit and had even showered. Bucky gave a nod of approval, folding his arms and leaning back in the chair again.

“You feeling better?” Bucky asked his friend, who simply nodded in response. 

Buck stood, knowing that Steve wanted to be alone with her right now. To not have the pitying looks thrown at him that Bucky couldn’t help but cast. He understood, he had been there.

“See ya, punk.” He gave a hearty smile before leaving.

Steve took his rightful seat, sighing before starting the same routine they had done over, and over, and over again. He was growing so sick of this chair, and the bed, and the beeping from the machines that didn’t seem to be helping at all. 

He got through around half a chapter of Little Women, until he realised that Beth was going to die. He didn’t know how he hadn’t remembered, he had heard his mother reading this book all the way back in ‘35. He closed the book, finding death far too triggering, given the current situation. 

Just closing the book wasn’t enough, it was like it burned him to hold it. He threw it across the room in a moment of fury. Frustration swept his whole body as he spiralled, down and down and down. He was ashamed of how out of control he had become. He had always been so rational, so measured. He was always the one people came to when they needed grounding – yet he didn’t know how to ground himself.

He rested his head on her arm, his sweaty palms holding her hand with a ferocity hitherto unseen from him. Like his damn life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

“Come on, (y/n),” He pleaded with the air. With God. With her. “I know you’re mad at me, just wake up and we’ll have another shouting match. Just like before.” A brutally defeated tone weighed down his voice, rough and gravelly from the effort of his bargain. He enclosed her hand in both of his own, leaning his head against them.

A cough. 

He froze for a second, hiding behind her hand in his. The coughs continued, dry and painful sounding. Was there someone else in the room?

He took a moment to steel himself, peeling himself away from her hand, and staring at her, mouth agape like a fish out of water. “Oh my god.”

“Water.” She croaked.

He jumped up, the chair going flying backwards. He didn’t notice. With shaking hands, he poured the water from the jug on the bedside table into one of the plastic cups. He held it up to her dry, cracked lips, watching as she drank the whole cup.

“Be careful.” He spoke, instincts kicking in. “You’re on fluids, don’t overload your kidneys.”

She finished, her head laying straight back down on the pillow. He could see in her very brief movements that she was weak. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Her eyes were barely open as she turned her head in his direction.

“Captain?” Her voice was rough as sandpaper, like she was straining just to get her singular words out. He just stared, incredulously.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” The pet name rolled off his tongue like he had always said it, and he didn’t even notice. “Oh, my god. You’re awake. I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here.”

He had practiced over and over again, what he was going to say to her when she woke up. Thought about it for entire nights when he couldn’t get to sleep. His plans had been poetic and perfect – they were not ‘oh my god you’re awake.’ He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn’t care less.

Her eyes opened, slowly, and she looked around the room. “What happened?” The words were still a struggle to get out and he could tell. He wanted to tell her to rest, to save her voice for later, to recuperate. But he hadn’t heard that sound in so long, that he let himself be selfish – just one more time.

His own mouth when dry at her amnesia. She knew who he was, which was good. But not knowing how she ended up here was a bad sign. 

“What do you remember?” She was growing restless at lying down, and she was in so much pain. It felt like her whole body was made of stone, but she used all of the strength she had in her to try to sit up.

She was met by gentle hands, guiding her up and placing pillows behind her to support her. Hands that belonged to her once arch-nemesis, who looked at her now like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

She was so confused. 

“I remember arguing in the forest.” Her eyes were wide with what Steve could only decipher as panic. “I don’t remember anything else… Why am I here?” The scared tone in her voice broke Steve’s heart all over again, but it could not take over the elation he felt at the fact that she was there.

He took a deep breath, briefly considering what he should tell her, considering all the events of the last month, in particular, that day. One of the worst days of his life.

“You were shot through the chest.” He began. “It knocked you out instantly, we barely got you here alive.” He ran his thumb softly over the back of her hand, unable to make eye contact. “You- you’ve been asleep for a month.”

He decided not to tell her of the fact she had died on the operating table. That could wait.

“A month?!” She shouted, resulting in another coughing fit. He helped her drink some more water, making soothing noises as she did so. It all felt so surreal. Every minute of every day since that moment, he had wished for this. And now it was happening. She was awake, and talking. 

Her voice started to clear; “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

“No. Please, don’t worry about me. You saved me from being shot right before you went down – it was my fault you got hurt.”

“I don’t think that’s right.” She contorted her face into a puzzled expression, looking down at his hand, clasping hers. She said it as a mix between a statement and a question – “We’re holding hands?”

“Yes, um. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up and your hand twitched a couple of days ago so that’s why – sorry, I’ll stop-”

As he tried to untangle their hands, she closed her fist and prevented him from doing so. He watched her chest rise and fall quickly, her eyes wide.

“Please, don’t.” Her words were like a child’s as her nostrils flared. She was uncertain. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her uncertain before, not even a flash of hesitance had danced across her features as far back as he could remember. “It feels nice.”

Maybe, he just wasn’t paying enough attention.

“Then I’ll keep holding your hand until you ask me to stop.” He promised. A gentle, sincere smile took over his features, which she tried her best to replicate. He observed her face, drinking in the colour in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. 

It was a stark contrast to how they had last left off – the image replaying over and over again in his mind of her clinging to life, blood leaking from her mouth, her nose, her chest. The inky, sticky red coating his suit and his hands and his shoes. So much blood, endless. Sometimes he still felt the slick heat of it all over him. He wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to scrub that feeling from his memory.

“Where are the others? Are they okay?” (Y/n) asked, looking around the room at the various bunches of flowers and cards littered upon every surface. Steve had completely forgotten the others existed in his complete shock at her return.

He winced, knowing he should have called for them immediately. “They’ll be so happy to see you.” He spoke directly to her, and then to the ceiling; “FRIDAY, let everyone know that (y/n) is awake.”

“Yes, Captain.” The irish lilt came from above.

It was mere seconds before the doors came barrelling open, the entire team funnelling into the relatively small room, crowding around the bed and exclaiming various different versions of ‘Oh my god’, ‘You’re awake’, ‘Holy shit’. The room was absolute chaos with an unmusical cacophony.

This was allowed to go on for a few minutes, before the on-call doctor, someone (y/n) had never seen before, rounded the corner. “Okay, okay!” He shouted, “This is too much for the patient, I want everyone out – you can come in smaller groups.”

Everyone grumbled but did as they were told, each taking their chance to say ‘call if you need anything’, ‘see you later’ or ‘we’ll come back with sweets’. Bucky ruffled her hair and Natasha pressed a kiss to her cheek, muttering about how a certain Captain would be looking after her. She didn’t really understand what it meant, but a blush spread to her cheeks anyway.

As the last of them filed out, Steve turned to her and asked; “Do you want me to stay?” A certain vulnerability sewn into his question.

“Yes.” She answered far too quickly. “Please, Captain. If that’s okay.” Her voice seemed to get smaller and smaller as she spoke. “I don’t want to be alone.” Her grip on his hand tightened, both a demand and a question contained within it.

How on Earth could he say no to her? Her wide, gorgeous eyes searched his face for an answer, which he gave by settling further into the chair, pulling it even closer to the bed, if that was even possible. 

“Like I said, as long as you want. I’m here, you’re not alone.”

They sat in silence for a while, the Captain not taking his eyes away from her face. 

“(Y/n).” He had to tell her, now or never. He wouldn’t risk something like this again, things going unsaid. “I hope you know how sorry I am for what I said, all those weeks ago. It’s not an excuse, but I realised all this time I’ve not hated you, I’ve …”

She looked at him, her lips parted. Her messy hair splayed in a way where the fluorescent lights caught it, making it look like a sort of pseudo-halo. He knew it, right there and then. This was it.

“I’ve loved you. Since the moment we met.”

A shocked expression on her face moved slowly, her open mouth contorting into a soft, loving smile. She squeezed his hand, bringing her other arm over to hold it as well. Just more contact. That was all she needed.

“Steve, I feel the same.” She was still playing with his actual name, not ‘Captain’ or ‘Rogers’ or a sarcastic ‘Cap’. He couldn’t believe how it sounded coming from her – like it was a new name altogether. Like a song he was discovering for the first time.

He couldn’t help it now, he beamed. “You do?”

She nodded, licking her lips. They were so cracked, and dry. But she didn’t care.

“I– I can’t lean over to you, but… I would love to kiss you right now.”

He didn’t waste any time. Up and out of his seat in an instant, crossing what little distance was left between them. His hands reached her cheeks first, cupping them ever so softly. They breathed together, just for a second, his eyes flicking to hers almost to make sure she knew what she was doing. 

And then his lips were on hers. The kiss wasn’t like she had imagined – it wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t angry, wasn’t sudden. It was calculated and gentle and passionate. It was everything she could ever have hoped for.

They pulled apart, Steve knowing that she wasn’t strong enough to hold her breath to kiss her as long as he wanted to. His hand stroked her cheek, his eyes staring into hers. He rested his forehead against hers for a second, before moving up and pressing a kiss to it.

The look in his eyes was one of love, happiness and admiration.

“I think I’ve wanted to do that since we met.” He admitted, breathless from excitement. They smiled at each other wordlessly, growing used to the looks between not being ones of glaring and daggers, but of kindness, and warmth.

The only sound was the steady beep, beep, beep of her heart rate – a sound he had definitely decided he loved. They stayed like that for hours, before she started to fall back asleep – to rest, this time.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” She asked, as she slipped back into slumber.

“I promise.” And nothing on Earth could stop him from keeping it.

================================================

TAGS -- I've tagged everyone who requested a part two! You guys really keep my motivation up so I hope it's done you justice <3. This will be the last part for now, but I'm thinking of setting future domestic fics in this universe!

@haven-in-writing @marvelouskatie @veryaverageapple @ironwinnerwonderland @ohdrey89 @waqtzayaontmblr @shygamergirl01 @starkenobi @ynstark

p.s. please please listen to 'I and Love and You' by the Avett Brothers if you haven't before -- it's so Steve and is such a lovely song.

[peachy-skies-writings]

Stardew Valley - Sharing a Bed with the Bachelors - Headcanons (SFW)

Pairing: SDV!Bachelors x GN!Reader

A/N: this is the first time I've done a headcanon so let me know what you think?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

💚🏈 Alex 🏈💚

Falls asleep so quickly my gOD IT'S FRUSTRATING. Maybe it's all the working out he does but as soon as his head is on that pillow, he's gone.

Alex snores. Loud. He's not as bad now you've got him those nose strips though.

This man runs laps in his sleep. So much for a relaxing sleep and trying to recover from the days exercise. Gains are gains.

Big spoon. Will cuddle (and is actually still if he cuddles so that's a plus for you).

Alex wakes up early - his training means he gets up around the same time as you do on the farm. Definitely will wake you up in other ways if you catch my drift.

🧡📖 Elliot 📖🧡

Elliot doesn't fall asleep straight away, he'd sit up in bed for a while reading a chapter of a book or doing some journaling.

It's not really snoring, more like breathing heavier than he does during the day. It's not noticeable really unless he has his nose against your ear.

Occasionally turns over in his sleep but mostly stays in the same position and is laid on his back, he's got to make sure his hair doesn't frizz (he also has a silk pillow, you're welcome)

He'll let you cuddle into him but as he's laid on his back, he's not really a spoon - more like a spatula. You can put your head on his chest though and snuggle in and he'll wrap one arm around you.

Gets up later than you but wakes up around the same time. He'll give you a good morning kiss and let you get on with your work.

🤍🩺 Harvey 🩺🤍

He's quiet and tends to fall asleep quite quickly unless he's had a stressful day or he's worried about a patient.

Harvey doesn't snore much, only if he's had wine. He has the decency to turn away from you and be the little spoon if he's had a glass or two though.

He stays pretty still in his sleep but doesn't that weird jerk thing occasionally as he's falling asleep. Y'know the one?

Other than after the wine, he'll be the big spoon - he likes to protect you as much as he can. He's also definitely not correcting your posture as you sleep - what are you talking about?

He gets up earlier than you on a weekend so that he can bring you breakfast in bed, telling you that it's healthy to stay in bed longer sometimes.

💙🎸Sam 🎸💙

Just yaps until he gets too tired and falls asleep. Talks about nonsense with you until his eyes start getting tired and he begins having his sentences interrupted with yawns. Then it's lights out.

Sam doesn't really snore, more like talks in his sleep. Just nonsense though. Although occasionally he comes out with something funny that you tell him about in the morning.

Tosses and turns, you'd think he was awake with all the sleep talking and moving. He's not violent in the way he moves though, he's quite fluid so it barely disturbs you.

Sometimes you wake up and Sam is basically laid on top of you cuddling you. He just loves feeling close to you and sleepy Sam just loves to snuggle.

Sam is already cuddling you when he wakes up so he just snuggles in further - trying to get as close as he can (and probably trying to get a few more minutes of sleep). Will grumble when your alarm goes off.

💜🎮Sebastian 🎮💜

Sebastian doesn't go to bed until he's actually tired so usually it's lights out as soon as his head hits the pillow. If he's had a bad day though, he's wide awake reliving everything he's ever done wrong (A/N: same lol) and you'd have to comfort him to get him to drift off.

He doesn't really snore, only if he's laid on his back (and even then it's only gentle). He knows though, so he tries to sleep on his side so that he doesn't disturb your sleep.

If you didn't see him breathing, you'd think he was dead. That's how little Sebastian moves.

At first he's a bit apprehensive about cuddling you, worried that he'll get too warm (boy is a furnace) but he starts to really enjoy it, especially when he's having those bad days - they really help him relax. He doesn't mind if he's big or little spoon, he just enjoys being close to you.

Wakes up pretty sleepy still and will move over to your side of the bed for comfort and warmth when you get up to begin farm work. He'll go back to sleep for a little but will wake up and make you a cup of coffee for when you're out of the shower.

🖤🐓Shane 🐓🖤

He plays on his phone for about an hour before he falls asleep - either on social media (doomscrolling) or on whatever the SDV universe's version of tiktok is.

Depending on how much beer he's had or if he's now sober, his snore will be louder than Grand Central Station if he's been drinking. If he's not been, it's still there but it's manageable for you to sleep.

Barely moves in his sleep. He's used to animals in the house so has trained himself not to roll over onto them. He used to not-so-secretly let Charlie (his chicken) sleep on his bed.

He's either big spoon or you're laid with your head on his chest. The only time he's little spoon is if he's poorly and needs some extra lovin'.

Shane wakes up with you in his arms and he's just so damn happy. He's a bit groggy from sleep but he holds you just a little tighter.

[ambiguous-avery]

Tangled Sheets

Dean Winchester x fem!Reader/You x Sam Winchester | WC: 8464

Summary: Sam and Dean would give up anything for the other. Even if that includes the girl they’re head over heels for. But did anyone ever think to ask her thoughts on the matter?

Tags/Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, threesome (no wincest), femme nicknames (pretty girl, good girl), g/n nicknames (baby, sweetheart), reader is AFAB, oral sex (F receiving), vaginal fingering, anal fingering, unprotected P in V/A sex (make safe decisions, friends), double penetration, consent checks via traffic light system, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

A/N: Let’s let these three finally have their moment. So here, a story about a girl and her dogs boys idiots. This picks up immediately following Untamed Soul.

Three Hearts, One Flame Masterlist

The motel room was colder than your cocoon in the bathroom and only contributed to your deepening scowl as you crossed your arms over your chest. You had slipped into your pajamas for the night because you were sure that the rough fabric of your jeans would be too much against your still-tingling skin. Decency be damned. It wasn’t like they were anything scandalous. An old-oversized shirt you had stolen from Dean forever ago and sleep-shorts you usually reserved for hot summer nights. Nothing you hadn’t worn around them before. 

Dean had pulled the horribly outdated recliner chair over to the table in the room and was lounging in it, beer in hand. Sam sat opposite of him in a wooden chair that creaked with every little movement. Dean twisted in his chair, turning to look at you and flashed you a grin.

“And you get on my case for long showers. You been in there since we left?” Dean teased. You shifted your weight between your feet, making a very conscious effort to ignore the way his voice rolled over you. Behind Dean, you could see Sam’s gaze drop to your bare legs, and you tried your best not to read into that too much. You had nice legs. You would’ve been offended if he didn’t look.

“It’s a different story when we all draw from the same hot water tank,” you finally said.

“Oh I know all about sharing, sweetheart.” Dean’s gaze caught yours, and you could almost feel the heat from his stare searing into your skin. Why had he said it like that? “Hell, ask anyone, and they’ll tell you I’m a giver.” You quickly averted your eyes, focusing on the peeling wallpaper that decorated the room instead of the images of Dean’s head between your legs that flashed through your mind. Sam cleared his throat.

“Do I need to sleep in the car tonight?”

Dean leaned back in his chair, finishing off his beer and setting the now-empty bottle down.

“Nah, Sammy, we’re just getting started. Come on, take a seat. Got a cold one for you.” Dean said your name as he stood and grabbed three bottles from the mini fridge in the room, setting them down in front of each of you. You sat down in the third chair between them with a sigh. You’d survive the loss of your personal time, but you were definitely locking yourself in your room when you got back to the bunker. You didn’t care what kind of excuse you had to give them to get them to leave you be. Hell, you’d tell them exactly what you planned to get up to if it meant they gave you your precious few hours alone.

“What, you strike out at the bar tonight?” you asked as Dean cracked open his beer.

“Wouldn’t be the same without you there, sweetheart. Figured we’d bring the drinks to you.”

“I think you guys would survive one night without me. We only live together.”

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re sick of us. Stick around. Play a game. Celebrate an easy hunt.”

You glanced at Sam who shot you a look that said Yeah I don’t know what he’s up to either. 

“I couldn’t be sick of you guys even if I tried,” you said softly, a small smile playing on your lips. You really couldn’t imagine hunting without Dean and Sam by your side. “Alright, what are we playing?” Dean smirked like you had just stepped into his perfectly laid trap.

“I was thinking truth or dare.” He reached for the empty bottle and tipped it onto its side. The glass clinked softly against the tabletop. “Whoever the bottle lands on has to do a dare. Or… spill a secret or whatever the truth is.” To your left, Sam scoffed.

“Really, Dean? How old are we?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in bemusement.

“Interesting choice of game, but I’ll bite,” you said, opening your beer. The hiss of escaping carbonation filled the air, and you took a swig, the cold bitterness a refreshing reprieve from the fire that roiled within. Meanwhile, Sam shook his head, a wry smile curving his lips as he resigned himself to Dean’s antics. 

Dean grinned and gave the bottle a spin. You watched with amusement as it twirled on the table, the neck slowing down until it pointed directly at you. Dean’s green eyes gleamed mischievously as he leaned forward.

“Truth or dare, sweetheart?”

With Dean, it was a genuine toss up on whether he’d ask a potentially embarrassing question or give you a harmless dare. The devilish glint in his eye suggested that neither option was going to be wholly safe, and there was a non-zero chance that a dare from him was going to be to flash him or Sam your tits. You would’ve done it. And that was the problem.

“Truth.”

“Alright…” Dean drummed his fingers on the table, clearly having expected that you would pick dare. “What’s your favorite position during sex?”

You heard Sam choke on his beer beside you, and you were thankful when Dean turned his attention to him. It gave you a moment’s reprieve to tamp down the heat rising in your cheeks.

“Dean!” Sam spluttered. You leaned over and clasped Sam’s shoulder, only to immediately regret it because your eyes inadvertently went to his hands that held the beer bottle. Hands that you had imagined doing other things to you mere minutes ago. You pulled your arm back and instead chose to focus on your own drink.

“What? The questions have to be dirty otherwise it’s no fun! And besides, I could’ve asked far worse,” Dean said. You cleared your throat and took another sip of beer, buying yourself a moment to school your features into a neutral expression before replying.

“Cowgirl,” you said simply, and you had to fight every urge to grin as both Winchesters turned to look at you, eyes wide. You sucked your lower lip between your teeth, feigning innocence. And then, because you were still frustrated at Dean for his interruption, you dug your heel in and added, “I like watching people squirm beneath me.” 

Pride swelled in your chest as your words hit the mark dead on. You watched as Dean swallowed thickly before taking a long pull from his beer, and Sam’s Adam’s apple bobbed silently, the pulse in his neck pounding. You could’ve cackled at how perfect their responses were. If this was how the game was going to go, you were all too eager to play it. Dean coughed awkwardly, his typical bravado momentarily faltering as he tried to regain his composure. Sam opened his mouth like he might’ve had something to say then closed it wordlessly.

“My turn, right?” you asked, pretending not to notice their reactions. They each nodded silently. You leaned forward and gave the bottle a spin. It rotated slowly before coming to a stop, pointing at Dean. You smiled sweetly at him. “Truth or dare?”

Maybe it was because he was still recovering from the revelation you had dropped on him, but Dean’s response of, “Truth. I ain’t got nothing to hide, sweetheart,” in a strangled voice was a little surprising. You had fully expected him to pick dare. Nonetheless, you took a moment to think, letting your gaze linger on the way his jaw clenched slightly, the stubble on his chin catching the dim light in the room.

“Alright… where’s the weirdest place you’ve had sex?”

Dean shifted in his chair, trying to maintain his usual cocky demeanor despite the flush creeping up his neck. You could see the brief flicker of uncertainty in his eyes before he masked it with a casual shrug.

“Probably the back of a food delivery truck,” he finally admitted, a smirk tugging at his lips as if he was daring you to ask about details. You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up at the unexpected answer and the mental image of Dean with his pants around his ankles, ass bared for anyone who might walk. You laughed harder. 

“Seriously?” you chucked, raising an eyebrow. Sam snorted beside you.

“Dude, pretty sure that’s a health code violation,” Sam said while shaking his head.

“Cut me some slack. We could all use some fun every now and again. If you got your nose out of your books every once in a while, maybe you’d experience it.” Dean’s voice carried a hint of challenge to it.

“I have fun, Dean,” Sam said defensively. “It just doesn’t include public sex.”

“Hey, we closed the door. And I’m skeptical that your fun includes any sex.”

“Whatever, Dean.”

The bottle clinked as Dean spun it. Sam glowered at his brother across the table as the bottle pointed at him, and Dean grinned. You watched as Sam’s expression shifted to mild apprehension, but Dean’s heckling must’ve got to him because the apprehension gave way to determination. Sam leaned forward in his seat.

“Truth or dare, bitch?”

“Dare, jerk. Do your worst.”

“Gladly. I dare you to… kiss her.” Dean’s gaze flicked over to you.

Sam’s eyes went wide in surprise, clearly having expected Dean to put him through something ridiculous or demeaning. You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unsure of what the least suspicious reaction would be. Were you supposed to be offended? Shocked? Horrified? Into it? You wouldn’t even have to pretend for that last one.

You shot a quick glance at Sam, but he was already looking away, his cheeks tinged with a light pink hue. Dean watched the exchange with a smug grin, clearly relishing the discomfort he had caused. However, when you looked at him, you were sure there was something more in those green eyes of his. If you weren’t mistaken, it was something akin to longing. A twinge of disappointment and more. You would’ve tried to dig deeper into it, but Sam’s movement in your peripheral vision drew your attention back to him.

“Are you okay with this? You don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable.” He was looking at you, eyebrows drawn up in concern and something unnamable in his eyes. While there had been no physical change, something about the way Sam was looking at you felt different. More charged. Like the prospect of kissing you had opened some sort of floodgate and there was no way to close it again.

“I’m sure you could make her plenty comfortable, Sammy.”

“Dean...” Sam gave Dean a look for the briefest of moments, and you made the executive decision that the best way to navigate the situation was to be as cool about it as possible. It was just a kiss. A kiss with one of the men you had just imagined fucking you into next week, but a kiss nonetheless.

“You’re not afraid of little ol’ me, are you, Sammy?” you asked, laying the charm on thick. Actually, maybe if you leaned way into it, the boys would be none-the-wiser. Hide your attraction in plain sight, so to speak.

You hadn’t ever called him ‘Sammy’ before. That was a privilege only Dean had, but in the moment, it felt right. Like it fit right in with the teasing tone you took. But when Sam let out a long, audible exhale through his nose and something dangerous flickered in his eyes, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe you had crossed a line. He had never outright said that you were allowed to call him that, and you had seen how defensive he could get about the nickname. The word ‘sorry’ was on the tip of your tongue, but Sam spoke before you could say it.

“Come here.”

It wasn’t what he said that caused your stomach to flip. It was how he said it. Like he was a predator stalking his prey. Like he was on the verge of pouncing. Like he was a wolf calling a lamb to him. You had it backwards. Maybe you were supposed to be afraid of him. And before you knew it, you were out of your chair and standing between his legs after he had scooted away from the table. Even sitting down, he was so damn tall. “You okay with this?” he asked again, the usual, gentle Sam you knew bleeding through whatever personality had taken him over. You nodded numbly.

“Yeah… It’s just a kiss,” you said, more for your sake than his. It didn’t do anything for your heart pounding in your chest.

His hand cupped your cheek, tilting your head to meet his gaze. The air between you crackled with tension as you held your breath, the heat of his hand sinking into you like a balm. He closed the distance between you.

All your fantasies and previous ideas of what kissing Sam Winchester would be like flew out the window in an instant, every one of them a mockery of the real thing. His lips were soft against yours, and you could taste the lingering bitterness of beer. But the kiss was nothing like the playful teasing you had expected from a simple dare. There was something deeper to it, something raw. A silent confession of things left unsaid for far too long. You were sure Sam could hear your heart hammering in your chest as you melted into the kiss, unable to resist the pull of his lips on yours. Your eyes had fluttered shut, and the world around you faded away until all that was left was Sam.

Sam’s hand on your cheek. Sam’s lips against yours. Sam’s comforting, woodsy scent enveloping you like a hug. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer until you were practically sitting in his lap. Your hands settled against his chest, firm and steady beneath your touch.

Dean’s low whistle shattered the spell between you.

“Alright, I think that’s my cue to make myself scarce,” Dean said with a chuckle, but there was an edge to his voice that didn’t sit right with you. You pulled away, breathless and cheeks flushed. Sam’s gaze found yours, his expression entirely unreadable. You took an unsteady step away from him and turned to look at Dean. You hadn’t been imagining it before. There definitely was something gnawing at him that he wasn’t letting on.

“Where are you going?” you asked as he moved to stand from his seat. He let out a humorless laugh.

“Look, as fun as it is to watch you two dry hump, I’m starting to feel like a third wheel on a bicycle.”

Your stomach lurched. You could feel the balance between the three of you tipping. Everything was going to come crashing down around you. Pandora’s box had been opened, and there was no going back. The phrase “the person who chases two rabbits will catch none,” came to mind, but whoever had said it clearly had never met you. You couldn’t lose them. That might actually kill you.

“Dean,” you said at the same time Sam said your name. You looked back at Sam. He had the same indiscernible thing in his eyes that Dean had, and it was really starting to bug you. Normally you could read these two like books, but right now, it was like someone had taken all the words out and scrambled them. Sam tipped his head in Dean’s direction.

“If he’s feeling left out… then why not give him a kiss too?”

Your jaw went slack, and every thought racing through your head came to an abrupt halt.

Were you dreaming? Did you hear him correctly? Or had that kiss with Sam actually short-circuited your brain?

Dean must’ve been going through a similar thought process because all he could muster was a dumb,

“Huh?”

“Are you joking?” you asked and immediately regretted it. It made it sound like you didn’t want to kiss Dean. Dean looked genuinely hurt.

“No,” Sam said. “Do it. I dare you.” And he purposefully grabbed the bottle on the table and turned it to point at you. You were tempted to point out that that’s not how the game was supposed to work, but Dean spoke first.

“It’s fine. Look, I know you guys got this… thing between you. I’m not gonna get in the way of it.”

“You and her obviously have something more, and I don’t want you guys to not do anything about it because of me,” Sam countered.

“Guys,” you cut in, hoping you didn’t sound as panicked as you felt. They both looked at you, and the weight of their gazes slammed into you with all the force of a semi truck. You stood your ground. “What is going on here?”

“Nothing!” Dean snapped. “You and Sammy have been making heart-eyes at each other for long enough. I figured you needed a little push. Based on that kiss I saw, I was obviously right. So I’m just gonna go take a nice, long drive and maybe get a second room.”

“What are you talking about? You two have been emotionally edging each other for months now! I figured you were taking your time because you liked her and didn’t know how to deal with those feelings.”

“Hello? Guys? I’m right here.”

The realization of what was happening began to sink in, and your mind raced to catch up with your heart. No one spoke. The room suddenly felt too small. Suffocating you with the tension. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing that one wrong move could send everything spiraling out of control.

You looked from Sam to Dean, their expressions mirroring a strange blend of determination and vulnerability. As if they had thrown each others’ cards on the table and now were waiting for you to make a move. You had hit a point of no return, and all that was left was to keep going forward. You took a steadying breath.

“You both like me.” It was a statement, not a question. You knew. “And I like both of you.” The two of them glanced at each other, silently communicating in the way that – despite having been with them for several years at this point – still made you feel like an outsider. “Don’t make me pick. Please. It’d be like telling me to pick my favorite leg and cut the other off.”

Another uncomfortable silence.

Sam was the first to speak, his voice low and filled with emotion that you couldn’t quite place.

“We should’ve talked about this before it got to this point,” he said, his eyes flickering between you and Dean. Dean nodded in agreement, running a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture that was so unlike him.

“So, where do we go from here?” he asked.

“I think we have two options,” you said solemnly. “The first is that I follow through on Sam’s dare. You and I,” you motioned between yourself and Dean “kiss, we call everything even, and we shove this all back in the box that it came out of and never talk about it ever again.” Dean wet his lips.

“And the second option?”

“The second…” Oh God, were you really about to say this? Out loud? To them? “The second option is… we consider that the concept of sharing can extend to people, too.”

Dean let out a slow breath, eyeing you carefully like you were going to say, “Just kidding!” a second later. You didn’t.

“Sharing,” he repeated, the word hanging heavy in the air. “That’s… unconventional.”

“Unconventional, but not impossible,” Sam added quietly, his gaze intense as it bore into you. “We’ve always been good at defying the odds.”

He had a point. The three of you had faced countless challenges together, overcoming obstacles that had once seemed insurmountable. You were confident that there was nothing in the world that could stop the three of you together. But this? This was different. This wasn’t a hunt to complete or a monster to behead. This was potentially a messy knot of emotions with the very real possibility of a disastrous outcome.

“Has it ever even crossed either of your minds?” you asked slowly. They shared a guilty look. Your eyes went wide. “Oh my God, it has!”

“It might’ve been a... passing consideration,” Dean admitted quietly. “But it’s not exactly something that comes up in a normal conversation.” It was Sam’s turn to agree with Dean with a nod. He said,

“But now it’s here, right in front of us.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I understand that this isn’t something that just happens and everyone is okay with everything. But you two are more than worth the fight. What do you guys think? Sam?” You looked at him, sincere determination burning in your eyes. He met you with the calm assurance that you had come to associate with Sam. As though any doubts that he might’ve had were already laid to rest.

“I think that I care about the both of you enough to give this a serious try,” Sam replied, his voice steady and earnest.

“Dean?” You turned your attention to the other Winchester, the one who you felt would be the most resistant to the whole idea. There was a beat before he answered.

“I think Sam gave you a dare that you haven’t followed through with, sweetheart.” And then, Dean flashed you that brilliant smile of his, all teeth and dimples. And fuck if that didn’t go straight to your core.

The tension between the three of you shifted rather than dissipated, remaining charged and heavy.

You took a tentative step towards Dean, keeping a careful eye on each of them as you approached. Sam’s eyes were a challenge, and when you finally were in front of Dean, you reached out, cupping his cheek in your hand. Your gaze met Dean’s, searching for any sign of hesitation. But there was none. You leaned in slowly, giving him the opportunity to pull away if he changed his mind last minute. Instead, he met you halfway, his lips brushing softly against yours.

It was everything you had hoped for and more. It was nothing you had imagined – it was better. Way better. Couldn’t even begin to describe how much more perfect it was than you had ever pictured in your mind. Kissing Dean was like being wrapped in warmth and safety. He was all passion and confidence and fire, and all you wanted was to let it consume you. And it went deeper than that. There was a hunger shared between you that couldn’t be denied. A desire that was more profound than you could find the words for. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer and sweeping you up in a whirlwind of Dean. He was a storm. Wild. Intense. Powerful. 

Dean’s tongue swiping against your lips. Dean’s scent of leather and whiskey curling around you. Dean’s hand sliding up your back and holding the back of your neck. Your lips parted, and your hands settled on his broad shoulders, all corded muscle and strength beneath your fingers.

You broke the kiss, only because you might have forgotten that breathing was a thing while you lost yourself in the one and only Dean Winchester. His pupils were blown wide as he looked at you in awe, as though he couldn’t believe that the two of you had just kissed. His eyes flicked down to your tongue that darted out to wet your lips.

“You sure you know what you’re getting into, sweetheart?”

Oh, you knew. 

After all the years spent by their sides, how could you not? How could you not know that Sam would treat you so kindly and gently? He was the type who liked to savor his women like a fine wine. You had always imagined that Sam would take his time with you. Pleasure you and fuck you until you couldn’t see straight anymore. And Dean? Dean played rough. He’d tease you. Edge you. Claim you. He was the kind of guy who was always in control, and you would gladly give that to him if he asked. You’d heard enough of his encounters through the paper-thin motel room walls to know that Dean made women sob and whimper.

“If we’re gonna do this,” Sam’s voice cut in, and when your eyes found him, he was your anchor. A grounding point. Ever-steady. Unwavering. You swore you fell for him just a little more every time you looked at him. “We should probably establish a safeword. Or we could use the traffic light system.” You nodded along with him, glancing at Dean out of the corner of your eye. He was doing his best to hide it, but you recognized his expression as the same one he wore when he was trying to piece together something in a case. 

“Green for all good. Yellow for take it slow, and red to stop immediately, right?” you asked just so that everyone was for sure on the same page. Recognition flashed in Dean’s eyes, and he quickly agreed.

With the indulgence of a heated kiss with each of them and the friendship crisis averted – at least for now, – your arousal from your interrupted shower was thrumming through you, singing through your veins like a siren’s song. Tempting you to lose yourself in the two men in front of you. You had tamped down that temptation for far too long. Thankfully, it seemed like Dean was already there with you.

“So, how do you want to do this?” he asked carefully.

“Any way I can get the both of you.” You might’ve been embarrassed at how quickly you responded if they both weren’t looking at you with darkened eyes that suggested that they were already thinking the same thing. You were pretty sure you were going to be the first official case of spontaneous human combustion. Nothing supernatural about it. It was them, your honor. They set you ablaze, and you were absolutely helpless to do anything to stop it.

“Like... at the same time?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, and a smirk tugged at your lips as his breath caught in his throat. “That okay?”

“Uh, yeah, ‘course, totally fine,” he stammered.

“Green?” you prompted. He nodded and repeated, 

“Green. Dark green. Fucking emerald, sweetheart.”

“Sam?” You shifted your attention to him and picked out all the ways you could see his self control unraveling at the seams. The way he watched every little movement. The way his arms were loosely crossed over his chest as though that were the last bastion of composure keeping him in check.

“As a forest, pretty girl.”

And that was all it took.

Dean was on you in a heartbeat, lips crashing against yours like a wave that had spent too long away from the shore. His tongue slid against yours as he slowly backed you towards the bed, only giving you a reprieve when you stumbled backwards onto the mattress with a yelp. He chuckled, following you down and peppering kisses across your cheek before settling himself on your right, propped up on his elbow. 

A gentle hand touched your arm, and you pulled away from Dean slightly, turning to see Sam’s warm gaze meeting yours. You hadn’t heard him move and only barely felt the dip of the mattress as he took up the spot on the other side of you.

“Hey,” he said softly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Don’t forget about me.”

“Never,” you replied, reaching for his hand. “Come here.”

Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned in, his kiss softer, more tender than Dean’s, but no less intense. It was a kiss that spoke of quiet longing and deep affection, and it made your heart ache in the best way possible. He slid his hand across your stomach before slipping down over your hip and settling on your thigh. You gasped into his mouth as his fingers dragged over your clothed center. At the same time, Dean pressed kisses against your shoulder, his own hand toying with the hem of your shirt before dipping beneath it, his fingers dancing across your skin. He pushed your bra up and cupped your breast, his fingers finding your nipple and teasing it. 

No fantasy of yours could’ve ever prepared you for this. They all paled in comparison. Having Sam and Dean’s hands and lips on you simultaneously was something your brain never could’ve conjured up properly compared to the real thing. And when Sam’s hand found its way beneath the elastic band of your shorts and underwear and found you wet and waiting for him, you felt him smile against your lips.

“Hardly even touched you, pretty girl,” he teased, his voice low.

“I might have gotten a bit of a head start in the shower earlier,” you admitted cheekily. Dean chuckled.

“Oh shit, I interrupted that?”

A witty response died on your tongue as Sam chose that moment to find your clit and roll it between his fingers. You moaned and your eyes fluttered shut as he teased you, fingers sliding through your wetness but never quite dipping into you. And just when you were ready to tell him that you needed more otherwise you might actually die, Sam gave you a quick peck on the lips before he slid down off the end of the bed and kneeled between your legs. He helped you out of your shorts and panties in a smooth motion before you felt his warm breath brushing against your core. He propped one of your legs up and over his shoulder, holding it tight while his other hand splayed over your thigh, holding you open as he leaned forward and pressed an open-mouthed kiss against you.

His tongue. His lips. His fingers digging into your thighs. Your responding cry was high and thready as Sam held you and pressed his tongue flat against your clit, and you would’ve carded your fingers into his hair if Dean hadn’t caught your wrists and pinned them above your head.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart. We’re the ones touching you right now,” Dean murmured, pressing his lips to your temple. Your head fell back against the comforter. You had always imagined Sam would be good with his tongue. He was so eloquent, so well spoken. But God, you had no idea just how good. He licked a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit before focusing solely on it.

“Fuck, Sam,” you gasped, using the leverage you had on his shoulder to rock your hips against his face. Sam’s grip on you tightened as he worked you over.

Dean grabbed your chin with the hand that wasn’t holding your wrists and turned your face to him. His lips crashed into yours in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as Sam continued. The dual sensation was overwhelming – Sam between your legs and Dean’s possessive kiss stealing your breath away. You were drowning in pleasure, caught between them in the only way you ever wanted to be.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to taste you,” Sam muttered against your thigh, his breath hot against your sensitive skin before he dove back in, sliding two fingers inside you while his tongue circled your clit. Your back arched off the bed, the sensation almost too much to bear.

“Pretty noises from such a pretty girl,” Dean said, his lips trailing down your neck. “Bet you can be louder, though.” His free hand slipped under your shirt again, palming your breast. The rough drag of his calloused hands against your sensitive skin had you gasping for air. His fingers pinched your nipple, and the sharp pain-pleasure turned your next moan into a whimper halfway through. “There you go, sweetheart.”

Your hips bucked as Sam curled his fingers inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made stars dance in your vision. You were so hopelessly trapped between them, caught in the perfect storm that only they were capable of creating. The coil of pleasure within you wound tighter and tighter with every swipe of Sam’s tongue, every twist of Dean’s fingers, every breath hot against your skin.

“F-fuck. Sam, Dean, I–” You couldn’t find the words as Sam’s long fingers pressed deeper, and you felt your thighs begin to tremble around his head.

“You gonna come for us, sweetheart?” Dean’s voice was low and gravelly in your ear, and all you could offer in response was a low whine. “Come then, baby girl.” And dear God, if that wasn’t the hottest command you’d ever received in your life. Your body went rigid as you came apart in their hands, tensing and shuddering as pleasure flooded through your system. Sam worked you through it, his movements slowing as your trembling subsided, pressing gentle kisses to your inner thigh as you came down from your high.

Dean released your wrists, and you immediately reached for Sam, fingers tangling in his hair as he looked up at you from between your legs. His lips were slick with you, hazel eyes dark with desire.

“You taste better than I ever imagined,” he said, voice thick with want. Dean chuckled beside you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before backing off as Sam crawled back up your body, leaving kisses along your stomach, between your breasts, and finally capturing your lips. Meanwhile, Dean’s hands stroked along your sides, pushing your shirt up as they went. You and Sam maneuvered just enough for Dean to help pull your shirt above your head, and your bra didn’t stand a chance against Sam’s deft fingers.

“Isn’t it a little unfair that I’m the only one naked here?” you asked, your voice still breathy from your orgasm. Dean’s signature smirk returned as he sat back on his heels on the bed, his eyes roaming over your body and taking in every inch of exposed skin with undisguised hunger.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.” You huffed your disagreement and grabbed the front of Dean’s shirt, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Too many clothes,” you whispered against his mouth. Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his flannel, and he chuckled, helping you push it off over his shoulder before pulling his t-shirt over his head, revealing the broad expanse of his chest and the anti-possession tattoo that matched yours and Sam’s. You turned to Sam next, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “You too.”

Sam complied immediately, ridding himself of his shirt to expose the toned muscles of his chest and abdomen. Your mouth went dry at the sight of both men half-naked before you, something you had only ever dreamed of. The difference between them was stark but no less appealing – Dean’s broader build with more defined muscle versus Sam’s leaner, taller frame.

“How do you want us?” Sam asked, his voice husky with need. You bit your lip, considering the options that lay before you. The endless possibilities. All the ways you could have them both at once.

“I want… both of you. Inside me. At the same time.” Your voice was surprisingly steady considering the request that had just left your lips. You watched as both men’s eyes widened slightly, pupils dilating even further with lust.

“You sure, sweetheart?” Dean asked, his voice strained as he searched your face for any sign of hesitation. “That’s… intense.”

“I’m sure.” You nodded, reaching out to stroke his cheek. Sam’s hand found your hip, his thumb drawing lazy circles against your skin.

“We’ll go slow,” he promised. “Tell us if it’s too much.”

Dean was the first to move, the metallic clink of his belt buckle sending a shiver down your spine as he pushed his jeans and boxers down in one fluid motion. Your breath caught at the sight of him fully naked, his cock hard and leaking. Sam followed suit, standing to remove his remaining clothes. When he straightened up, it was your turn for your eyes to go wide. Sam was… proportional to his height, to say the least.

“Everything you imagined?” Dean asked, noticing your expression.

“So much more,” you managed to reply, reaching out to wrap your fingers around him. Dean hissed through his teeth at the contact, his head falling back as you stroked up his length. There was something intoxicating about having him at your mercy. You didn’t mean to be a tease, but your touch was light and your movements slow as you marveled at the weight of him in your hand.

Sam moved behind you, pressing his chest against your back as his hands slid around to cup your breasts. His cock pressed against the small of your back, hot and heavy.

“You call the shots, baby. Who do you want where?” Sam murmured, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. You mind raced with possibilities, each one more enticing than the last.

“You underneath, Dean behind,” you decided. Both men groaned at your words, and you felt Sam’s cock twitch against you.

“Fuck, I like the way you think,” Dean said. “Probably need lube, though.”

“My bag. Under the bed,” you said. Dean shot you a surprised glance, as though the thought of it genuinely shocked him. “Oh sure. A guy keeps condoms with him and it’s fine, but a girl has lube in her bag, and you’re clutching your pearls?” You gave him a gentle squeeze, and he let out a low exhale.

“Smart girl, always prepared,” Dean smirked, moving off the bed to retrieve it. You watched as he bent down, presenting you with a perfect view of his backside. You couldn’t help the appreciative hum that escaped your lips. Sam chuckled against your neck, and you turned your head to catch his lips in a heated kiss. Sam’s tongue slid against yours as Dean returned, bottle in hand. You felt the mattress dip as Dean settled in front of you, his lips finding the spot just above your collarbone.

Sam settled himself on the bed, reclining against the headboard as he beckoned you to him.

“Come here, pretty girl,” he said, his voice like gravel. You crawled over to him, straddling his thighs as his hands settled on your hips. His cock stood proud between you, and you couldn’t resist reaching down to stroke him, relishing the way his breath hitched when you did. Pre-cum beaded at his tip, and you swiped your thumb over it, spreading the moisture down his length. Sam’s hips bucked involuntarily. His hands squeezed your hips as you positioned yourself over him.

Dean’s hand slid up your back, his chest pressing against you as his lips found the nape of your neck. The feeling of being sandwiched between them was indescribable – all heat and muscle and desperate want. You heard the cap of the lube bottle click open and moments later, you felt Dean’s cool, slick fingers pressing at your ass.

“Anyone ever play with you back here, sweetheart?” he asked, fingers lightly pressing against your hole. You shook your head.

“No, you’re the first.” He let out a low, dark chuckle.

“Fuck, okay. Gonna take good care of you, sweetheart. Promise.”

His finger circled teasingly before pressing inside. You braced your hands on Sam’s shoulders, and Sam leaned forward to kiss your brow as he gently guided you down onto his cock. You each let out simultaneous moans as you sank down, clenching around Sam’s cock and Dean’s finger.

“Such a good girl for us,” Dean said, resting his forehead against your shoulder blade as he worked you open with careful precision. Us. Dean had said ‘us,’ and you’re pretty sure your heart skipped a beat at it. “What’s your color, baby?”

“Green,” you said breathlessly when Sam was fully seated in you. “What’d you say before? Fucking emerald,” you echoed Dean’s sentiment from earlier.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Relax for me, sweetheart.”

You took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing yourself to relax as Dean pressed a second finger into you, the dull burn quickly dissipating. The dual sensation of Sam inside you and Dean' working you open was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. Sam’s hands stroked up and down your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as he watched your face for any sign of discomfort.

“You’re doing so well,” Sam murmured, leaning forward to capture your lips in a tender kiss. “So fucking perfect for us.” There was that word again. Us. This time from Sam. These two were going to be the death of you. Sam’s hips shifted beneath you, and you gasped against his mouth as he hit a spot deep inside you that made your toes curl. His cock throbbed inside you, and you had the very distinct feeling that it was taking all his willpower not to thrust up into you. “Feel okay?”

“So good,” you breathed, rolling your hips experimentally. The movement caused Dean’s fingers to press deeper, and you moaned at the fullness. You whimpered.

“God, you feel incredible,” Dean groaned, carefully pressing a third finger into you. His free hand gripped your hip, steadying you as Sam made shallow thrusts beneath you.

“Dean,” you gasped, pushing back against Dean’s fingers. “Need your cock so bad.” And, really, Dean stood no chance when you said something straight out of his fantasies to him.

“Need me to fuck this pretty ass of yours?” Dean asked, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Sure you’re ready for that, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you begged, your body trembling with anticipation. Dean withdrew his fingers slowly, and you only had a brief moment to lament the loss before you felt the blunt head of his cock press against you. Both of their grips on you tightened, holding you completely still as Dean smeared the lube over himself.

“Easy now,” Dean murmured, pressing forward at an agonizingly slow pace. “Breathe for me. Just like that. Good girl.”

You leaned forward, burying your face in Sam’s neck and breathing deeply as Dean sank into you. It was a stretch. Intense and just shy of painful. But Dean’s patience and careful movements kept it from tipping into being too much. He paused as the head of his cock disappeared into you.

“Color?” you heard Sam ask.

“Y-yellow,” you panted, “give me a second.” Every muscle in you was pulled taut, adjusting to the new sensation.

“Take all the time you need, sweetheart. No rush,” Dean’s voice was strained but gentle, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your lower back. “We’ve got all night, and we’re not going anywhere.”

Sam’s fingers trailed up to cup your face, tilting your head so he could look into your eyes.

“You’re doing amazing,” he muttered, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. “So beautiful taking both of us. We’ve got you.”

You focused on your breathing, on the feeling of being completely surrounded by them. You were safe. Safer than you had ever been in your life. Safely nestled between them. Right where you belonged. You could’ve cried from the sheer joy you felt. Sam and Dean and you. That’s all you needed.

The initial discomfort gradually faded, giving way to a fullness that bordered on overwhelming in the best way possible. You shifted experimentally, drawing a grown from both men.

“Green,” you whispered with a small nod. Dean took that as his cue, pressing forward inch by agonizing inch until he was fully seated inside you. The sensations were beyond anything you’d ever imagined. Pleasure. Pressure. Fullness. Your breaths came in short gasps as you adjusted to them both, your body stretched to its limits.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” Dean groaned, his fingers digging into your skin. “So tight around my cock.”

“Doing okay, pretty girl?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Sam’s first thrust in while Dean pulled back knocked the air from your lungs. The second one fried whatever circuits were left in your brain. And the third? Well, you never fully recovered from there.

They quickly found a rhythm, one moving in as the other withdrew, never leaving you empty for a single moment. You were helplessly caught in a tide of pleasure, rising and crashing with each thrust. Your senses were overwhelmed. The sound of their labored breathing. The drag of their cocks against your walls. The delicious friction. Sam’s hands on your breasts. Dean’s lips on your neck. The taste of Sam’s skin as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck. The sight of his face contorted in pleasure. The praise from both of them. They each sounded so reverent. In awe.

“Look at you,” Dean panted behind you, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. His hands were on your shoulders, pulling you back onto him with every thrust. “Like you were made for this. Made for us.”

Sam’s hands were everywhere – in your hair, on your hips, on your thighs – leaving trails of fire in their wake. His thrusts became more erratic as he chased his release. You felt your own orgasm building, the same coil from before winding tighter with each perfectly timed thrust.

“D-Dean– Sam–” you gasped, your nails digging into Sam’s chest as they pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it, you got another one for us?” Sam encouraged. “Come on. Let us feel you.”

Sam’s hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with practiced precision. That was all it took to send you hurtling over the edge. You cried out their names as you came, your body clenching rhythmically around both of them. The sensation of your walls pulsing around them was too much for Sam, who followed you over the edge with a deep groan, grinding his hips up into you as he filled you with his release. Dean thrust one, twice more before burying himself to the hilt with a strangled moan of your name, his cock twitching as he spilled deep within you.

For a long moment, none of you moved, the room filled only with the sound of heavy breathing as you all came down from your shared high.

“Holy fuck,” Dean muttered, his voice rough, wrecked. His forehead pressed against your shoulder blade. “That was… Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah,” you agreed breathlessly, unable to form more coherent thoughts. Dean carefully withdrew from you with a hiss, and you whimpered at the loss, feeling suddenly empty as he moved away. Sam rubbed a soothing hand along your thigh as Dean disappeared into the bathroom. You heard water running, and moments later, he returned with a warm washcloth.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Dean said softly, helping lift you off Sam. Your legs were boneless as you collapsed onto the bed between them. Dean’s touch was gentle as he cleaned you up, the warm cloth soothing against your sensitive skin. Sam shifted beside you, pressing a tender kiss to your temple before getting up to clean himself. “You okay?” Dean asked, his voice soft with concern as he stretched out beside you, propping himself up on his elbow. He tossed the washcloth somewhere towards the bathroom. His free hand traced lazy patterns on your stomach.

“Better than okay,” you murmured, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. “That was… wow.” Sam returned, sliding into the bed on your other side. The mattress dipped under his weight, and you turned your head to look at him. He brushed stray hair from your face.

“You sure we didn’t hurt you?” Sam asked.

“Just sore in the best way possible,” you assured him, reaching up to touch his cheek. The warmth in Sam’s eyes made your heart flutter. “Worth every ache I’ll feel tomorrow.”

Dean chuckled and draped his arm across your waist.

“Good, ‘cause I’m planning on giving you plenty more reasons to be sore.” His voice held that cocky edge you knew and loved, but there was something softer underneath it now.

“Insatiable,” you teased, turning to press a kiss to his stubbled jaw. “Both of you.”

“Only for you,” Sam said with a soft laugh, his large hand splaying across your stomach, fingers brushing against Dean’s arm. The possessiveness in his touch sent a pleasant shiver through you despite your exhaustion.

“Pretty sure you two have ruined me for anyone else.” You nestled into the pillows, your body deliciously sore in places you’d never felt before.

“That was the plan,” Dean said, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. There was something different in his eyes now. A softness that hadn’t been there before. Something unguarded and vulnerable, and it made your heart squeeze in your chest.

There was a long silence as the tension from before crept back in. You didn’t want to, but there was a conversation that needed to happen. Sooner rather than later. So you mustered up the courage to voice it.

“So… what happens now?”

Dean’s arm tightened around you almost imperceptible, and Sam’s eyes flicked to Dean before returning to you.

“What do you want to happen?” Sam asked, his voice gentle but serious. The questions hung in the air, heavy with implications and possibilities.

“I want this,” you said simply, looking from one brother to the other. “Not just tonight. Not just sex. I want us.” The admission made you feel vulnerable. Exposed in a way that had nothing to do with your nudity. “I know it’s complicated and messy and probably insane, but–”

“Sweetheart, our whole lives are complicated and messy and insane,” Dean interrupted, a small smile playing on his lips. “What’s one more thing?”

Sam’s hand found yours, his thumb brushing gentle along your knuckles.

“I’ve wanted this – wanted you – for too long to let it go now,” he admitted.

“Same here,” Dean added, propping himself up higher to look at you properly. “This wasn’t just scratching an itch for me. Not with you.” Relief flooded through you, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Good,” you whispered.

It wasn’t always going to be easy. You knew that. You were a hunter for God’s sake. You knew that life was never simple. But this? This strange, beautiful arrangement between the three of you? It was worth fighting tooth and nail for. Worth the inevitable complications and challenges that would come with it.

“We’ll figure it out as we go,” Sam said, as if he could read your thoughts.

“Together,” Dean added, the word carrying more weight behind it. You nodded, warmth spreading through your chest as the realization that these two men – these incredible, frustrating, brave, stubborn men – were yours.

And you were theirs.

---

I just want to say that this is the longest piece I have ever written, and I am seriously so proud of this for once. I was able to set all of my self-doubt aside for this and just write, and I genuinely feel like this is the best piece of work I have ever written in my entire life. I thank you so very much for reading it all the way through. 💜

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Dean taglist: @aylacavebear @globetrotter28 @bettystonewell @supernotnatural2005 @maddie0101

Both: @jollyhunter @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @voodoochildthings @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind

Drop a comment, ask away, or add yourself to my taglist!

[supernaturalfreewill]

Sam sank down on the edge of the bed. He couldn't resist gently running his hand over your shoulder in a loving gesture and smiling at your tousled hair on the pillow. You immediately stirred at his touch and blinked awake, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

"Hi," he whispered, smiling.

You stretched a little and snuggled back under the covers, not tearing your eyes from him. "You've been gone for so long and all you have to say is 'hi'?" you said, pouting.

He laughed lightly. "I was gone two days," he said.

"Yeah. So long," you repeated.

"I'm so sorry. Let me try again." Sam cleared his throat dramatically and affected a bad British accent. "My love, my darling, my dearest, I missed you so much I thought I would die. May I please come to bed so I can hold you all night? You are the wind beneath my wings and the sugar in my tea!"

You couldn't help giggling a little. "I guess so," you sighed.

"You guess so?!" he laughed. "I just did all that and I get an 'I guess so'?!"

"I'm sorry, my love, my darling, my dearest," you responded, laughing.

"Alright," Sam replied, rolling his eyes. "Move over." You obliged and he slipped in under the covers with you, immediately pulling you into him and wrapping his arm around you.

"Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"I really did miss you."

He smiled and planted a kiss on your forehead, holding you more tightly. "I missed you too." Prompt: "You've been gone for so long and all you have to say is 'hi'?"

[supernotnatural2005]

'Ride em' Cowgirl'

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY, swearing, fluff.

AN: Here it is, the requested part 2 of my 'Giddy up Cowboy' Drabble. I'm blown away by all of the love and support on my work lately and had to give you something tasteful in return for all your lovely appreciation. I hope you enjoy ☺️

Tagging: @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog and @rizlowwritessortof

Main Masterlist

The ride back to the motel feels like an eternity. The engine of the Impala hums beneath you, a comforting sound you’ve grown used to over the past few months of hunting with the Winchesters. But tonight, that familiar hum does little to calm the storm that’s building in the air between you and Dean.

Sam sits in the passenger seat, blissfully unaware of the electricity crackling in the space between you and his older brother. His head is turned slightly, eyes focused on his phone as he scrolls through something, probably researching the next hunt. He’s completely oblivious, lost in his world, but you and Dean? You're both caught up in something far more dangerous.

You shift in your seat, the leather of the Impala's interior squeaking slightly beneath you, but it’s nothing compared to the way your body is reacting to the proximity of Dean, to the memory of the words you said back at the bar. "I think I can ride him better." The double meaning of the comment, the tease that you’d laid on him, was still hanging heavily in the air.

You glance at him, his profile visible from the corner of your eye. His jaw is tight, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too hard, and you can’t help but notice the way his bicep flexes with the tension. The urge to reach over and touch him, to bridge that last bit of space between you, is almost overwhelming.

Sam’s voice pulls you from your thoughts as he glances over his shoulder, a slight grin on his face. “You two are awfully quiet. You sure everything’s alright?”

Dean clears his throat, his voice low, a little too steady. “Yeah, we’re fine, Sammy. Just tired.”

Sam nods, not catching the edge in his brother’s voice, and goes back to whatever he’s reading on his phone. You, however, catch the way Dean’s eyes flicker to you—a brief glance, but enough to make your pulse quicken. You feel that familiar heat rise between you both, the kind that only the two of you understand.

Every mile feels like it stretches on forever. You catch Dean’s gaze again, and this time, his eyes linger a little longer, something raw and unspoken in them. You know he’s struggling to keep his composure, just as you are.

Finally, the motel comes into view. The neon lights of the sign flicker, the soft hum of the parking lot filling the quiet car. Sam lets out a loud yawn and stretches, oblivious to the way the tension between you and Dean has reached its breaking point.

“Man, I’m pretty beat.” Sam says, giving you both a tired smile as he climbs out of the car. You and Dean follow suit, both of you stepping out with a quiet but unmistakable urgency.

Dean’s hand brushes against yours as he walks you to your room—just a few doors before his and Sam’s, and it’s enough to send a shiver down your spine. You both stand there for a moment, looking at your motel room door in front of you, the unspoken weight of everything you've both been avoiding for so long finally sinking in. 

Sam walks on ahead, muttering something about needing to “hit the hay,” and you both watch as he disappears into the room before Dean turns to you, his voice low and controlled. 

"You weren’t kidding earlier, huh?”

"No," you say, your voice just above a whisper, because you can’t take it anymore, and it’s enough to send the heat between you two spiralling. "I wasn’t.”

Dean doesn’t need any more encouragement. He moves first, closing the distance between you two with a single, decisive step. His lips crash against yours, hard and desperate—like he’s been holding back everything he’s been feeling for far too long. 

His mouth is warm and insistent, and you open up to him instinctively, your hands finding their way to the open fabric of his flannel, pulling him even closer. 

You moan into the kiss, clinging to him as if he were your last source of oxygen. Consuming what he was willing to give as long as he was willing to give it. Dean’s hands slide down to your hips, gripping hard enough to leave small fingerprint indents when your tongue slides past his lips. His responding groan is low, bordering on a growl, and he walks you back against your door, his hands unable to stay in one place for too long. 

His touch, his scent, and his delectable mouth were quickly descending you into a state of ecstasy. You were already hooked and desperate for more. 

“Inside.” You mumble against his lips, and he offers you a curt nod before he breaks the kiss, allowing you a moment to breathe as you turn to unlock your door. He’s already pressing himself against you from behind, his hands wandering from your hips to boldly cupping your breasts over your thin t-shirt, beneath your jacket.

It takes you until your third try before you finally stumble inside. Dean quick to kick the door shut with his foot as he ravishes your neck with wet kisses and thumbs at your pebbled nipples poking through your lace bra, risen from both his ministrations and the cool air.

You push back against him and gasp at the feel of his obvious arousal through his jeans. His reaction to you sent a thrill of excitement through you as well as a feeling of pride swelling in your chest. 

"Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. Wanted you.” Dean pants into your neck as you roll your hips against him. He presses into you with each roll, making his eyes roll back and his hands move to find purchase on your hips again. 

“I think I have some notion.” You quip with one last push back against him before turning in his arms. You offer him a sly smile and look up at him through your lashes as you trail and hand down his firm chest and over his toned stomach before cupping him through his jeans. His hips instinctively thrust into your palm, and you grant him some relief by adding pressure and rubbing your hand along his length. 

His gaze is stormy as he looks down at you, watching you watch your own hand grope him in wonder. It was one of the hottest things he’d ever seen. Suddenly, he pulls your hand from him, the feeling both incredible yet frustratingly not enough, and you look up at him in question, but he’s quick to reclaim your lips again. 

The urgency from before is back with a vengeance as you claw at each other’s clothes, peeling away layers upon layers between heated kisses, until finally, you’re left in nothing but your panties, and Dean in his boxers. 

His gaze roams over you unapologetically, taking in every curve and scar; your heaving breasts on display with a hunger you’d never seen in another man's eyes before. But there was more behind his desire. There was a look of longing, of wanting this for so long and finally having it, simmering within those pools of green. And you understood. Because you felt the exact same. 

As if in sync, you reached for one another again. Dean’s hands framed your face as he dipped down to kiss you again. This time softer, more tender, making you all but melt into his arms. He walked you backwards, never parting his lips from yours, until the backs of your thighs met the edge of the mattress. 

You pulled away from him then and climbed up onto the bed, with him quickly following, crawling up and over you like a predator stalking his prey. Your head fell back onto the pillows as his firm body covered yours, his mouth quickly attaching itself to your neck, kissing, sucking, and nibbling at the tender flesh until you were bucking your hips up against him. 

He smirks into your neck, loving the fact you were so reactive to him, even by the simplest of touches. He decides to give you some relief and trails his mouth down your body, stopping at your chest. He waited for you to look at him, his warm breath fanning over your perked nipple, and only when you finally meet his gaze does he wrap his lips around your pebbled nub. 

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream, watching his eyes fall shut as he sucked and nibbled at your nipple. The sensation was almost overwhelming, and your hips ground for any kind of friction to relieve the building ache between your legs. Your hand slid into his hair, pulling harshly at the soft spikes atop his head, making him groan, and the vibration sent tiny shocks of pleasure throughout your nerve endings. 

He moves onto your other breast, the wetness of your abandoned nipple cooling against the air conditioning unit, softly buzzing in the background, the feeling only adding to the incredible pleasure his mouth was giving your other breast. 

“Fuck, Dean.” You gasp, just as his left hand trailed down your side and sneakily slipped into your panties. Two of his thick digits were quick to find your clit and you shuddered from the contact. He begins to circle your bundle of nerves slowly, much like the motion of his tongue against your nipple. 

You fist his hair again, moaning loudly as he dips an experimental finger into your soaked hole, gathering your wetness and resuming his attention back on your clit. 

“You’re so wet, baby.” He grunts against your chest, frowning in concentration as he picks up his pace. “That all for me?” All you could do was nod and then cry out as his fingers rubbed you faster, sending jolts of pleasure down to the tips of your toes, which soon curled as your body began to tense. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You repeated it like a mantra, the coil in your belly wound tight and ready to spring. 

“That’s it, baby. Cum all over my fingers.” He husks in your ear, and you look down your body, watching the muscles in his forearm dance with effort from the maddening pace of the hand buried deep in your underwear. The sight was your undoing, and your whole body stiffened. Mouth dropping open in a silent scream, the sound trapped in your throat as your body convulsed and shuddered against him. 

Dean’s hand began to slow with your descent into bliss, coming to a complete stop once you deflated back onto the mattress, completely boneless. 

“Holy shit.” You huffed with an incredulous chuckle because, holy shit. You’re not even sure you’d ever come so hard with your own hand. And if just his fingers could bring you so much pleasure, it left you wondering what else you were in store for. Although you didn’t have to wonder for much longer when Dean shifted beside you and you felt the straining press of his cock against your thigh. 

You turned to him and cupped his cheek with your right hand, pulling him into a slow and sensuous, grateful kiss. He hummed happily against your lips as you rolled him onto his back. His arms coming up to wrap around you, to keep you close as you took his breath away. 

With him distracted, you grasped his tented length, massaging him as best you could through the fabric of his boxers. He broke the kiss and dropped his head back against the pillows, eyes shut tight as you relieved some of the pressure. 

You smiled devilishly at him and rose to your knees beside him. He watched you in wonder as you peeled the last item of clothing from him, helping you by lifting his hips. Your eyes widened in both shock and amazement at the sight of him. Your mouth watered and pussy throbbed, desperate for a taste, for the feel of him inside you. 

You gathered him in your hand, relishing in the warm weight of his impressive cock. Dean released a deep sigh at the feel of your delicate hand slowly, teasingly pumping him. He was as hard as granite, throbbing in your hand, and you marvelled at the way your simple movements had him panting, wanting and desperate beneath you. 

Laying comfortably between his parted thighs, You ran your tongue along the length of him. The deep, responsive moan from him giving you the encouragement to do it again and again until he was slick with your saliva and fisting the sheets beneath him tight. 

“Holy.. shit.” Dean gasped as you took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his silky head before sinking your mouth onto him. The action brought with it a salty tang and a variety of praises and profanities. Between your legs, a new wave of wetness coated your already ruined underwear as you worked him over in your mouth and with your hand. 

Looking up at him, he was a sight to behold. His skin glistening, chest heaving, sinful lips parted, and eyes squeezed shut. He was beautiful in every scenario it seemed. 

“Oh God.” Dean’s eyes snapped open then, his body tensing, and he quickly sat up, pulling you from him. You looked at him alarmed, wiping at the spit collected at the corners of your mouth. 

“What? What’’s wrong?” You lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, waiting for him to take a few deep breaths before he released a breathless chuckle.

“You were about to make me cum.” He told you honestly, and you blushed a little, but wondered why he’d stopped you? 

“And?” You giggled softly, though squeaked, when he suddenly manhandled you into his lap. You had to bite back a groan at the feel of his hard length bumping against you through your panites. 

“And? I was promised a ride.” His voice is low and sultry, but his face is filled with his usual boyish, giddy excitement. You giggled and shook your head, realising you’d somehow fallen for a complete dork. 

You cup his scruffy cheeks in your palms and plant a warm kiss against his lips, the smiles on your faces quickly fading as your tongue swept against his, reigniting the ache between your legs and the need for more. 

You reluctantly pull away and slide off of him, removing and kicking away your underwear before climbing back onto him. He welcomes you eagerly, claiming your mouth once again with a kiss filled with passion and ignition. 

You slowly guide him onto his back and pull away breathless. His hands slide from your back to your hips as you sit up, grinning down at him. His green eyes look up at you, dark and entranced, roaming over every inch of you in amazement. 

You bite down on your lip as you settle against him, the wet seam of your pussy covering his length, making you both groan at the contact. You roll your hips experimentally, your head falling back as you steadied yourself against his firm stomach, picking up your pace until you were slick and ready. 

“Fuck sweetheart. You’re a dream.” Dean says breathlessly and with an honest gaze. You smirk down at him, slowing your roll, and he watches you. 

“I think it’s time I make do on that promise.” You tell him. “Think I can last the full 90 minutes?” You tease, and Dean chuckles, rubbing lovingly at your thighs, hips, and up your sides. 

“I have no doubts, baby.” 

In one swift movement, you rise up on your knees and grasp his length, angling him just right before you sink down onto him. Both of your mouths drop open in respective pleasure. You’re slick enough to take him most of the way, only rocking gently a few times until he’s fully sheathed. 

“Fuuck.” He moans, and it’s long and drawn out because Dean can’t quite fathom the feeling of you wrapped tightly around him. He’s been to heaven, hell, and everything in between, but this was something else entirely. The best pie he’d ever tasted, the feeling he got behind the wheel of baby—all things paling in comparison to this moment.

Once the initial stretch of him blurred from pain into pleasure, did you then rise up and slowly slide back down, gasping in almost disbelief at the incredible feel of him inside you. You repeated the movement again and again until you built up a steady rhythm, rocking, rolling, and grinding your hips to find the most intense spots of pleasure. 

All the while Dean let you ride him, watching in awe as you did in fact “ride him better." However, to give you a challenge, he bucked his hips up into you, meeting you thrust for thrust. You held on tightly, eyes rolling back at the much harsher thrusts hitting you just right, but you weren’t about to let him win. 

With one hand firmly planted on his chest, you leaned back, reaching your arm around to fondle his balls. Dean jolted in surprise but moaned deep and loud as you gently caressed them in your palm. You smiled in triumph as he relinquished his thrusts, and you sped up your movements, feeling his balls draw tight. 

“Oh, fuck, oh shit.” His words were breathless and strained as his body tensed, brow furrowing, hands gripping tight onto your hips as he came. Hard. You felt his warm seed coat your walls along with a long, deep groan as you circled your hips, milking every last drop. 

You grinned down at him as he collapsed back onto the bed, panting hard and weightless. You could feel him still twitching inside you, and you involuntary clenched at the sensation, making his head pop back up to look at you. 

His eyes were wild, his chest flushed red, and wordlessly he slid a hand over to your lower stomach, his thumb pressing against your sensitive clit, making you gasp. Dean’s eyes closed at the feeling of you clenching around him but began circling your clit with the digit, watching on in admiration as you slowly rocked your hips into his hand, chasing your own sweet release. 

Dean was a generous lover, but you’d given him a run for his money in that department tonight. It was only common curtesy he had you come again. Even if your pussy was all but strangling his sensitive cock, it felt incredible—a sensation he’d never felt before. He could feel himself hardening again at just the sight and feel of you, surprising you as much as himself. 

“Oh God.” You cried out, your walls fluttering around him as you ground into his hand, his thumb flicking against your clit, harder and faster until you were shaking above him. Then he thrust his hips up, once, twice, three times, and you were falling apart. Your body tensed and twitched above him, your mouth falling open in a silent cry as the white hot pleasure of your orgasm rippled through you.  

“Shit.” Your eyes popped open when you felt it. Warmth spread inside you for a second time as Dean cried out in painful pleasure. Holy shit was all that you could comprehend as he tensed beneath you. 

Shocked silence filled the room as you both stared at one another, catching your breaths, until a chuckle of disbelief slipped from his lips, triggering your own laughter.  

You fell onto his chest, letting his soft cock slip from you with a slight hiss from him. You soothed a hand a long his chest, planting a sweet kiss there before leaning up and coming face to face with him. 

"So, was I…Better?” You wondered curiously, whilst absently playing with his mused, sweat slicked hair. Dean grinned in response and cupped your jaw tenderly. 

"Oh, you so were." He replied before pulling your lips to his. 

AN: Okay so this one was just pure smut! 😂 but let me know what you think? Was this a good tie up for these two 👀

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Falling Into Me

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Smut (p in v, fingering, oral f receiving), angst, loss of virginity, light fluff, feelings :(, real bad self-image issues

Summary/Warnings: You're a virgin, and it's really not a big deal. Everyone was a virgin once. You're just a virgin longer. Maybe forever, because nobody really seems to be willing to solve that problem for you.

You've never told Sam and Dean, and you don't have any intention to. Ever. But when a hunt goes wrong, Dean finds out. And he might have been keeping something from you as well.

Author's Note: This might be the horniest thing I've ever written. Enjoy <3!

Title from Red Wine Supernova by Chappell Roan

Word Count: 8.9k

You haven’t slept in three days, and it’s starting to be a problem. But you can’t afford to sleep. You can only drink staler and staler coffee, sit at the motel table, and pretend this is a case that, somehow, you’re going to solve. That Dean isn’t grumpier than usual, and Sam doesn’t constantly look like he’s going to kill the next person that dares to have an incorrect idea. It’s why you volunteered for the next round of interviews. You don’t want to be there when one of them snaps and kills the other, and while you wouldn’t love to return to the room and find it covered in blood, at least then you’d have an excuse to call it.

You wouldn’t call it. You’d work the case until it was done, because that’s what you do. And Sam and Dean won’t kill each other, because they’re Sam and Dean. That said, you are expecting a pouting Dean to pacing back and forth outside the room as he waits for you to return, and a grumble about how Sammy said he was being annoying and needed to walk it off. You’re more than prepared to give him a sympathetic smile and ask him if he was being annoying. And he’ll probably protest that he wasn’t, and you’ll raise your brows, and he’ll admit he mighta been drumming really loud while eating the chips.

It’s not an unreasonable expectation. None of you have slept, because this thing is insane. There’s no obvious pattern to the victims, no connections, nothing in line with everything you’ve ever seen. It’s men and woman, a wide age range, no previous coflicts or knowledge of each other in life. There are holes through theirs chests that could be bullet wounds, but obviously aren’t, because Bullets don’t remove the heart from the body. But it’s not werewolves, because werewolves aren’t clean killers like this and every fucking person in this stupid town has passed the silver test. There’s a new kill every night, and a new body every morning, and another reason for you, Sam, and Dean to start screaming every day. Every hour makes you all wired, because it’s closer and closer to another evening where you won’t have caught this asshole and another person will die.

And it’s become really easy to get on each other’s nerves. Sam was mad at Dean because he’d purposefully gotten you all burgers instead of Sam’s rabbit food, you’re mad at Sam because he said you were bad at poker—and you are, but what the fuck—and Dean’s mad at you because-

Dean’s not mad at you. You and Dean don’t really get mad at each other. You understand each other, better than you’ve ever understood anyone else, and it’s the perfect amount of alike that you’ll lend him grace you wouldn’t lend anyone else—including yourself—but you don’t see enough of your own twisting, molding innards to hate him. You mostly see something better. A man that has all the same rotting parts, but has made something out of them while you just waste away in toxins.

And you think Dean sees something similar in you. It’s why you’d been obnoxiously chewing potato chips, right in his ear, and he hadn’t punched you or snatched the bag away from your hands. He’d just rolled his eyes, grabbed one of his own, and started chewing in Sam’s ear.

So you hadn’t really volunteered for interviews so much as been aggressively told by Sam you were doing interviews. And it was only fair Dean met the same fate.

But he hadn’t. And when you opened the door to the room, they both looked happy. 

Dean practically shouts your name when he sees you, wildly gesturing for you to join them at the table. “Sammy found it!” He grins at you almost manically, and it’s a little adorable. “We can finally fucking leave.”

“I might have found it,” Sam corrects, his smile a little more tentative, but still real. “And we can’t leave yet. Not until we actually get the thing-“

“Obviously, dude, but that’ll be soon, instead of in a million years.” Dean looks to you for agreement. “I mean, c’mon. You guys can’t really wanna stay in hicktown Ohio forever?”

You shrug. “I dunno. Good coffee.”

Dean glares at you. “The coffee tastes like ass and you freakin’ know it-“

“Dean.” You give him a flat look. “Do I actually get to know what the monster is?”

Sam sighs. “You’re not gonna like it.”

“I already don’t love it, it’s a monster that’s killed like, ten people-“

“Worse than that.” Dean lets out a dry chuckle. “It’s sorta like a dragon.”

You, very suddenly, don’t feel really well. Everything is hotter than it had been a second ago, and the walls seem to be closing in as your skin begins to prickle and ache. “Like a dragon?” You ask, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Or a dragon?”

“Like a dragon. Tell her, Sammy.”

Sam shoots Dean a glare—not happy being thrown under the bus—and mutters, “It’s a unicorn.”

You stare at him for a long minute, then shake your head. “It’s a what.”

“Unicorn.” Sam mumbles. “They’re, uh, looks like they’re real.”

“But not Pinky Pie and Disney.” Dean adds, turning Sam’s laptop for you to read. “Real fucking assholes.”

“They hunt virgins.” Sam explains. “To bond with. And it’ll kill anyone who falsely lures it.”

“Stab the poor son of a bitch right through the heart, then pull that sucker right out.” Dean adds, spreading his legs and propping his elbows on his knees. “And it looks like it’ll go after chicks and dudes, any age, so that’s why there’s no pattern. You’re able to fuck, you’re fair game.”

“Oh, cool.” You mutter, a lump starting to form in your throat. “I’m always looking for equal opportunity murderers in the monsters I hunt.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s gonna make it a little harder to find the thing.” Sam grabs his laptop back, frowning at the screen. “It’ll take a human form, then look for a virgin. And it won’t be able to tell until it gets the person’s heartbeat up, so it might be a guy or a girl, depending on who it’s hunting tonight.”

“But,” you glance at Dean, who’s grinning as you start to put it together. “It is hunting tonight.”

“Hunts every night.” Dean says, rubbing his hands together. “And we don’t know where, but we can take some guesses. Split up and look at all the bars in town ’till one of us finds something, then gank this douchebag and get the hell out of here.”

“Split up?” You whisper, something wired and flailing coiling around your guts. “That’s, um, shouldn’t we stick together? If it’ll go after anyone?”

“Not everyone.” Same shrugs. “Low, uh, body counts. I guess. Low enough that it can’t tell immediately.”

“So we just need a bunch of whores?"

Dean snorts. “Well tonight,” he spreads his arms, shooting you a wink that really isn’t helpful right now. “We’re the whores, Sweetheart. We’re safe, and we’re going to kick some unicorn ass.”

It’s a cheesy, stupid thing to say, and usually you’d laugh and crack a joke back. Something about unicorn ass and whores that you can’t really think of right now, because there’s bile in your throat and something heavy fogging over your brain.

“How do we, uh,” your tongue is numb in your mouth, and every word is dragged out of your throat. “How do we kick a unicorn’s ass.”

“Well, we’re looking for electrical malfunctions, golden eyes when it gets, uh, excited, and a refusal to drink anything but water.” Sam frowns at the screen, looking up at you with a half-shrug. “Anything amoral seems to knock it down, so just, uh, swear? Then shoot it with iron. Iron kills it.”

“And, um,” you swallow, tugging at the fabric of your sleeves. “What’s gonna to the virgin? If the unicorn finds it?”

Sam sighs. “They, uh, they seem to use them.”

Dean frowns, leaning around to try and read the screen. “Use them-“ 

“Their purity. Use their purity.” Sam raises his brows, and you can see the exact moment it clicks in Dean’s head. 

“That’s...” Dean trails off, running a hand over his face. “Shit.” 

Sam mutters an agreement, and your mouth feels like sandpaper, your heart beating like it’s trying to escape your chest.

“And after?” You whisper, a little unsure you want to actually ask the question, or know the answer. “After they’re used?” 

“Well, they’re not ‘pure’ anymore.” Sam puts an air quote around pure, and you feel a little sick. “So, uh, stab.”

“Oh.” You nod slowly. You might need to lie down. “Stab.”

Dean looks over you with a drawn brow, his voice low and cautious as he says your name. “Are feelin’ okay-“

“I’m fine.” You remember how to smile, and hope it looks real. Not like your teeth are starting to feel out of place in your mouth, and you can’t seem to find enough spit to choke on. “Let’s get the unicorn ass.”

Dean doesn’t look convinced. Hell, Sam doesn’t look convinced. But they both let it go for now, and you can breathe just a little easier knowing you’re not barreling towards a fight.

But only a little easier. 

Because you’re fucked.

Virginity is a funny thing. It’s just a social construct, but it’s a social construct some monsters seem to take as scripture, making it a hazardous thing to still have in your line of work. 

And you hadn’t meant to be a hazard. It just kind of happened. Because it started as something that was a given to have, then turned into something that you just were a little too busy to lose, before becoming an awkward conversation you’re not willing to have. Something that hangs, silent and sharp, over your head and around your throat. Something that’s now a question of why? Why is it never you? You’re not ugly. You’re even pretty enough that, if you tell someone, they won’t believe you and it’ll all feel worse. You’re even pretty enough that you’ve seen people size you up at bars, but none of them ever approach you.

So it might just be you. You might just have something on your face that gives away that you’re more trouble than you’re worth, a little too rough to touch and not have it sting, telling people stay away. 

And Sam and Dean will never know. You’re already a little younger, a little worse of a hunter, a small problem when they’re obviously trying to take someone to their bed but the girl sees you and makes quick and inaccurate assumptions. Sam is better at brushing them off—She’s like my little sister—but Dean gets red and awkward and suddenly loses all his well-practiced charm. He sulks back to the table, and won’t look you in the eyes for an hour or walk with you back to the bar. You’re honestly shocked neither of them have thrown you to the curb by now, an you’re not going to give them another reason to. Another reason for Sam to make a sad, puppy-eyed pity face and Dean to stare at you like he’s not sure you’re real. Like there’s no way someone could’ve possibility survived as a hunter like this. 

And a small, well-contained part of you wishes Dean would look at you the way he looks at other women. Like they still have beautiful, horrible secrets that he’d love to uncover with only his hands and mouth. 

You’ve got secrets. Dean can’t have them—because they’re a liability and you’re not looking to lose him forever—but you really wish he’d just look at you. Once, really look at you, and not see you. See something so much better, that you think he’s always a little close to finding, that nobody else ever seems willing to try and look for.

You’re a little grateful they left you alone in this backwater dive bar. It would hurt to watch Dean flirt right now, when everything feels raw and wired in your body, and every time someone drops next to you at the bar you feel more and more sick. There are quick, polite conversations with random strangers who sound like they’d rather be anywhere than here, with you, and by the time you’ve repeated your cover story for the eighth time your lungs are wrapped iron and your nails feel like a burden on your fingers.

It’ll be over by tonight. All three of you know what you’re looking for, so the unicorn will be dead before sunrise, and you won’t have to do any explanations about why you’ve been quiet and tense since Dean said like a dragon. Nobody will look at you with pity or confusion, nobody will get hurt, and you won’t end up with a hole in your heart as the only people that have ever seen you to be worth something realize just how wrong they were. That you’re really just a small, useless burden that even a literal monster wouldn’t be able to stomach the presence of-

“You here all by yourself?”

Something sparks in your gut at the voice, coming from off to the side, because for a second you really think it’s Dean. It’s deep, moves through your whole body, and knocks loose something in your lower gut that always makes you feel hungry, but it’s not Dean. When you turn, the man next to you looks like someone ran Dean through a printer too many times and he came out faded. A little too short, not quite as broad, all the pretty scars that make Dean Dean seemingly vanished, and a gleam in his eyes that Dean’s never had. It’s a little more feral, without any playfulness or glowing shadows. Too much yellow instead of green, the cocky smirk just a little off, none of it right. None of it Dean.

“I’m, um,” you frown, because this man even smells like Dean. “I’m waiting for a friend. He’s running late.”

Not-Dean clicks his tongue. “Shame, leaving a pretty girl like you all alone. You want some company until your boyfriend shows up?”

You shake your head, turning your glass around in your hand. “Not my boyfriend. And I’m actually…” You trail off, your eyes falling on the man’s own glass. The clear liquid inside. “You drinking vodka?”

“Am I- Oh, sure.” The man chuckles, raising his drink for you to click. “Here’s to not-boyfriends-“

“Can I have some?”

You watch the man carefully as he looks between you and the glass. “Nah, sweetie, you don’t want this, it’s some strong stuff-“

Sweetie. Not sweetheart. Not Dean, not right, not safe. And something is starting to crawl over your skin and shoot up your spine, making you sit a little taller as your heart pounds louder and louder. 

As Not-Dean licks his lips, and scans over you with yellow eyes that might be shining. 

Fuck.

“I, um, I’m gonna go call my friend.” You start to shift off your seat, pulling your phone slowly out of your pocket. “He should’ve been here a few minutes ago, and I’m worried-“

“C’mon, you haven’t even told me your name.” Not-Dean wiggles his brows, and it looks wrong on his face. “Bet I can guess, if you give me a hint-“

“No, it’s fine, my name is, uh…” you look down at your phone, the screen completely black. You’d charged it before you left.

“Your name?” Not-Dean prompts, grabbing your arm. Holding you near him, at the bar. “I’d really love to learn it. I could teach you a few things in exchange-“

“I was never given a name!” Your voice is a frantic shout, Not-Dean’s eyes narrow, and you do the only thing you can think of. Punch Not-Dean square in the face, yank your arm from his grip, and run. Fucking sprint out of the bar and not allow yourself to falter as you hear a roar that’s a little hoarse and off pitched. Like a horse keen. Like a wounded animal.

Like a monster.

Splitting up had been a terrible fucking idea. Now you’re alone, you don’t have even an idea where Sam and Dean are, and you can’t afford to stop and jack a car because you can hear it in the distance. Hooves, clapping against the pavement, getting closer and closer as you begin to run out of breath. You can’t hide, it can hear you, and you can’t go faster because you already feel faint and everything is beginning to collapse in your body. Muscles tightening and skin crawling and eyes pushing out of your skull, every breath too shallow and every step too short. 

You fall to your knees behind a truck, wrapping a hand around your own throat and trying to force your heartbeat back down. Slow, even breathes that come out in choked gasps, nails digging into your skin as the hooves slow, and you hear a low sputtering sound from somewhere behind you. 

And it’s too quiet. You can’t hear anything but your blood in your ears, and all you can see in the night is the flickering yellow light of a streetlamp in the distance. You squeeze your eyes shut and swallow every breath, hoping you can force yourself out before the unicorn finds you. You don’t want to be used. You don’t want to be alone. You just want Dean, where’s Dean, why the fuck did you let him leave you alone, why didn’t you tell him the truth, why can’t you think of anything else but Dean, where’s Dean-

There’s something hot on your neck, and a large presence at your side. Something like spit is being splattered on your neck, and you can’t contain the vomit when a too-rough hand trails up your arm-

“Get the fuck back, you son of a bitch!”

A loud bang cuts through the air—making you jump out of your skin as a heavy body slumps onto yours—and it sounds like church bells and music. It sounds like Dean. That’s his voice shouting your name, his arms wrapping around your body and carrying you away from the unicorn, his breath fanning over your face as he sits you on the curb and starts to turn your face in his hands.

“Fuck, never should’ve left you, but I didn’t-“ Dean cuts himself off with a huff, and you think he’s talking to himself more than you. “Did the asshole touch you anywhere I can’t see?”

You shake your head, keeping your eye glued shut as you curl your hands in Dean’s shirt. Maybe Dean’s shirt. Not-Dean had been wearing plaid too, and you don’t have the nerve or will to open your eyes and seen if it’s your Dean, or the cheap unicorn knockoff.

“Shit, sweetheart, I need you to talk to me. Sam’s on his way, but we gotta get you out of here-“

“Didn’t touch me.” You whisper, fighting every urge into your body to curl forwards and start sobbing weak and pointless apologies. “I’m okay.”

“You’re okay? You think, fuck-“ Dean’s arm—bigger, warmer, maybe actual Dean—loops around your waist, his voice a little closer to your ear. “Need you to hold onto me, got it? We’re goin’ back to the car, and you gotta, fuck, can you open your damn eyes?”

They fly open, almost on command, and it’s Dean. The smell of whiskey is stronger, more authentic, and his face is sharp in all the right places, and it’s really Dean. 

And he looks pissed. His touch on your body is careful, and his eyes are attentive and sparked with worry, but his jaw is clenched, and his every word is suddenly pushed through his teeth.

“You’re gonna hold onto me.” He orders, holding your wide-eyed gaze with a glower. “I’ll take a better look at you when we get back to the room-“

“Dean, I’m fine-“

“And,” Dean barrels on, as if he didn’t even hear you. “We’re going to have a chat. You’re, I can’t-” he shakes his head scooping you fully into his arms. “Just hold on.”

He sounds pissed. Dean’s rigid and silent the whole ride back to the hotel, his grip white-knuckled and tight on the wheel, and you feel even worse than before. This is it. He had to save you, and he’s going to learn why he had to save you, and he might not kick you out but he won’t look at you the same again. No more ease or awe or comfort or understanding, because Dean’s rotten in places where the mold can be burned away with every good part of him, but you’re just rotten. Just a hideous thing that roars in your chest, just angry and cowardlyand revolting and wrong. You’re just wrong. 

All the panic and paralyzing adrenaline had left your body, so you push yourself out of the Impala on unsteady feet. Dean mutters something about Sam dealing with all the cleanup as he opens to motel room door, watching you shuffle inside with clenched fists and an unreadable expression. You flop onto the bed with a small whine, your body beginning to drown in exhaustion, your gaze locked on the peeling paint of the ceiling as Dean moves around the room out of your view.

“Why’d you come back?” You ask, your voice hoarse and weak, and Dean lets out a long, low exhale from somewhere off to the side.

“You were actin’ really weird.” He grunts. “Didn’t sound like yourself. Weren’t laughing at my jokes, or making fun of Sam. Looked sick every time one of us said stab.”

“I could’ve just been-“

“Don’t.” He snaps, and you crane your neck to see him at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and looking at you. Dean seems to be really looking at you, all of you, and you suddenly really wish he would stop. You’re complete exposed below him, under his glare, and he’s going to see something he hates. Something you don’t have a name for that you’ve never wanted him to see, never wanted him to find. The thing that makes everyone else look away.

But Dean’s attention is like a drug, and you need him to stop before you lose him, but you also never want him to stop watching you. It’s confusing and raw and makes you feel like a live wire, one word or touch or stare away from snapping and bursting into a million sparks.

And Dean’s still looking at you. 

“I didn’t,” you swallow, his eyes like a magnet on yours. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry-“

“Don’t.” He repeats, his voice lower. Harsher. “You’re not injured.”

You shake your head.

“Good. We need to talk.”

“Dean, I-“

“I’m asking the questions.” Dean leers over you slightly, and you nod again. “Why the fuck did that unicorn seem like it was hunting you.”

He knows the answer. His whole face is already painted in anger, and you know he knows. He just wants to hear you say it.

“Because it was hunting me.”

“Unicorns only hunt virgins.” Dean grunts your name, still not looking away. “You’re not-“

“I am.” You mumble, folding your arms over your own body as you drop back down onto the mattress. “Sorry.”

“Why would you say, fuck- Why in goddamn hell wouldn’t you tell me and Sam-“

“Tell you and Sam what?” You scowl at the ceiling. “That I’m untouched? Pure? Boring-“

“That you’d be in danger!” Dean all but roars, and you don’t flinch, but you do cringe. All the mold in your body feels as if it’s spreading like cancer, because Dean would never hurt you with his hands, but he might be about to curb stomp your heart with only his mouth. “I don’t give a shit about the virgin thing, I care that you were so fucking stupid to go off alone, that you didn’t trust me enough-“

“It’s not about trust, Dean,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut again. “And it’s not like you tell me everything-“

“I do! I’ve told you about all the shit in my past, and my fear of flying, and Rhonda Hurley, and that weird freaking dream I had with the mice in top hats-“

“That’s not the same!” You’re pushing back up on your palms, raising your voice to match Dean’s. You just need him to stop yelling at you, to rip the band-aid off and finally give up on you so you can rest. “This isn’t your business-“

“It’s my business if it’s gonna get you fucking killed, Sweetheart. And I coulda helped you-“

“Helped me?” You scoff. “I don’t need your help with this, Winchester, I’ve come to terms with it-“

There was a brief moment where Dean had looked like you’d kicked him, but it vanishes in a second as he gapes at you in disbelief. “To terms with virginity?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, holding his suddenly slack expression with your own glare. “Nobody wants me, it’s not a big deal-“ 

Dean snorts. “There’s no damn way you’re that stupid-“ 

“I am not stupid-“ 

“Yeah? Cause you’re a fucking idiot if you think nobody wants you.”

It’s your turn to gape at him. Your heart stumbles slightly in your chest, your fingers curling into bedsheets, and the world begins to spin as you try and understand his words. “What?”

“You,” Dean takes a firm step forward, drawing your name. “Are a fucking idiot if you think that there’s not one damn person on the planet who wants you.” 

“But-“

“Nah. No freakin’ buts.” He’s closer now, his knees bumping yours as he glowers down at you. “I’ve watched too many hair-gelled losers at bars size you up like they wanna take a bite for you to have buts. Hell, I’ve-“ Dean shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “Shit, there’s just, there’s no way-“

Your face twists back into a scowl. “Fuck off, Dean. It doesn’t matter if you believe me-“

“Oh, I believe you, Sweetheart.” Dean’s eyes flash, nostrils flaring as a low groan leaves his chest, rolling through the air and settling between your legs in an aching heat. “And I finally fucking get it. You just, you have no idea. I thought you just didn’t want it, but you’re just- Shit-“

“Dean,” your voice is soft, a little breathless, and can’t help but rub your thighs together as his hands start to flex at his sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“I know,” he mutters, scanning over your body with an almost predatory expression. “I’m not, I just gotta,” his gaze flies back to yours, his voice suddenly stern. “Sam tell you how the unicorn choses its form?”

You blink. “Wha-“

“It takes the form that will be most appealing to the target. To help the asshole get attention quickly. That unicorn,” his voice drop, deeper than you’ve ever heard it, and it takes all the will you have to not start fall back into in the sheets. “Looked kinda like me.”

“I, um, I don’t-“

“Do you want me?” Dean grunts your name, and you make the mistake of dropping your gaze down, to his pants. To where an impressive outline is straining against his jeans. 

“I’d, I mean, I’m not-“ You swallow, everything a dizzying haze of Dean. “Yeah, I think, but you’re not-“

“I’m not what?” He growls, kneeling down to your eye level, trailing a slow hand up your thigh. “Not interested?”

 “Yeah?”

“Wrong.” Dean’s hand moves higher, trailing closer and closer to your center before running back down to your knee. “So incredibly wrong, Sweetheart. I’ve wanted you since, fuck, since I first saw ya’. But you didn’t seem to want me, so I backed off, but if you just didn’t-“ He pauses, his brilliant green eyes suddenly tearing into your soul, unraveling you before he’s even touched bare skin. “Do you? Want me?”

“I already said-“

“You said yeah.” He mutters, rubbing his hand is a slow pattern on your knee. “Need you to say the full thing, before I do anything else.”

Dean’s face is suddenly softer, with something that aches and tugs on your own heart shining through his eyes, and you couldn’t lie to him if you tried. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to Dean. It feels cruel, and wrong, and as if you’d be denying yourself something so good and rare it will never be replicated if you walk away now. 

“I want you,” you whisper. “I’ve wanted you. But I’m not, it’s not going to be good for you. I mean, I know how to take care of that,” you point to the bulge in his pants, pressed slightly against your calf as he crouches before you, and Dean frowns. “But I’ve never, um, you know-“

“You’re not takin’ care of anything.” He says, scanning over your open face with drawn brows. “We’re doing this, it’s gonna be about you.”

“Oh.” There’s a little drool falling out of your mouth, Dean reaches up to swipe it away with his thumb, and your voice becomes a squeak. “Okay.”

“If you really wanna,” his mouth curves into a smirk, and you need it on yours now. “Next time, I’ll let you go to town on Little Dean.”

You can’t stop the small giggle escaping your lips, and it turns into a full laugh as Dean’s own grin grows, and nothing really feels that bad anymore. “Little Dean?”

“Compared to the rest of me, yeah.” Dean does a loose gesture at his broad, strong body, his grin growing cocky. Hungry. Starved. “But trust me, gorgeous. Ain’t nothing little about him.”

Your eyes widen, your thighs rubbing together as the need for him becomes almost unbearable, and Dean lets out a deep, low chuckle. 

“You want me, babygirl?”

You nod, and Dean’s eyes narrow as he squeezes his hand on your leg. 

“Need you to say it-“

“Yeah.” You whisper. “Yes, please.”

A grin splits over Dean’s handsome face, and his hand drifts to your stomach, his eyes never leaving yours as he drawls your name. “I’m gonna need to get you ready, so just,” he pushes you slightly, and you fall flat on your back, moving your own hands to hold his against you. “Stay there, look pretty, and let me work.”

You nod, your vision already a little blurred with desire as you stare at the ceiling. Dean draws back, shuffling around at the edge of the bed, and you look up to see his shirt gone. It’s all warm, slightly golden and freckled skin, strong and soft in all the right places. His muscles flex as he takes a long, deep breath, and big, calloused hands lowering to trace over your midriff, his eyes never leaving yours.

“What’d I say about stayin’ there-“

“I, um,” you gasp a little as his hand slips under your shirt, bunching the material and starting to slowly pull it over your chest. “I’ve done other stuff. Just so you know. And I’ve done things to myself-“

“I bet you have,” Dean mutters, wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you carefully against him as he helps you out of your clothing. “Shit, Sweetheart, you’re so damn beautiful. Can’t wait to taste you, touch you, fucking ruin you-“

You let out a high, needy moan, burying your face in his neck and mumbling against his skin. “Please, Dean, just-“

You cut yourself off with a gasp as his free hand slips into your pants, cupping your pussy over the fabric of your underwear and rubbing back and forth so torturously slow you might fly out of your skin.

“So wet for me already,” he grunts, tugging on your hair until you lean back, meeting his gaze. “Ready?”

You’re not sure what you need to be ready for, but as long as it’s Dean doing it, you’re good. You nod, wrapping your arm around his neck in silent affirmation, and Dean pulls back to pop open the button of your jeans with a single hand, offering himself easier access.

Two broad fingers toy with the hem of your panties, Dean’s eyes almost glittering as his attention falls to where he’s touching you. Watching your body shiver when he glides his thumb over your clothed slit, your hips jerk when he presses down on your clit, your legs stretch as wide as they can when he starts to rub small circles against you.

“Dean,” you whine, your free hand moving to cup his jaw, trying to move his gaze back to yours. “Please, shit-“

“That feel good, babygirl?” Dean starts to quicken his movements, adding small, teasing flicks and pinches that make your eyes roll back in your head. “You like me teasin’ you? Playin’ this pretty fuckin’ pussy until you’re soaked- Fuck-“

You start to grind on Dean’s hand, trying to chase relief while showing him that he didn’t need to play with or tease you. He has you, unraveled on his fingers and desperate for more of him, all of him, whatever he can offer you that will feel like this-

“Shit, you’re dripping.” Dean’s movement on your clit still as he drags his thumb down, resting right over your aching, already sensitive cunt, and pressing into you just enough to make you whimper. “I gotta taste you, Sweetheart, c’mon.”

His gaze shoots back to yours, something a little animalistic in his low, hoarse voice that almost makes you cum on the spot. “Need you hold on, pretty girl, we’re gonna get you out’a these.”

You nod, letting Dean lay you back down on the mattress, lifting your hips as he drags your jeans off your body, taking your underwear with them. Leaving to totally, completely naked on the bed. Vulnerable, entirely at his mercy, with not another place you’d wish to be in the world.

Dean crawls slightly over you, one of his hands tracing up your stomach, palming at your breasts, then rolling your nipple between two, rough, expert fingers. You gasp, arching slightly off the bed, and a low, deep groan rolls from Dean’s chest.

“Holy fuck, Sweetheart. You’re,” Dean cuts himself off, dropping his mouth to your other breast and latching plump, slightly chapped lips around your nipple. Your vision starts to line with light that might be angels coming to take you away, because this has to be heaven. This is better than heaven. Heaven wouldn’t allow such sinful things as Dean groaning against your skin, his boner pressing into your thigh, or his hand kneading at your ass. Someone shouldn’t be allowed to feel this good. This feels like everything, and blissfully nothing, and mostly just Dean.

You must have moaned his name, because he crashes up, fisting a hand in your hair as he pulls you into a sloppy kiss. All teeth and spit and burning need. Dean tastes like coffee and whiskey and syrup and fruit when he shoves his tongue down your throat, and he smells like gunpowder and leather as his weight hold you easily down, and his lips are so soft but so demanding as he practically devours you, and you’re high. He’s not even inside you yet and you’ll never have enough. This isn’t more than what you’ve done before, but Dean’s ruined you with just teasing touches and wet, starved kisses, and you’re starting to worry you might ascend when he actually fucks you.

He starts to kiss and suck a line over your jaw, down your neck, and between your breasts. It’s heavy and wanting, but still so carefully coordinated. Every move Dean makes seems to be calculated, because he nips at your collarbone right as he tugs on your hair, and the sound that leaves you is high and undignified and exactly what he wanted. His chuckle rumbles in his chest—now pressed against your stomach—and all you can do is moan as he continues his perfect torture. Licking one nipple as he pinches the other, dragging two fingers through your folds as he kisses down the plane of your stomach, stopping right at the apex of your thighs with glittering eyes and firm hands, slowly guiding your legs open.

“Shit.” He mutters, warm breath right over your pussy, making your hips jerk slightly. “Goddamn, baby, you’re responsive.“ A wide, smug grin overtakes Dean’s face as he pushes one finger into your pussy, and you squeak. “I’ve been waiting for this.” He growls your name, and starts to pump that finger in and out, the pace so slow and almost painfully good. “God, you have fucking idea how long- How bad-“ Dean groans as you squeeze around him, and adds another finger. “You’re making such pretty sounds, babygirl, better than I ever imagined. Shit, you’re sexier than a fucking dream.”

His eyes drift back to yours, and shiver goes up your spine from how Dean’s looking at you. Really looking at you. Watching your writhe in the sheets and plead for him in weak gasps, watching you at your most vulnerable state, and grinning like he loves what he sees. Like he’s never seen anything better.

“Dean,” you gasp as his fingers pick up speed, starting to scissor inside your dripping cunt, bumping against a tender spot inside of you that seems to sing under his touch. “Oh my god, Dean, please-“

“Such pretty sounds,” Dean grins at you, crooking his fingers against that same spot to rub. “Let’s see if we can make some more.”

Without further warning Dean drops back down, latches his lips onto your clit, and sucks it right into his mouth like candy. It’s almost immediate, how he pulls you from warm pleasure to raw, almost feral desperation. You’re right on the edge, grinding on his face as his stubble burns your inner thighs in the best was possible, his tongue flicking over that pulsing bundle of nerves, his fingers reaching a demanding and brutal pace-

“Fuck, I’m-“ You let out a loud moan as Dean growls against you, pulling at his short, soft hair to try and both move him away as you dangle over the drop, and urge him on to let him catch you when you fall. “Close, Dean, I’m close, please-“

He pulls away, and you almost scream from the loss. You even force yourself up to glare at him, but you’ve barely gotten a steady balance when a high, needy breath escapes you at the sight of him. 

Dean’s towering over you, his pants discarded into another corners of the room, stroking his massive, fully-erect cock in one hand as he scans over your sweaty, flushed body. 

“I wanna fuck you dumb, babygirl.” He grunts, and you can’t really hear him your own Dean-addled brain, so you just gape and moan, and he chuckles. “Shit, looks like we’re already halfway there. You got any words for me-“

“Dean, please.” The words start to fall out of your mouth with the slight drool on your chin, almost as if he’d commanded them. “Please, I need you, need you so bad-“

You spread your legs in offering, and Dean groans. “Fuck, Sweetheart, you can’t just-“ He closes his eyes, running a hand over his face, and there’s a moment before he speaks again where you worry you’ve ruined it. That you’d shown too much, or Dean saw too much, but no matter what this is over before you can even get that huge, glorious cock inside of you- 

“I’m sorry-“

Dean frowns, his brow drawn as he looks down at you. “What the hell are you sorry for.”

“I dunno, I’m just not-“ You swallow. “I’m not good at this, I don’t know what to say-“

He grunts your name, prowling over your body under your trapped between his strong body and the bed, unable to escape his intense, searing gaze. Looking at you, examining you, and not flinching or moving away. “You,” he says, tracing one gentle hand over your cheekbones. “Are fuckin’ amazing at this.” 

You can only gape at him, so he keeps going.

“I’m the one that might fuck this up, Sweetheart. You’re so,” he makes a loose gesture to your body, and you really wish he’d use words, but the look of sheer awe in his eyes will be enough for now. “And I get to do this for you, and I’m not trying to blow my load before you even cum once.”

“I almost came.” You offer him a small smile, your fingers tracing over the sharp line of his jaw. “But you stopped me.”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, well, I’m plannin’ to make that up to you. If you still-“

“I want it.” You cut him off quickly, rolling your hips up, right against his cock. “Please, Dean, I really want it.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, dropping a little further down. “Are you-“

“I’m sure.” You guide Dean’s lips back to yours in a soft, almost sweet kiss, and say the words you really hope will snap whatever leash he’s put on himself. “I want you.”

It works. Something flashes in Dean’s eyes, and his hand snakes between your bodies, finding your clit and rolling it in slow circles as he growls in your ear.

“Wanna feel you, babygirl. Fuck you raw. I’m clean, but if you want me to grab a rubber you’re gonna need to keep yourself going while I-“

“No!” You almost yelp, wrapping your arms around him in a desperate attempt to keep him above you. “I mean, I’m clean too, obviously, and I take birth control just for like, lady stuff-“

Dean raises his brows at you. “Lady stuff?”

“It kinda helps with period cramps and-“ You cut yourself off with a moan as Dean flicks your clit, tossing your head back you start to squirm, trying to catch him into you. “Fuck, Dean, please just fuck me-“

“You mean like this?” Dean guides the head of his cock inside you, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. “Fuck ya’ like this, baby?”

You grind on him, scratching at his back as you plead. “Shit, that’s, Dean that’s good, more-“

“More, baby? You need more already?” His grin is shit-eating, and you’d hit him if the dark look of lust in his eyes, the baritone of his voice being several octaves lower than you’ve ever heard it, and the throbbing ache of him starting to split you open wasn’t rending your limbs only putty in his arms.

“Dean, please-“

You might stop breathing as Dean guides himself fully into you, settling his face in your neck as he bottoms out. There’s a long moment where it’s only Dean’s warmth over and inside you as he gives you time to adjust, groaning against your skin as you squeeze around him.

“Shit, Sweetheart, you’re so tight.” He kisses right behind your ear. “Feel, fuck, feel so good around my cock, so fuckin’ good-“ He emphasizes his words with one, short thrust that pushes him right against that one spot and makes you whine. “You ready, baby? Ready for me to pound this tight little pussy until you cum all over my cock-“

You almost yank him back down into a desperate, borderline feral kiss, because if he kept talking you might have cum from just the sound of his low, rough voice growling in your ear and rumbling in your chest.

Dean takes a long, ragged breath when he pulls away, and you roll your hips only once. Just enough for him to groans and fall back over you, kissing and sucking on your skin like he thinks you’ll vanish if he doesn’t mark you with his touch. 

Then he starts to move, and you were right. This is heaven. Dean’s moving so slow, pulling almost all the way out before driving back inside, until you’re fully impaled on him—his cock pressed fully against that one spot, making your whole body feel warm and alight, and your head feel a little dizzy—then repeating the movement again. And again. Over and over, so fucking slow, still leaving softer, slightly uneven kisses along your collarbone and grunts against your skin but-

“Dean,” you gasp his name, your nails digging into the muscles of his broad back as he continues to move on you. “Fuck, Dean, go faster, please-“

He rises up to meet your eyes, an unreadable expression on his face that’s made entirely hunger and want, but edged with something a little stronger you don’t understand. “You sure-“

“Yes.” You’re practically whining, scratching at Dean’s skin as you squirm under him, desperate him to really, properly fuck you. “Please, Dean, feels so good, need more, need you-“

He shakes his head slightly. “Don’t wanna hurt you-“

“Not gonna-” you let out a breathy moan as Dean pushes back into you, the movement a little harsher than before, and so fucking good. “You won’t hurt me, please, Dean, fuck-“

“I’m-“

“You said,” you force your eyes to stay on Dean’s, even as he sits deep into you, cock throbbing against that soft spot and making you see stars. “You said you wanted to fuck me, Dean.” You raise your chin, grinding up into his torso until his throat bobs. “Fuck me.”

A low, primal noise leaves Dean’s mouth, and he fully snaps. You might have screamed his name when he began to move again—ramming into you at an unforgiving pace, creaking the bed and bruising your hips as he grabbed at your skin, molding you perfectly into his touch and body—but he swallows the noise with a deep kiss that makes your eyes go unfocused, your whole body slack and only for Dean to play with as he drags you higher. Slamming against that spot, balls slapping onto your ass, one free hand squeezing at your tits before dragging down your side and finding your clit-

“So fucking good, babygirl.” Dean groans into your mouth, and you think you might be floating or falling or flying, but it doesn’t matter because Dean grunting in your east and slamming into your dripping cunt, and that’s the whole world. “Look so good, all ruined and whiny, such a good fucking girl, taking this cock so well, made to be fucked so fucking pretty-“ He pinches your clit, and you whimper his name. “Wanna cum, baby? Wanna fucking soak this cock-“

“Yes,” you gasp, scratching at his back, muscles rippling as he drills into you. Something in you hopes it leaves a mark. That Dean feels you on his back a little forever, just like you know you’re going to feel him in your pussy and on your neck for the rest of your life. “Feels so good, Dean, feels so fucking good, wanna cum so bad-“

“Beg-“

Dean barely grunts your name before you bite on his upper lip, almost screaming into his mouth. “Please, Dean, please, need to cum, wanna cum so bad-“

“Shit, baby, you’re-“ Dean groans, his pace becoming uneven and thrusts slightly staggered, cock twitching deep inside you as he ruts into your aching, clenching pussy-

Dean flicks your clit once, sending your hips almost flying off the bed, and starts to rub you at a frantic, savage pace. 

“Cum with me.” He growls your name, lips ghosting over yours and you stare at him under, cockdrunk, lidded eyes. “C’mon, baby, cum-“

Your scream is hoarse as your orgasm slams into you like a freight train—pure, drug-like bliss washing over your whole body, a soft haze of Dean settling behind your eyes and over your skin—and Dean roars as he slams open, warmth coating inside you and dripping between your thighs, down your ass, and onto the bed.

Dean rolls over, taking you with him, and remains carefully sheathed inside you as your cunt grows sensitive and your breathing slows back down. It helps that he keeps your ear pressed to his bare chest, where you can hear his heart beating. Calm and steady and strong, just as certain and constant as the man it’s inside. 

As the man had been.

You’re not sure what he’s going to be now.

“That, ah,” Dean breaks the silence, his voice low and almost soft. “That do it?”

You smile against him. “If you mean take my virginity, then yeah, I think you did it-“

“No, I mean was it,” He groans, his arm shifting slightly around as his voice drops. “Was it good. For you.”

“Oh.” You nod slowly, trying not to hum like a needy fucking when Dean starts to run his fingers through your hair. “Yeah. Really good.” You stifle a moan as he twitches inside you. “It was awesome. Good, uh, good job?”

“Thanks, Sweetheart.” You can hear to smug grin in his voice, his free hand starting to rub soothingly on your back. “You were pretty fucking awesome yourself.”

There it is. You were pretty awesome. And he’s still inside you. And you need to know if you were awesome enough for something, anything to stick.

“You said, um,” you swallow, staring at his tattoo because you can’t bear to look at his face right now. “You said I could give you a blowjob next time. Did-“ 

“Did I mean it?” 

You nod nervously, and Dean’s whole chest rumbles with his low laugh, rolling right through your body. He grunts your name, and—when you still don’t look at him—hooks a finger under your chin to guide your gaze to his. 

“Look.” He sighs, and this is it. He did you a favor, and that’s it. He won’t stay, nobody stays, why would Dean Winchester be the one to stay- 

“I get it,” you mumble, and wish you would find the will to make your body roll away from his. “You don’t need to explain-“ 

Dean’s grip on you remains firm, and his voice is a deep, amused drawl. It feels a little cruel in your gut, because you’d have really liked more. More would have been the best. You didn’t even need all of Dean, you’d just have really like more. 

“You get it.” He raises his brows, and you nod again. “Sweetheart, you might want to actually hear the explainin’ part before you say anything.”

“I, um-“

“See, I’m a firm believer that all ladies should ride more than one dick in life. Too much of a good thing, ya know?” He winks at you, thrusting slightly up into you, and you flush. “But, if you’re taking applicants for long-term dicks, I’d have to be dumb not to apply. I’m never gonna complain if I get you all to myself.”

You stare at him, your voice barely a whisper. “So, um, you mean-“

“If you’ll have me,” he mutters. “I’ll take you up on that blowjob offer soon. And any other offers you’ve got.”

“Offers,” you swallow. “For long-term dicks?”

He shrugs—tracing a finger over your arm and refusing to meet your eyes—and it might be your turn to make the move. 

“Dean.” You whisper, crawling up his chest just enough for his eyes to easily find yours. “I’d really like you being my long-term dick.”

He frowns. “Sounds stupid when you say it like that-“

You drop down to press a soft, tentative kiss against his lips, and he tenses for only a second before overtaking you. Deepening the kiss with his tongue pushing on your lower lip, groaning when you open for him without a moment’s hesitation, pinning you onto his chest with big, strong arms as you fall fully into him.

Dean pulls back for only a second, searching over your open expression—all affection and need for him, swollen lips and shallow breaths—until he finds what he’s looking for, and his face splits into a wide grin. 

“If you’re lettin’ me,” he says, tucking a little bit of hair behind your ears. “I think I’ll stay your long-term dick for while, Sweetheart.”

“I’m letting you.” You whisper, a small smile pulling on your own lips. “But we need to come up with a better name than long-term dick.”

“Boyfriend?”

You stare at him for a second, unsure if this is real, because Dean just said that word like it was obvious. Not something he’s adamantly refused to be for anyone, ever, for the entire time you’ve known him. He said it like he was waiting to say it. And, looking at him—unfamiliar hope haunting the very deepest part of those perfect eyes, his grin so genuine but filled with nerves—you think he might have been. And all the money and glory and pleasure in the world couldn’t make you tell him no.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Boyfriend’s good.” 

Dean’s grin becomes almost boyish, and this last kiss is sweet. It’s a kiss in the rain, or under bleachers, or on a rooftop with nothing but time and peace around you.

And you and Dean have never had either of those things. 

But you’d really like to and find them. And if it’s with Dean, you really think you could.

End Note: Look at Dean. Being Emotional. I'm so proud of him (I made him do that)

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Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature

[nyxiswrites1200]

🩵𝑺𝒂𝒎'𝒔 𝑮𝒊𝒓𝒍🩵

Sam Winchester x Fem!reader

Warnings: NSFT, MDNI, Crushing, friends to lovers, pet names, Sexual tension, Mellow sexual thoughts, Size kink, p in v, nipple play, multiple rounds, oral sex, praise kink, aftercare

Mentions: She/her reader pronouns, Reader wears a skirt, Reader is implied to be shorter than Sam, Imagining early seasons Sam, Dean is present

"In a world of boys, he's a gentleman"

AN: uhh I know I died for like a month but supernatural brain rot is incoming. Sam girl for life <3 anyhow, happy holidays loves. This is so self-indulging, sorry babes.

----

Sam Winchester is an awkward man. He's so respectful he doesn't know what to do with himself sometimes. But don't mistake his sweet attitude for a lack of attraction.

When you bend over to pick his book up off the floor for him, he notices your skirt sliding up your thighs. He quickly looks away as he runs a hand through the back of his messy brown hair.

Sam always opens the door of the Impala for you when you join him and Dean on road trips. He notices the way you let your hand brush over his arm as you help yourself into the car. Dean just lets out a small laugh as he climbs into the driver's seat.

Sam watches you saunter around the motel room in his shirt. Under the claim that 'it's just more comfortable'. He loves the way your figure is swallowed up by his larger clothes.

Sometimes it was almost degrading how respectful he was. In truth, you were trying to get his attention. To catch him peaking under your skirt, getting hard from seeing you in his shirt, or him finally being pushed over the edge by your 'discreet' affectionate touches. You swore you were gonna have to climb in his lap and say "fuck me" for him to actually do it.

In truth, Sam wasn't oblivious to what you wanted. Rather he was too kind to give it to you. He thought you were so precious that he needed to deny you. Sleeping with you would be too personal, too intimate and he wouldn't be able to let go of you after.

Dean let out a small laugh, Sam and him were alone in the hotel room while you went to go get dinner for the three. "What, Dean?" Sam asked in his partially sassy attitude as he read through his book. "Nothing nothing...it's just funny watching her pawn for you. Think you might be hurtin' her feelings." Dean smirked as he looked over at his little brother. Sam sighed in response, knowing he could only be talking about you. "I'm not that stupid, I know what she wants...I just..." he ran a hand through his hair "I don't think I should". "Sammy" Dean inquires "Look, she knows what we do. She hasn't gone running yet and she's perfectly human, there's nothing dangerous about that girl" he chuckles. "I know you're afraid because of what happened but...I think this might be something worth risking".

Sam let Dean's words simmer in his thoughts all night. For once he might actually agree with his older brother.

The next night you and Sam were alone. You finally spilled, being brutally honest. Sam watched with a bit of shock as you admitted how you'd be pawning for him. All your actions had a purpose and how bad you wanted to be his girlfriend. You almost wanted to cry with how emotionally overwhelmed this made you trying to explain yourself.

"Lovely, I'm sorry..." Sam stands as he cups your cheek and tilts your head up to meet his gaze. "I know you want me but I was being selfish because I know if I...indulge myself in you, I won't be able to let you go ever again." he explained, his voice was so gentle and his eyes reminded you of a puppy with the way he looked at you. "Maybe...I'm a little selfish too" you chime in "I just...I wanna be yours so bad that I don't really care what happens".

Those words alone tumbled the tension between both of you over the edge. Sam's kisses were soft then heated and needy. He had you pushed against the motel wall while both of you discarded your clothes. His larger figure covered you as he kissed you desperately. His hands engulfed your hips as he gripped them.

Once you two were on the bed, his hands fondled your breasts, teasing your nipples between his fingers. His chest pressed into your back as he kissed along your neck. You reached back to tangle a hand into his hair.

Sam was so sweet but he was a fucking god in bed. He knew exactly where to kiss, fondle, and tease. Nothing but deeply slurred words of "How does that feel?", "You okay?", "Taking me so well, lovely", and "Good girl...". You went three rounds with him...

He rubbed your clit and toyed with your nipples, leaving kisses and sucking up your neck. You came on his fingers, feeling him stretch you open. You wanted to watch his strong hands fuck into you so bad.

He nestled himself between your thighs. His tongue lapping up your first orgasm. You watched as you tugged on his hair, noticing the dominant look in his eyes. His hands gripping your thighs to keep them spread as you squirmed beneath him. His lips wrapped around your clit and sucked on it until he fucked his tongue inside you while you came again.

Then finally he fills you with his cock, only after making sure you were okay. He had you stuffed to the brim, grunts and moans leaving him with each thrust. He pressed his forehead against yours as he kissed your cervix with the tip of his dick.

When you came for a third time, he let you ride your high until he pulled out and finished on your stomach. A gentleman as always, not stuffing you with his cum on the first night. Even if you wouldn't have minded.

Sam carefully cleaned you up in the bath. Warm water envelops you both. He placed a soft kiss on your shoulder and gently rubbed your side as he cleaned you up. His actions are no longer lustful, this was just affectionate. "Did you enjoy yourself? Wasn't too much?" he asked softly, his expression back to looking like a puppy. "I'm fine, Sammy. It was perfect..." You smiled and kissed him softly.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡When They Realised That They Loved You｡⋆.

Team free will x plus size reader (separately)

Warnings: smut, lil bit of angst, fluff, (somehow Dean’s isn’t the angsty one), undefined relationship (Dean), mention of scars, sam detoxing off demon blood, childhood friends to strangers to ?, heartbreak, pain, mention of torture and pain and Dean’s death, sam being sad, gentleness, Ruby can catch these hands, seemingly unrequited love on both sides, a kid being lost, castiel being stupidly in love and not knowing what to do with himself, humanity being good WC: 3.8k

Minors DNI

A/N: One assignment left baby!!

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Dean- When you were the only person he could let his walls down with

You weren’t exactly a hunter but you also weren’t exactly a civilian. You were… something else. You could shoot, recite an exorcism backwards and outdrink the most seasoned hunter but you also were stationary, paid your taxes, even had a retirement fund and to Dean, you were safe. And a damn good lay at that.

“That’s it baby. Move those hips for me.” Your nails bit into the muscles of his chest as you lifted yourself up on shaky legs, then slammed back down onto his cock. Dean hissed and bit down on his lip, desperately trying to keep his eyes open to watch you fall apart just one more time before he succumbs to the blinding pleasure he could only find with you.

“It’s too much, Dean.” You wailed but continued to roll your hips downwards like you didn’t even think of stopping. His hands clamped down on the meat of your plush thighs as you tightened impossibly around his thick cock.

“Fuck, baby. I know you’re close; just come for me. Cum, and I’ll give you what you want.” He planted his feet onto your bed and thrust upwards, hitting that one spot inside you he knew made your brain turn into TV static. “Thaaaaat’s it. That’s my girl.” He cooed as you slumped forwards, your mindless babbling only serving to spur him on even more.

You tucked your face into his neck, kissing and licking at his skin like you wanted to swallow him whole. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and pounded into you even deeper. Your soft body trembled against him as you tumbled into your final orgasm of the night, your cunt fluttering around him like it was made for him.

“Dean. Cum inside me.” You managed to gasp out as you rode the last waves of your high. Dean snarled and pushed himself in as deep as he could go as the dam finally broke and he succumbed to his own end. You moaned softly at the feeling of his cum filling you up. 

Dean relaxed back down into the mattress, your body a comfortable weight on top of his, easing away the pain inside him. He ran his hand down the length of your back, coming to rest on the gentle swell of your ass. “You good sweetheart?”

A quiet giggle vibrated through your chest. “I think I saw god, I am more than good Deanie.”

He rolled his eyes as he guided you to lay down next to him, his softening cock slipping from your warm walls. “How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

“How many times have I told you not to wear your boots in the house?” You retorted with a jab to his ribs, quickly followed by a loving kiss against his lips. His heart skipped a beat as he wrapped a strong arm around your thick waist, pressing deeper into the kiss. You let out a pleased sound that made his spent cock twitch in interest.

But all too soon, you pulled away and laid your head down on his shoulder.

It felt so domestic, so real. If he just shut his eyes he could almost imagine that this was your shared home; a place for him to just be without the worry of saving the world or protecting Sammy, that maybe he could have a lawn to mow and tedious chores that he would be happy to do for you. He wished he could wake up in this bed every day instead of once or twice in a blue moon when hunting had dried up or he needed more supplies from your shop for hunters.

“Do you remember the day we met?” His voice echoed through the small bedroom, soaking into the old wallpaper that you refused to let him replace, claiming that it was just fine the way it was.

You hummed and glanced up at him, your eyes still hazy from an entire afternoon of ‘I missed you but I’m not going to say it out loud’ sex. Dean cupped your full cheek.

“‘Course I do. You broke into my shop at 4 in the morning and I almost shot you.”

“We still need to work on that aim of yours sweetheart.” You scoffed but snuggled closer to him, the sweet smell of your skin almost getting overwhelming. Your fingers traced over the scars along his torso, never flinching away or touching them like you wished they weren’t there in the first place. You were mapping out the story of him without question or hesitation.

“Yeah well why would I need to do that if I have you here to protect me?” You said it like it was a fact, that you never doubted he would come to your rescue at a moment's notice. “I’ve got Dean Winchester in my bed, I’m the safest girl in the world.”

His breath caught but before you could notice, he gave you that smirk that got him there in the first place and drawled out a low: “Yeah you do sweetheart.” You visibly flustered, burying your face into his arm to escape the heat of his gaze. 

“You’re always so mean to me.” His laugh bounced your head up and down. You began to giggle, unable to help yourself, and slid your arm beneath his back so you could wrap your body around him. Electricity followed your touch, his nerves sparking to life like the feeling of stepping out from the darkness into the sun.

God I love her.

The thought slammed into his chest, briefly knocking the air from his lungs. He expected a sense of panic, maybe dread, but all he felt was a sense of calm that settled against his soul. Dean just pulled you tighter against him and pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head. You returned it with a soft peck right above his heart.

He didn’t want to run from this, not this time. You were everything to him and he wanted to stay right here, even if he knew he didn’t deserve it. Your breathing evened out as you succumbed to some much-needed sleep.

Maybe staying another few days wouldn’t be so bad, Sammy kept telling him he needed a vacation.

Sam- When you were kind to him even after he broke your heart

Sam’s voice had gone hoarse over an hour ago but they still hadn’t let him out. He knew that they wouldn’t but still he had begged and pleaded, even succumbed to tears yet there was no answer from outside the heavy iron door. 

He slumped back against the cot in the centre of the room, the sharp metal scraped against his back but it was nothing compared to the pain he felt in every waking moment. The cold concrete beneath him did nothing to soothe the burning inside of him. 

“Please.” The word was barely even audible, escaping his lungs with little more than a whimper. Sam let his head fall back onto the thin mattress.

As soon as the door was slammed shut, all he felt was blinding rage. Didn’t they understand why he was doing this? The blood gave him the power they needed to help people! But when hours had passed without so much as a hint that they even heard him, the anger melted away into a sort of numbness. Dean and Bobby had tricked him into this, you had tricked him.

It was your face that he saw last as the door was shut. Your lips were pulled downwards, your eyes rimmed with red, your shoulders slumped. You had looked like you were in mourning. Guilt curled in his stomach, just like every other time he looked at you since the day he left for Stanford. But this time, the sour taste of betrayal filled his mouth like bile.

You were turning your back on him, siding with his brother when all he wanted to do was to make the world safer, for you. 

Sam forced himself to take a deep breath, even as his body screamed with the ache of movement. The air was stale and settled heavily onto his chest but he was grateful to feel it, he was grateful to feel anything besides the searing pain of his nerves. This was the first break from the hallucinations he’d had in days, or weeks, time, just like everything else, had no meaning within the iron walls that enclosed him.

The cotton of his shirt felt like it was rubbing his sensitive skin raw but to take it off meant moving and he was far too tired to withstand the pain anymore. His head turned, letting the right half of his face press into the cot. The single flat sheet on the bed smelt of the flowery laundry detergent that you always used, it made something inside of him twist sickeningly.

A single tear slipped down his cheek.

“Sam?” His eyes squeezed shut.

“Please not again. Please don’t hurt me again.” He begged with broken words. He cringed at the sound of metal scraping against concrete. He couldn’t do it again, he wouldn’t fight it. Sam was going to let the pain take him.

Soft footsteps drew closer. He braced himself for the first strike. Would it be the sharp pinch of a scalpel or the burn of a propane torch? Or would it be the voices of people he loved reminding him of just how tainted he was? How evil? 

He whimpered as they stopped right beside him. There was a beat, then two, then the gentle whoosh of air as someone kneeled down beside him. 

“Sam.” Your voice washed over him like a gentle breeze, easing the stiffness in his bones. “Sam? Can you look at me?” He wanted to say no, to yell at you to get out and leave him alone like you did when you first locked him in here but the exhaustion in your tone made him crack open one of his eyes.

You sat on your knees mere inches from him, letting him see you in stark detail. One of his flannels hung from your shoulders partially concealing the form-fitting tank top you wore beneath it. Normally, his heart would have skipped a beat seeing you wear his clothes, but now it only reminded him of why you stopped. Bruise-like dark bags marred your full cheeks, your eyes blood-shot.

“Oh Sammy. I-“ Your voice cracked. You reached for him but quickly thought better of it, your hand dropped back down to your side where there was a bucket of water now on the ground. “You know you can’t come out yet but I thought you might like to clean up a bit, maybe eat something that isn’t dried or jerkied.” 

Sam opened his other eye but made no other efforts to move. You sighed, your shoulders dropping as you sat back on your heels. “Will you let me wash your hair and change your clothes at least? I bought the softest ones I could find and even washed them in the fabric softener Dean keeps secretly buying.” Your lips quirked up, attempting some sort of reaction from him.

You looked so worn out, Sam wondered if you had sat right outside the door waiting for him to stop screaming. His head bobbed and the hardness in your gaze eased. “Thank you. I’ll be as gentle as I can, squeeze my leg if you want me to stop.”

He bit back a whimper as you guided him to the floor. His broad shoulders rested across your plump thighs, letting his head hang above the floor. You kept one hand beneath his neck, taking far more of his weight than he would be willing to admit, and reached for the small plastic cup floating at the top of the bucket. 

His fingers curled around your knee, his short nails digging into the denim as you poured a cup full of hot water over the crown of his head. You paused for a moment but continued when Sam loosened his grip. 

As you placed the cup to the side and retrieved a small bottle of fragrance-free shampoo, he let his eyes shut once more, this time, his mind wandering to the last time the two of you had spoken.

It had been in the days after Dean died. You refused to break down in the face of losing your best friend, the man that taught you to drive, to throw a proper punch. You wanted to stay strong for Sam and for Bobby but Sam knew it wouldn’t last long. 

You had been slowly, methodically cleaning Baby, just like Dean taught you to when the younger Winchester approached you with a bowed head and a duffle bag on his shoulder. Just like the day he left for college.

You didn’t wait for his excuses.

“You’re leaving?” You said but it didn’t sound like you, not really. Sam didn’t answer and you scoffed, throwing the sponge you’d been using onto the dusty driveway. “Just like that, running off days after-“ Your breath caught but you swallowed down your tears, “What are you planning, Sam? You know selling your soul won’t work, we’ve already tried that.”

Sam huffed and pulled the strap of the bag higher on his shoulder. “I’ve got a friend who might know a way to get him back.”

He should’ve seen the way your back straightened as your body went stiff. “A ‘friend’?”

“She knows a lot about hell and right now I’ll try anything to bring him back.” And then he did something truly stupid. “Unlike you.” 

Silence crashed down around you like a falling building, immediately filling the air with a tension so thick Sam could almost choke on it. He watched your shoulders draw up, your hackles raised before your chest expanded fully and you exhaled through your nose.

“Then I won’t stop you. I trust you Sam but I don’t trust Ruby and I won’t be around forever to fix up your messes, not anymore. I’m worth a hell of a lot more than just being the girl you always leave behind but keep running back to.” You fished Baby’s keys from your front pocket, tossing them at Sam as you passed.

“Ruby’s dead.”

“Is she?” You shot him a look before opening Bobby’s front door. “Don’t get yourself killed. Lose my number.” The door slammed behind you and suddenly Sam felt like he was making the wrong decision, again.

You ran a hand through his hair, letting the shampoo run through your fingers as you carefully washed it away with the lukewarm water and with it, you washed away his pain. He turned his head into your hand, soaking up every ounce of touch you were willing to give him. It’d been so long since he had felt anything other than lust or hurt pressed to his body. 

You refused to meet his gaze, not that he could blame you after everything he had done, but he wanted so badly to look into those perfect e/c’s even just one more time. To feel that peace and acceptance that had always swirled within the deep colour of your irises. 

Suddenly, all Sam wanted to do was curl up in your lap and cry. He’d spent so many years taking your warmth for granted and now, after months of being denied even a sliver of your presence, he couldn’t imagine ever being away from you again. He wanted to prove to you that you were worth staying for, you were worth everything to him, but all he could do was let you care for him with hesitant hands.

He loved you, he always had, even when he was trying to run away from his life, even as he fell in love with someone else. It was you that kept him from falling into that well of darkness that would be so easy to slip into. You with your sass and your gentleness, your softness and your bite, your laughter and your grief. He loved you.

But how could you ever love him back?

Castiel- When you made him remember why he loved humanity in the first place

It was the sound of crying that drew Castiel to the playground across the street from the motel you had been camped out at. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sound to the angel given his age and how many prayers he’d heard throughout his existence, but the pitch was so high, so truly filled with fear that he didn’t hesitate to follow it.

“Angel? Where are you going?” He glanced back at you as you were pulling on your boots.

“There’s crying.” He said simply before descending the concrete steps to the ground floor. You let out a noise like a scoff and scrambled after him, barely grabbing the room key and your hunting knife before the heavy door slammed shut.

“Cas!” His pace didn’t falter as the crying picked up in intensity but he was confident you were following close behind him. His blue eyes flicked over the colourful plastic structures, expecting some siren or ghost to pop out at him. The weight of the angle blade against his forearm and your steady footsteps behind him reminded Castiel that he would not fight this battle alone.

He slowly rounded the bright yellow twisty slide just as you skidded to a halt a step behind him. Thankfully, you remained silent, a palm pressed to his back to remind him that you had him covered. The crying was louder now, though it did not sound like it was from any creature he had encountered before. 

There was a shadow at the edge of the monkey bars. Castiel’s blade dropped silently from his sleeve, sliding perfectly into his grip. He took a single stride forwards, ready to attack before it could when your fingers suddenly snagged the back of his trenchcoat.

“It’s a kid.” You breathed, he imagined it was out of relief but your human emotions always confused him. You slid the knife into the sheath you kept at the small of your back, tugging down your shirt so it was completely hidden as you cautiously approached the small figure curled up in the wood chips.

“Hi sweetie, are you ok?” Your voice dripped with sweetness, like he remembered syrup to taste like. You leaned forwards, your shoulders dropped as low as they could go.

The crying stopped but small hiccups still echoed through the maze of playground structures. The sun had been steadily setting and now sat just above the horizon, the darkness creeping in. 

Castiel watched closely as you squatted a foot away from the child, a soft smile on your face. “Are you lost?” The child finally looked up, their eyes wide and sparkling with tears in the low light of the evening. They nodded.

“Can we help you find your parents?” Their nodding got quicker and they reached out their arms to you. Your smile grew wider as you stood up, easily pulling them up and resting them on your wide hip. You turned back to face Castiel, a hand rubbing up and down the child’s back.

They must’ve been only 4 or 5 and wearing an outfit that was far from appropriate for the dropping temperature. “We’re going to go to the police station, I bet your parents are waiting there for you.” They looked up at you, still silent, but now clinging to your t-shirt in a way that made Castiel’s heart inexplicably skip a beat.

“This is my friend Cas,” You leaned closer to their little ear and loudly whispered the next part, “He’s an angel.” The child’s eyes widened and their head snapped around to look at him. Cas stepped closer, the child didn’t flinch.

“I am and so is she, that’s how she was able to find you.” He could almost feel the heat from your cheeks even feet away but still the child seemed convinced. 

“Really?” You hiked them up higher on your hip, your arm wrapping tighter around their little body to keep them warm.

“Really really. Now why don’t we get you back home?” They rested their head beneath your jaw and nodded, snuggling closer to your soft body. 

Cas dutifully followed you as you walked out of the park, watching the child bounce with each of your steps. You chattered away about things you were seeing around the street, your voice filling the silence like a white noise machine. Cas could feel the calmness radiating from the child and it warmed something long forgotten inside of him.

You had no duty to this child, nor any other person that you saved and he knew that you would receive no thanks for your actions but yet you still did them. You threw yourself into harm’s way to protect complete strangers from things they could not possibly understand. You had once confided in the angel that you had been pressured into hunting but you had stopped trying to run away from it long ago.

He’d felt anger for you, just the same as he felt for the Winchesters and all the other unfortunate children who never had a choice. He felt angry for himself, at humanity.

But seeing you now, caring for this child like they were your own, Castiel understood why you stayed. You didn’t do it for the glory of saying you saved the world, nor for some duty bestowed to you by your parents, it was because you cared and because you knew what evil was. 

The near empty streets soon gave way to rows of shops and townhouses, leading directly to the lit up police station only a few blocks away. The child started to fidget against you as they began to recognise their surroundings, making you laugh quietly. “I know sweetie! We’re almost there. You’re so close.”

You came to a stop right at the entrance. “You can go right in and tell them your name and that you were lost.” They nodded dutifully while you carefully lowered them to their feet. “Ok sweetie, you were so brave today but make sure you stay with your parents next time.” You ran a hand over their head and stod to your full height.

They looked at you and Castiel before gracing you with a toothy grin. “Thank you nice angels!” Then they threw open the glass door and rushed inside just as two grown ups turned the corner behind the reception desk. They fell to their knees, catching the little one in their arms.

Something warm brushed the side of his hand, making Castiel tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him. You took his hand into your own, your eyes shimmering with tears. You didn’t say anything and he found that no words were needed.

Tomorrow, he would tell you how incredible you were, that you were what angels should be and that he was feeling something for you that he never thought he could ever experience. But for right now, he wanted to watch this child reunite with the people that loved them most while the chill of the night and the monsters in it were kept at bay by the brilliance of your soul.

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[amor-ad-nauseam]

Eyes on you. (18+)

Pairings: Soulless!SamWinchester X Reader

Rating: 18+

Summary: Sam has been… off lately. But that’s to be expected from a man who just came back from hell, right?

Word count: 5.9k

Tags: Soulless Sam Winchester x reader, hunting with Sam and Dean, Soulless Sam, Sam Winchester smut, dubcon(?) , PiV, no protection (wrap it up kids), creampie, breath play, choking, pinning, fingering, degradation, rough, dom sam, Dean mentioned but not involved, dacryphilia, reader has female anatomy, no use of y/n

Notes: wooo! sorry for the long hiatus, school has been fucking me missionary. anyway, starting off Kinktober strong with dubcon

Requests are open.

There was something terribly wrong with Sam.

You knew it from the moment he got back. Hell, everyone knew it.

Though of course when these concerns were raised to Dean, he, in his self-imposed naïveté, ignored it.

But you knew he felt it too.

During the few times you’ve tagged along on the brothers hunts these last few months, you’ve picked up on a few things. The way Dean would hold eye contact with Sam for only thirty seconds at a time, never a moment longer. Or how he would shift away from his own brother if he got too close. It was subtle. But you knew.

You couldn’t blame Dean for wanting to pretend everything was all right. Sam was his brother after all. And after everything they'd been through, if you were in his position, you'd do the same. You've only known the boys for some odd years now, and still you find yourself from time to time, pretending that the sweet, bookish, too-tall-for-his-own-good Sam you met is the same thing that came out of hell.

That is how you would survive this hunt.

You’ve always wondered how humans could feel someone's eyes on them. Since becoming a hunter that sense has sharpened.

You tear your gaze away from the view out of the backseat of the Impala and lock eyes with Sam in the rearview mirror. His once soft gaze was now stoic and calculating.

He looks away.

You linger.

You couldn't help but have the feeling that, in fact, there was nothing wrong with Sam at all.

This simply wasn't Sam. This was just some creature doing a poor emulation of him.

Without realizing, your hand had slid down your leg to the lifted fabric in the side of your boot. Your fingertips grazed the hilt of your dagger.

Correction, this is how you’d survive this hunt.

—-

When you finally arrived at the dilapidated manor, Dean was first to survey the scene.

“Alright.” He said in his usual gruff voice, clasping his hands together. “We got alotta ground to cover so, ladies first, take your pick.” Dean said, gesturing to you.

You were hoping Sam would pick first so that at the very least, you could choose the place furthest from the shiver down your spine.

“I’ll take upstairs,” you said. That feeling again, eyes on you.

Dean nods. You spin on your heels and race up the winding staircase without waiting to hear what each chose.

—-

Mildew and rotting wood lace the air. It’s a shame really, you thought. You face the expansive landing before you, pausing as your calf muscles burn from climbing the stairs two at a time.

High ceilings, eleven feet at least. Tall windows with dusty wine curtains spilling onto the floor shielding the amber of the setting sun. Most of the furniture was missing –evidence of squatters and raids– what remained was broken and covered in suspicious stains, much like what was left of the deep brown hardwood flooring. The most noticeable part of the room was the wallpaper, a rich red with delicate Chrysanthemums scattered across it, almost looking hand-painted on.

The wooden boards groan beneath your feet, causing you to question if they threatened to give out. You had a job to do, so you trudge down the dark hall.

Around 10 minutes pass and you knew no more information than when you first walked in. Not too long after you first got upstairs, you heard the ghostly moan of the front door shutting – one of the boys had opted to search the grounds. Meanwhile you tore through almost a dozen rooms only to find phallic graffiti and more rotting wood.

It was dark through the house now, the setting sun long gone, leaving you in the cold, dim space. The only light provided was the one functional bulb of the broken chandelier above- set to perpetually swing until its last chain broke.

The actual goal of this job was rather vague. All you knew was a bunch of kids had narrowly escaped death after a night of pure dumbassery in this house. So now here you were, swiping your EMF reader abstractly through the air and as Dean so eloquently put it, “keepin’ your eyes peeled for anything ghost-y or weird.”

Yeah, real helpful.

So you continue on down the hall with only a few rooms left to search. Then, something sounds from ahead.

Creeeeeak

You stalk toward the sound.

Nothing.

Creeeeeak.

The sound seems to come from behind this time. That feeling again, eyes on you.

You whip your head around. “Who's there!” You shout, your confident voice a stark contrast to the pit hanging in your stomach.

This time you manage to catch a glimpse of something slipping around the corner. You steel yourself, pocket the EMF reader, pull your dagger from your boot and start toward the creature.

You walk out into the landing, your steps cautious and dagger ready. Your eyes roll through the room. It was as if the creature had disappeared.

Creeeeak.

Or maybe not.

“That's cute.” It chuckles.

The voice was low and terrible, sending shivers down your spine

Yet still, it was almost familiar.

It elicited this hair raising feeling you can only imagine is similar to what homosapien felt looking at neanderthal.

“Come on out!” you shout, voice beginning to waver.

“That little kitchen knife you have, it's cute.”

Your stomach drops. Gears begin to turn in your head.

“But y’know, It doesn't matter how good you are with it.”

Sam, the real Sam, had been trying for years to get you to use a gun. But you had your knives and were good with them no doubt, so what was the point? He would always return your refusals with that crooked smile and pleas of how it “would make him feel so much better.”

Creeeeak.

The hall, it had to be coming from there. You force yourself to move.

“If your opponent is faster.”

Creeeeak.

No it was from behind, you were sure of it.

You spin on your heels and race toward the landing once more.

“Sam, come out. This isn't fucking funny!”

Just as you turn the corner, one strong hand seizes both of your wrists in a single swift motion. In an instant you're slammed up against something hard. The knife drops from your hands. Sam kicks it away. You open your eyes.

Chrysanthemums.

Fuck.

Sam leans down, his hot breath brushing against your neck. “Should’ve let me teach you how to shoot.”

There's a pause, the moment breathing and the air pulsing.

“Sam...” You exhale finally. Your voice comes out smaller than you would’ve liked.

“You’re too easily overpowered.” he raises his head for his lips to meet your ear. “Didn’t take much for me to get you like this; to hunt you down.” Sam’s grip tightens on your wrists.

His voice was low and gravely. You fought back against your aching lungs' desire to quicken their pace.

“That's what you’re calling this?” You remark. “Hunting me down?”

You had to play this smart.

There was a small knife, pocket sized, really, concealed just past the waistband of your jeans. With your hands to your back, if you could maneuver your fingers just right-

“Well I did, didn't I?” He squeezes your wrists once more, sending pain shooting down your arm and causing your fingers to splay out.

“Okay!” You gasp. “You've proved your point!” You say through gritted teeth.

Your index and middle finger slip past the waistband.

His grip loosens and he pulls away. You exhale. The tip of the handle brushes against your fingertip. So close.

Then, Sam jerks your wrists downward, your chance of escape literally slips between your fingers.

“I don't think I have.”

He looks down on you, this you can see from the corner of your eye. The rest, you feel.

His gaze is mechanical, inspecting, taking in and processing data. Some synapse fire causes his lips to tug upward in a smirk.

“Fuck.”

His long fingers tuck into the waist of your jeans.

“What are you-” You jut your hips in a desperate attempt to move free. Sam silently presses his knee against the back of your own, stopping all movement. There was no anger in his motions, annoyance at best. You let out a ragged breath.

He pulls the blade out, slowly and deliberately.

“Sam.”

He ignores your plea. Sam drags the knife from you, taking great care to ensure that the blade runs along your spine and that the tip drags up the hem of your shirt.

A shiver of a different kind rolls through your every vertebrae.

He brings the dagger to your chin, forcing you to look up. Sam all but closes the gap between the two of you, the point of his nose ghosting against your cheek. The warmth of his body swarms around you; the rotting wood smell drowned out by his deep woodsy scent. For a small singular blip of a moment you allow yourself to believe that this thing that looked and smelled like Sam, was truly Sam.

“Scream.”

But this isn't Sam, you knew that.

His voice quickly serves to pull you from your sanctity.

“What?” You breathe, looking at him from the corner of your eye.

“You could’ve, by now. Dean would hear too, and you know that- you’re not stupid.”

“I-” You stammer. He was right. The thought had played in the back of your mind but some louder part of you, the part that hadn't been next to a warm body in months objected.

“So why don’t you?” Sam continues, his voice like velvet sending vibrations rippling across your skin.

“Go on, scream.”

Nothing.

He smirks.

Sam drops the knife. There goes your lifeline.

His lips meet your jaw in a hungry kiss. You let out an involuntary groan. His teeth clash against the bone, threatening to leave a mark.

Maybe this wasn't Sam, but it still looked like him, still felt like him, and still touched like him. Maybe pretending couldn't hurt.

He continues down your neck, every hot, open-mouthed kiss causing another groan to escape you. Deep down you felt some gross shame; the fraction of yourself that hasn't succumbed to the wants of your flesh racking against your ribcage. All at once his teeth clamp down on your shoulder. “Agh.”

Yeah pretending couldn’t hurt. But good god did you hope it would.

You hiss, sucking in a breath and trying to pull away.

“Tell me to stop.” Sam breaths in between rough kisses.

He flattens himself against you, the strain in his jeans pressing into your ass. Against better judgment, you let out a sweet moan and you feel the bulge in his pants grow. This was wrong, so so wrong. There was something off about Sam, you shouldn’t be sleeping with him.

“Sto-hmfg” You’re cut off by the sounds of your own pleasure as Sam sucks on the part of your neck he had just bit. The juxtaposition of pleasure and pain confuses your mind and body. Heat spreads between your thighs and your mind swirls.

Knowing and feeling something are two entirely different things. Sure, in your head you could protest the current situation. You could attempt to be as logical as you wanted, but that didn’t change the aching desire within you. 

“One word and I will.” Sam groans as he presses his hips into you. 

The feeling of his hardness so close to your needy core ceases any rational thought you could’ve given.

He releases your bruised wrists. Finally, a moment to think properly. Without warning, his arm wraps around your waist, pinning your arms to your sides and pulling you away from the wall and into him. You were sure at this point that your cheek had a chrysanthemum imprint on it. 

Sam looks down at you before him. So helpless and ready to be fucked dumb. He watches as you wince, your body in pain from the new position. His cock twitches. 

You feel his muscles, strong and heaving against your back, his arm flexing as he holds you close. His free hand slides over to the collar of your shirt. His long fingers delicately trace your collar bones, staring down at them as if he wants to sink his teeth in. The air leaves your lungs. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his hands sliding down your torso, then sliding up your shirt. Oh how badly you wanted to cry out. To beg him to touch your needy pussy. But something told you he wouldn't oblige. 

Sam watches your face intently. As hard as you tried not to give anything away, he could tell every single thing you were feeling. The light twitch of your eyebrow as he slid his hands up your shirt instead of down your pants sent satisfaction surging through him. He didn't have to feel you to know you were soaking wet. He slides his index and middle fingers under your bra and begins to massage the soft skin of your breasts. His thumbs hold your sides and his ring and pinky fingers dig into the gaps between your ribs. You were so much more fragile than he ever imagined. God, he can't wait to break you. 

Small, soft moans pour out of you like music to his ears. His fingers pinch your nipples harshly, causing you to make a squeak-like whimper. You try to pull away from him in sudden shock at the pain but there was nowhere to run. 

“Sam, please.” You whine.

“Please what?” He replies while rolling your now firm nipples between his fingers.

Your voice comes out small, pathetic, he thought. “Agh- it hurts.”

He pinches harder. “You can take it.”

Before you can protest, he returns to that sweet spot on your neck that he had bit earlier. He flicks his tongue across the bruise before kissing it again and again. Your head lolls and your mind goes blank. 

Sam continues to pinch and twist your nipples, watching your face and relishing in the effect he has on you. Almost makes him wonder if you’ve ever been fucked right in your life. 

All those nights he knew you were in the next motel room getting fucked by some idiot you met at a bar. Every morning he had to see you with your hair messy and makeup smudged. All those times he wished it was him who was making you moan, just for you to be squirming like a virgin right now? 

Sam angles himself so that his bulge is pressed directly against your cunt. The friction makes you moan and he can't stop the spread of a smirk across his lips. 

“Look what you did to me.” He breathes against your ear. “You’re such a slut.” 

“N-no I'm not.” You gasp between moans. That wasn’t true. Sure you had a few one night stands but no more than either of the boys.

“Really?” Sam grins and for some reason that was so much worse than if he had outright called you a whore. 

Shame overwhelms you.

He suddenly rips his hands from your tits. The sudden motion and lack of warmth makes you gasp.

Exactly what he wanted. Sam finds the button on your jeans and pops it free in an instant. 

The room felt like a maelstrom of hot desire. You never imagined that you’d tolerate being called a slut, let alone dignify the accusation by trying to defend yourself against it, and you certainly, most definitely, never thought it'd be Sam making the accusation.

Sam roughly shoves his hand into your jeans and you feel your heart speed up, partiality in fear, partially in excitement. Sadly, he doesn't go another layer further. His fingers dance across the cotton of your panties, teasing. 

“Not a slut?” He whispers in your ear. His fingers find your entrance and press against it. The soft fabric was warm and sticky, practically soaked with your arousal. You whine as his fingers threaten to enter, you were so embarrassed yet your body begged for more.

“Then why are you so wet, hm?” Sam didn’t have to say it, you both knew it as his fingers sent the message before his mouth did but still, but he received such a deep satisfaction seeing your cheeks flush at his words. 

 You weren't going to dignify him with a response. 

Sam’s middle and ring finger press against your entrance once more. You attempt to keep your face straight as you internally curse the fabric separating him and your pleasure.

“Such a fucking slut.”

At this, Your pussy clenches around the tips of his fingers.

You feel Sam's chest vibrate against your back as a wry laugh echoes through him.   “You like that?” 

You set your gaze on your shoes, biting back words. 

 He grabs your jaw and forces you to look up at him. “Answer me, slut.” 

Your pussy pathetically clenches around him again. You release your bottom lip, red with blood circulation. “Y–Yes.” You didn’t have to respond, but for some reason you wanted to see his face as you said it. To know if he was as turned on as you were. 

Sam rewards you with a mocking smile. “Wow… who knew you were such a dirty whore.”

Before you could even think of a response, Sam finds your clit. The second he touches you, you feel your mind begin to go blank, your mouth falls open with only a whimper to show for the last of your coherent thoughts. Even through your panties, his touch was electric

His lips find that beautifully bruised sweet spot on your shoulder and pepper it with kisses. His hand drops from your neck, leaving your head to loll as you shudder with breathy moans. 

The fabric of your panties was now throughly saturated as it slid across your folds. You grind against Sam’s hand, desperate for more friction. You tried so hard not to give in but it was clear at this point you had lost. Sam takes in the sight: your lips fallen apart in gasping moans, your eyes fluttering shut and brows knitted. The curvature of your neck, your head thrown back like a dead girl and your hips pathetically rocking back and forth, too proud to beg.

“You want more, baby?” Sam asks, amusement evident in his tone.

You bite down on your bottom lip, clinging to the last bits of your dignity.

All those nights he had to hear your headboard banging against the wall you weren't so reserved. 

“Fine then.” Stoically, Sam simply begins to pull away. 

Without thinking, your hand shoots out and grabs his wrist. You look up at him, eyes glazed over with lust and boring into his skull. “Please.” 

Now that is what he liked to see. He wets his lips as he looks over your face. 

“Good girl.” 

You weren't quite sure what took over you and you don't know if you hated yourself for it or were thankful. Regardless, you begin to lead his hand back toward your jeans. Suddenly, he stops.

Celertitly, Sam turns you around and pins you back to the wall. If he was going to have you, it would be wholly and completely. He was going to ravage you and tear you apart at the seams.

He undresses you like an autopsy, delicately peeling away layer after layer. His thumbs hook into your pants and he squats as he slides them down. His fingers trace the rim of your panties before he slowly pulls them down your legs. Sam looks up at you: thighs pressed together and hands balled at your sides. While your body language conveyed a certain conservative nature, your teeth sunken into your red bottom lip and eyes staring straight down at him anticipating his next move told a different story. It was almost funny the way you tried to remain taciturn, as if you hadn’t just proved a thousand times over what a slut you are. 

Sam’s large hands practically engulf your hips as he takes hold. For a moment he considers licking your cunt, but then again, it would be so much more fun to see you squirm beneath him. He rises to his feet, fingers digging into your flesh as he uses you as leverage, lips ghosting against your torso. His narrowed eyes never leave you for a moment. 

You search Sam’s eyes for anything familiar, anything that would make you feel less awful about this. While his eyes still contained that stunning hazel hue, there was no emotion behind them. Lust, sure. Before you could thoroughly discern your emotions, you feel Sam pulling up your shirt. 

“Wait.” You say, pushing the fabric down. “Dean… He’s just outside. What if he comes up?” 

“So?” Sam asks flatly. He tries to pull off your shirt again, but you stop him.

“So? I won’t have time to get dressed. I’d rather your brother not se-“ 

His lips press against yours as though he were starved. Fastest way to get you to shut the fuck up. 

Your mind and every thought in it slips out like a gust of wind. He pulls away only for a quick moment.  “Guess we’ll have to be quick then, hm?” He breathes. You nod dumbly, lips puffy and saliva coating them.  With that he forcibly rips off your top and tosses it to the ground. Finally, he thought. 

Your bra ends up on the ground as well. 

Sam roughly grabs you by the hair and pulls you back into the kiss. Of all the times you’ve imagined being with Sam, not once did you think it would be like this, unfeeling, and rough. But if you could pretend, that would make it all okay. 

And so you did. You let your mind go blank and only focus on the pleasure ‘real’ Sam was giving you. 

 Your hands slide up his shoulders and rest on the nape of his neck. You moan as you sink into the kiss and as Sam's long fingers come to circle your clit and you don’t bother to maintain a shred of composure.

He breaks the kiss, panting, forehead pressed against yours and looks down at your body, and all the bruises on you. All of the ways he’s marked and claimed you caused a low growl to ripple through his chest. Sam pulls his fingers from your pussy and you have half a mind to grab his wrist again. He watches as your slick stretches and runs down his fingers. You pretend that his thoughts and words were something more of love than lust. 

“Fuck.” “Beautiful.” He says in a breathy murmur. 

As Sam's fingers prod at the entrance of your puffy cunt, you cringe at the lewd squelching noise that ensues. He looks up from his work to watch your face. It was so satisfying to see you like this, so needy and pathetic. At once, his fingers sink deep inside you. You moan, his fingers leaving you so full. You hardly have a moment to gather your thoughts before he's thrusting in and out of you, a satisfied look on his face at watching you unravel.  

Every single moan you make is loud, drawn, out and practically pornographic and in all honesty, you couldn't care less. He pulls you in via a rough grip on your hair and smashes his lips against yours. You let yourself believe the kiss was more fervent than greedy. His tongue, much like his fingers, treats the inside of your body more like an exploration or experiment — trying to figure out what makes you tick. Sam runs his tongue along the inside of your teeth and at the same time you feel him grinning against your lips. Suddenly you can’t get enough air in your lungs, his fingers curl and press right against your g-spot. You tear yourself away from him in a gasping moan, your palms flat against his muscular chest as your world spins. 

“mfgh- fuck, S-Sammy,” You cry.  

And just as soon as he started, he stopped. 

“What did you call me?” Sam pulls away, his eyes narrowed and dark. It doesn’t matter if his touch was ever loving, the lack of it now leaves you feeling cold and embarrassed.

“Samm-“

Sam’s lips curl into a frown. You stop speaking. 

 It seems everyone— including you, wanted little ‘Sammy’ back. It didn’t matter that he was right there, they missed that weak part of him still burning in hell. 

Slowly but promptly, his hand creeps up your collarbone and wraps around your throat. He sets his jaw and it hits you— what you felt around Sam before this, it wasn’t fear, something more than discomfort but far less than being afraid; this however, this was fear. 

As it seems, you’ve gotten yourself too lost in pretending. 

“Sammy,” he says sharply in a voice you were unaware Sam was even capable of producing. “Is Dean’s dumbass little brother…  Sammy jerked off to you every night but never had the balls to ask you out. Sammy is a little bitch. So, if you want me to fuck you dumb, it’s Sam.”

Speechless, you breathe a reply before your brain has a chance to catch up. “I- yes sir.” 

“Yeah, that too.” Sam replies in a dark voice. 

He squeezes your throat, not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know that he could if he wanted to. 

And for some goddamned reason, it turns you on. 

Pretending never does quite work, does it?

It was wrong, you thought as Sam’s hand dropped from your throat. Even after what just happened, you felt yourself growing hotter at the image that wormed its way into your head. Sam’s nimble fingers wrapped around his cock, chest heaving as he stoked himself. Instead of returning to you, he began to undo his belt. Sam’s pumps growing jagged and needy as he brought himself closer. He starts to pull down his pants and boxers, a bit of hasty anger in his movements. Sam’s eyes wrenching shut, or perhaps rolling back. Breathless repetitions of your name floating in the air. Thick globs of revering white emulsion spilling over his fist out of the very same cock before you. You gasp as he enters.

Sam’s cock feels as though it’s ripping you apart. His length and girth are far more than you’ve ever taken and by the looks of it, he's never had something quite like you either. 

“Fffuck you’re tight.” He groans, fingers digging into your ass as he thrusts in and out. He wishes he didn’t have to worry about these damn clothes, he could've made you cum on his tongue by now if it weren't for the damn pants around your ankles. He also wishes he didn't have to worry about time constraints, he could've given you several short orgasms by now instead of aiming for a single earth-shattering one.. Honestly, he couldn’t give less of a shit if Dean saw the two of you, but you probably wouldn't sleep with him again if that happened and  he was planning to use your tight little pussy this entire weekend. Hell, he might ‘accidentaly’ fuck up the hunt so you would have to stay in town longer.

“So good for me baby.” Sam says in a groan. His eyes remain locked on your expression and your tits bouncing with every thrust. Your warm cunt fits around him so nicely. He didn't have to, and he knew you surely couldn't take it but he loved to see you gasp and squirm– so pretty beneath him, every time he bottomed out.

“Mnghh, wa-agh!” You whine, high pitched and pleading. You press your palms against his chest, hoping to send the message of telling him to slow down as your mouth has been rendered absolutely useless save for whimpers and moans. Maybe he didn’t understand, or maybe it was that he didn’t want to, in the end, Sam continued fucking you with reckless abandon.

Tears began to prickle in the corners of your eyes. “Sam- agh s’too.. mmuch.” You sobbed. 

“Shh, you’re taking me so well,” Sam coos. He cups your jaw in a surprisingly tenderder fashion and wipes your streaming tears with his thumb. You wince.

He has always wondered how you liked it. How you really liked it, every dirty fantasy you had in the dead of night and every deleted search.

“H-mgh, h-hurts.” You  squeak out as he rams into you once more.

 Now, it was glaringly obvious. With a hint of genuine curiosity in his eyes, he wraps a hand around your throat once more and then, he squeezes. 

Of course Sam has choked a girl in bed before, but choking you was especially euphoric. The slight hint of fear in your eyes was enough to make him cum right now. 

You felt suddenly very aware of your body. The pain on your shoulder and down your finger-dug in arms and hips. Your drooping eyelids, tears down your chin, the thoughtless moans spilling out of you as you unthinkingly tipped your head back, exposing your throat to give Sam a better grip. 

Every breath gave a slight resistance you couldn’t help but want. Fog filled your head until you were left with a one point perspective of Sam. It hurt so good. Your arms lazily drape over his shoulders and you find yourself begging for more of him; your hips rock in tandem with this thrusts and through moans, a single word falls from your lips. 

“Harder.” 

Sam quickly obliges, his pelvis meets yours with every thrust and his tip touches your cervix. You throw your head back in a shuddering moan and feel yourself losing oxygen. 

He couldn’t believe he didn’t realize sooner what a pain slut you were. Your pussy begins to tighten around his cock in uneven flutters. First your fingers, curling into Sam’s hair. Then your chest, shallow breaths growing shallower. Your legs follow soon after, the muscles tensing and feeling as though they could give away at any moment. Finally your abdomen, growing taut by the second. Your brows press together as your mouth falls open. 

“S-ssoo close.” You slur. 

“Hold it baby, just a little more.” Sam groans. His breath filled in the hot inch of space between your bodies. His thrusts became shorter but more rapid, his heart following suit. He clenches his teeth. Fuck, you looked pretty with his hand around your throat but damn if he didn’t need to cum inside your cunt. 

Tears begin streaming down your cheeks as you try to hold back the waves of pleasure ripping through you. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Sam stops choking you and turns all his attention on your pussy. Your moans come out in pathetic cries, your body feeling wet and mushy but tense and begging for release all at the same time. Your head was a mess too jumbled to decipher and all you wanted was to cum. 

“Ssam.. please.” You cry as he pounds into you like a rag doll.

“So needy.” He teases back in a ragged breath. “You can do it. Be a good slut and hold it.”

 Just as you go to beg he meets your yes in a stern glare. “Do not fucking cum until I say so.” 

You give a reluctant nod. 

And just then, you hear a door shut. 

Shit. 

With wide eyes, you snap out of your trance. 

Sam on the other hand, didn’t plan on stopping. 

His hand quickly flies up to your mouth and his body completely presses yours to the wall. 

“Not a sound.” He whispers against your ear.  

As hard as you try to fight it, you find yourself slipping back. This time, with each thrust you slide up the chrysanthemum wall and he could feel your heart beating against his chest 

Sam’s cock twitches inside of you. He moves his hand and replaces it with his lips, trapping you in a sloppy kiss while he lifts your legs, bringing your knees to almost wrap around his hips. He palms your ass while his forearms support your thighs and his elbows your knees. Damn these clothes. Though still, at this angle he could get so much deeper and bring himself so much closer. 

White hot pleasure surges through his every synapse. 

“Guys! Where are you?” Dean calls from downstairs and damn if the adrenaline rush from that didn’t turn you on. 

Sam feels you clench around his cock and he groans into your mouth. 

“Almost there.” Sam whispers. You were too out of it to reply. 

“Need- mgh.. to.” You whisper. A tingling sensation has taken over your whole body, starting at your core and spreading outward. You felt like a ticking time bomb and just when you felt you were about to explode.

“Cum.”

With that you let go. You feel Sam’s hand slide between your and his lips as your orgasm rolls through you. His head falls forward and rests against the wall as he shudders through an orgasm of his own. The tingling feeling turns your muscles to jello but Sam does his best to keep you in his grasp. 

“No hits outside.” Dean calls. 

The only sound that mattered to either of you though were each other's dark trembling exhales, yours leaving through your nostrils and onto his knuckles and Sam’s through his parted lips and onto your bare shoulder. 

Small twitches and spurts from Sam’s length persist inside of you as he reaches the last of his orgasm. Meanwhile your entrance flutters as you recover from your ecstasy. Your heart pounded in your ears and you were left in a high. 

“…The hell? If you two got taken by a ghost or some shit I swear.” Dean grumbles. And then his footsteps start toward the stairs. Fuck.

Sam though, he takes his sweet time letting you down. 

Creeaak, Groans one step. 

Sam begins to pull out, forcing you to watch his cock glistens with your wetness and his cum seeps out of you. 

Creeeak. 

You were unsteady on your feet but managed to pull your pants and panties up.

Creeeak.

Shit, where’s your bra?

“Guys!” Dean yells, his voice closer than ever. His footsteps pick up the pace.

He reaches the top of the stairs to find Sam inspecting his EMF reader and you, placing a dagger back in your boot, fully dressed. 

“Oh hey, Dean.” Sam says with a casualness that left you feeling that if his cum were not leaking out of you right now, you would question if anything had actually happened. 

“What the hell? Damn near gave me a heart attack.” 

“Sorry,” Sam shrugs. “Thought we found something.” 

“Uh huh.” Dean replies, unconvinced. He glances at you, then back to Sam, and then to you again. “So, you find anything?”

“No.” You say without meeting his eyes. You frown and pretend to check out some of the grafiti. 

“Right.” Dean says.

You give him a small nod and quickly slip behind him and down the stairs. 

Once he hears the front door shut, Dean turns to Sam with a quirked brow. 

Sam looks up from the EMF reader and at Dean cooley. “Maybe there’s an attic or a back room we haven’t found?”

“Seriously? Don’t you think it’s a little messed up?”

“No, tons of old houses have cellars and hidden rooms.”

“Oh cut the bullshit, Sam.” Dean raises your pocket knife Sam hadn’t realized he picked up. He’s known you long enough to know where you stash your amo. “She doesn’t know, does she?” He frowns. 

His poker face falters and returns to a room-temperature smugness. “Is that what this is about? Me not having a soul?” Sam steps forward. “Or are you just mad that I fucked her first?” 

Tag list: @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @lillies444lola @n0va25 @figurantedefilme @wowzabowza69

Dm to be added/removed

[aroselaine]

Mated

Masterlist, AO3 Cas x AFAB!fem!Reader Word count: 3.2k

Summary: Castiel rescues you from a case gone wrong, accidentally exposing his wings. When he finds out you can see them, he can't help but lose control ;)

Content: smut !! wing kink, grace kink, praise kink, soulmate au, intense making out, body worship, fingering, p in v sex, rough sex, cas loses his virginity, switch!castiel, no use of Y/N

A/N - OMG I finally got around to finishing the fic from the poll, thank you so much everyone for the support and lmk what you wanna see next 🤭

If you had known demons were behind the disappearances, you would have never shown up alone.

From the outside, the case looked like nothing more than a few rogue vampires. While you had been hunting with the Winchesters for a few years now, they were busy with some impossible end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it crisis, and you had reached your breaking point. So when an article surfaced about two victims found completely drained of blood, you were eager to leave the brothers to their research.

It hadn’t taken long after arriving in town to locate the small nest. You'd even texted Sam and Dean before heading out—just in case. But nothing could have prepared you for what you found inside. The abandoned farmhouse you’d been led to was a trap, crawling with demons. You'd walked right into it like a rookie.

Now you were bloodied and shackled in some damp basement, breathing hard through cracked ribs and a busted lip, your hands chained above your head. Each breath was agony. Your vision blurred as one of the demons approached, a sick grin on his face and a knife covered in your blood in his hand.

You closed your eyes and did the only thing you could think of.

“Castiel,” you whispered, your voice hoarse and barely audible over the sound of your own pulse. “Please. I need you.”

The air changed.

It was subtle at first—the room felt tighter, heavier—and then everything happened at once.

A blinding light tore through the darkness. The demons turned just as a flutter of wings, louder than thunder, echoed off the stone walls. You heard screams—real, agonized screams—and then silence.

When you blinked your eyes open, the room was lit only by the soft glow of celestial grace. Blood and ash coated the walls. The demons were gone, their vessels crumpled like discarded paper.

And he was standing there. Castiel. Looking untouched, terrifying, and beautiful.

But it wasn’t his face that had you breathless.

His wings stretched behind him, dark and enormous, taking up nearly the entire room. Not shadowy impressions like you'd seen in glimpses before—these were real, radiant with flecks of silver and midnight blue, as if the night sky had been carved into feathers.

You gasped. “Cas…” you murmured, your head spinning. “Your wings…”

Then everything went black.

The motel room smelled faintly of dust and cheap detergent. Your eyes fluttered open to the dim light of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the faded wallpaper. For a second, you didn’t move. The pain was gone—but the memory of it, of shackles, blood, and demon laughter, clung to your skin like smoke.

Then your senses caught up. You were clean. Your ribs didn’t hurt. You sat up slowly, half-expecting the agony to return, but it didn’t. A bottle of water sat on the nightstand, unopened.

And sitting silently in the chair across from your bed, elbows resting on his knees, was Castiel.

His hands were clasped in front of him, head slightly bowed. He looked tired—not physically, but like something heavy sat inside his chest. Still, the moment your gaze met his, his head lifted, and relief flickered through his storm-colored eyes.

“You’re awake,” he said softly.

You managed a tired smile. “Yeah. Guess you’ve been busy.”

“I healed you,” he said, his tone clinical, almost distant. “The damage was… extensive.”

“I figured,” you said, hand brushing gently over your ribs. “Thank you, Cas. Seriously.”

Something shifted in his expression. He didn’t nod or offer a typical "you’re welcome." Instead, a deep quiet settled between you, almost uncomfortable. He looked down, jaw tense, then back at you with an unreadable expression.

“Did you see them?” he hesitated, his voice rough, uncertain in a way that was so unlike him it made your stomach twist.

You blinked. “Your wings?”

He stilled.

You continued carefully. “Yes. I did. They were… Cas, they were the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

He looked like you’d struck him. His hands unclasped, falling to his sides as he slowly stood, pacing once before facing you again—guarded, but shaken.

“I didn’t think…” he began, faltering. “I never believed I had one.”

“One what?” you asked gently, though your heart beat faster.

He swallowed. “A mate.”

You froze.

“I shouldn’t have one,” he went on, voice low and distant now, as if speaking to himself. “Not after everything I’ve done. Not after who I’ve become. I’ve always felt a pull to you, but I never let myself believe…” he trailed off, refusing to look at you. “But only a soulmate can see an angel’s true wings. Not impressions. Not shadows. Only a mate.”

You stared at him, heart in your throat. “Cas…”

“I didn’t mean for you to see them,” he said, his voice breaking under the weight of it. “But you called. And I came. And when I saw you there, bleeding, chained—” he looked away, his eyes burning. “I couldn’t stop myself.”

You were already pushing yourself up, standing on shaky legs, the sheets falling from your lap. “Cas, look at me.”

He turned, eyes meeting yours, raw and searching.

“I saw them,” you whispered, stepping close. “I saw you. And I’m still here.”

His breath caught. For a long second, he didn’t move. Then—softly, like a man who’d been wandering for centuries and had finally found home—he reached out. Not quite touching. Waiting.

You took his hand.

And the room filled with something that had nothing to do with light, sound, or heaven.

Just you.

Just him.

Just this.

The silence between you hummed with something unspoken—warm, and impossibly fragile. You still held his hand, your thumb brushing gently along the callused ridge of his knuckle. Castiel’s eyes searched your face, hesitant, as if he was balancing on the edge of a precipice.

Then, in a voice just above a whisper, he asked, “Would you… like to see them again?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

He blinked once, slowly, as if he hadn't expected that answer so easily. Then he nodded, a small, almost nervous tilt of his head. “You should close your eyes,” he said, softer still. “They can… overwhelm. Even with you.”

Your heart fluttered. Not from fear, but from the quiet reverence in his tone.

You obeyed, lashes fluttering shut. You heard him inhale, deep and slow—and then the air shifted

You felt them before you saw anything. The beat of something ancient and holy stirring the air, brushing against your skin like a sigh. Warmth radiated from him, a divine hum that lit every nerve.

Then came the soft rustle of feathers.

“Okay,” he said, voice low and unsure. “You can look now.”

You opened your eyes slowly—and forgot how to breathe.

His wings stretched out behind him in a full, glorious display. No longer dimmed by adrenaline or divine fury, they unfolded like living art. Vast, sweeping things made of starlight and shadow. Each feather shimmered with deep sapphire and silver, like moonlight on dark water. The edges glowed faintly, kissed by heaven itself.

“Cas…” Your voice was barely a breath. “You’re incredible.”

A flicker of color rose in his cheeks. His wings twitched at the compliment—just a small fluffing of feathers, barely noticeable. You had a feeling he hadn’t been complimented nearly enough.

“I’m not,” he murmured, avoiding your gaze.

You stepped closer. “You are,” you insisted, eyes wide with wonder. “May I… can I touch them?”

His gaze lifted, startled and open. He swallowed hard, then nodded, unable to speak.

Your hand hovered near the closest wing. He didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, just watched you, tense with anticipation.

Then you touched him.

The feather beneath your hand was impossibly soft, like velvet and silk spun together. He shivered visibly. His lips parted with a breathy gasp, and a soft sound escaped him, somewhere between a sigh and a whimper.

“Did I hurt you?” you whispered, pausing.

He shook his head quickly, breath shaky. “No. The opposite.”

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. Slowly, you ran your fingers deeper through the feathers, marveling at their texture and weight.

As you moved along the arch of his wing, he made another sound—quieter, more desperate. His hands curled into fists, his shoulders trembling.

“Cas,” you whispered, awed. “They’re so sensitive…”

His voice was raw. “They are. Our wings are… sacred. Intimate. We don’t—angels don’t let others…”

Your breath hitched. “No one has touched them before?”

He met your gaze, pupils blown wide. “No. Only you.”

The weight of his confession pressed gently against your chest.

You moved your hands lower, fingertips brushing the base of his wings—and he buckled. A groan tore from him, low and wrecked. His knees nearly gave, and he gripped your waist for balance, clinging to you like a lifeline.

“Cas…” Your voice was breathless, your eyes locked on him. “You don’t have to hold back.”

“I—” He gasped again as your fingers stroked down the length of a primary feather. “You’re going to undo me.”

“Good,” you whispered against his ear, lips ghosting his skin.

His wings trembled under your touch, every sweep of your fingers drawing out soft, helpless sounds from deep in his throat. His body pressed closer, warmth radiating off him in waves. You could feel the hard line of his arousal against your thigh—undeniable, urgent. The realization sent a jolt through you, and a slow, aching warmth pooled low in your belly—in between your legs—drawn out by the sounds he made, soft and needy and completely unguarded.

You kept your movements gentle but deliberate, respectful in your exploration, yet unable to ignore the desire coiling tighter. Each delicate stroke through his feathers made him shudder, his eyes fluttering closed, jaw slack with pleasure. The air around you shimmered, thick with grace and tension. He made another sound—low, deep in his chest—and you felt it vibrate through you.

You leaned in, your lips brushing his ear. “I want you, Cas.”

His eyes snapped open, darker, hungrier. His grace pulsed, licking at your skin like heat lightning. You stepped back, curling your fingers around his wrist, guiding him toward the bed. He followed in silence, wings half-flared, catching the light like silk.

When the backs of your knees met the mattress, you pulled him close and kissed him—softly, just enough to push him over the edge.

He surged forward, capturing your mouth with his in a kiss that was all hunger and promise. Not gentle—consuming, desperate, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the press of his lips. He cradled your face, trembling with restraint, as if you were fragile. Sacred.

You moaned, your body arching. He deepened the kiss, sliding one hand to your waist. He kissed you as if he’d waited forever—because he had.

His grace pulsed faintly along your skin, like electricity dancing over every nerve. But it was his voice, low and wrecked, that sent the deepest shiver through you.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispered, breath trembling against your lips. “How long I’ve wanted you?”

You managed a small sound, overwhelmed by his presence. But he wasn’t finished.

“I’ve watched you laugh… bleed… fight beside me,” he said, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then lower, lips brushing the curve of your throat. “And every time, I wanted to reach for you. To pull you into me. Never let go.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, your breath ragged. “Then do it,” you whispered.

He froze, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes luminous, aching, meeting yours with a look that made your heart skip.

“You are everything to me,” he said, voice hoarse. “And I want you like I've never wanted anything.”

He kissed you again—slower, like he was worshipping you—and when his hands moved beneath your shirt, his grace followed, hotter and heavier. It wasn’t just desire; it was a dam breaking—a lifetime of restraint collapsing all at once.

“Then take me,” you breathed.

Clothes vanished—not torn, not stripped, just gone, dissolved by his will. You stood bare before him, and he looked at you as if you were something holy. You let your gaze travel over him—his body, his wings, his eyes wide with need—and your breath caught. “You’re beautiful,” you whispered, “Divine.”

His breath hitched, his pupils dilating. The tips of his wings twitched, then flared, reacting to the heat that surged through him. You watched his jaw flex as he fought for composure.

“You can’t say things like that,” he rasped, voice rough with need. “Not when I’m already barely holding on.”

A wicked smile ghosted across your lips as you brushed your fingers down his chest, slow and teasing. “Why not?” you murmured. “It’s true. Every part of you… breathtaking.”

His control snapped, not violently—but completely. With a low groan, he surged down, capturing your mouth again, guiding you down on the bed, his wings folding behind him, still trembling as he held himself above you.

“You say things like that,” he growled against your throat, “and I’ll never stop.”

“Then don’t,” you breathed. “I don’t want you to.”

He made a sound that was half-laugh, half-moan—utterly wrecked—and pressed himself tighter against you. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he whispered, voice barely holding together. “And if you keep looking at me like that… speaking to me that way… I’m going to worship you until you forget anything else ever existed.”

His eyes lit with his grace and a warmth rolled through you—trailing down your neck, across your chest, between your thighs. The sensation was blinding. You cried out, clutching at him as your hips lifted, desperate for more. His eyes darkened, and something wild flickered behind them.

“I want to feel all of you,” he said, voice thick with need. “I want you to feel me everywhere.”

His mouth claimed yours again, but his grace explored you—featherlight at first, teasing, then growing bolder. You gasped as it trailed down your body, warm and electric, moving lower and lower. You cried out as his grace gathered between your thighs, pulsing in tight, rhythmic waves that made your hips buck. It was like being touched and not touched all at once—phantom hands stroking you with aching precision, vibrating against your most sensitive spot until you were writhing beneath him, your breath ragged and your fingers clutching at his shoulders.

“Cas,” you whimpered, voice trembling. “I can’t—please—”

Your plea spurred him on. His mouth dragged away from yours, panting against your cheek as his hand slid down, replacing the pulsing shimmer of his grace with something achingly real. His fingers found you slick and desperate, and he groaned at the feel of you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, “Let me take care of you.”

His thumb circled your clit with devastating precision as two fingers slid inside you, curling just right. You cried out, arching, and he drank in the sound as if it was his salvation.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick and broken. “Let go for me.”

His grace didn’t fade—it intensified, wrapping around you like a second mouth, a second hand, amplifying everything. It worked in tandem with his fingers, pushing you higher and higher, until the heat in your core exploded outward, pleasure crashing through you in waves so strong your vision blurred.

You screamed his name, your body shuddering as you came, and he held you through it—his fingers slowing, his grace humming like a lullaby.

He growled—a low, primal sound—as your pleasure washed over him. His wings flared wide, radiant and wild, trembling as he fought for control. His grace pulsed harder now, answering every sound you made, every arch of your body. He kissed your throat, your shoulder, voice reverent, breathless.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, mouth brushing your skin. “Falling apart for me.”

You were still catching your breath, your body trembling, when he pressed closer—his arousal heavy against your thigh, impossible to ignore. He cupped your cheek again, thumb brushing your lips, and he looked down as if barely holding himself together.

“I’m trying to be gentle,” he admitted, his voice strained, “but I don’t know how much longer I can.”

Your fingers slid through his hair, pulling him closer, your voice soft and steady even through the haze. “Then don’t,” you whispered. “I want you to lose control.”

His answer was a groan, and then he was moving. He shifted, settling between your thighs, the pressure of him a promise. He paused, his eyes locking onto yours, giving you time to change your mind. You arched your hips slightly, a silent invitation, and that was all the permission he needed.

He pushed into you, filling you completely, and you gasped, the sensation exquisite and overwhelming. He was large, thick, and impossibly hard, filling every inch of you. For a moment, you could only breathe, adjusting to the reality of him inside you. "You're so tight," he breathed against your ear, causing you to flutter around him.

Then he moved, a slow, deliberate thrust that stretched you open, and you cried out, fingers digging into his shoulders. He stilled again, letting you adjust, letting you feel him, and then he began to move in earnest. "Beautiful," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

Each thrust was deeper than the last, each stroke more intense, and you met him thrust for thrust, your hips rocking against his. His heat pulsed around you, a living wave that intensified with every movement, every gasp, every moan.

He was no longer the gentle, restrained angel you knew. He was a primordial being, driven by a need that mirrored your own. He pushed you higher and higher, taking you to the edge and holding you there, until you were begging him to let go.

“Please, Cas,” you gasped, your body trembling with each stroke. “I need you…”

Your words seemed to embolden him, and he thrust even harder, faster, driving you both closer to the brink. As you felt yourself getting closer to your peak, you shifted your hands, your fingers carding their way through his feathers until you reached the base of his wings. You stroked him there, causing him to shudder, his movements faltering for a moment.

But then, with renewed intensity, he surged into you. You continued to caress his wings, your fingers dancing over the sensitive feathers, and he bucked beneath you, his control completely gone.

He roared, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, as he spilled his seed deep inside you, pushing you into your climax. He continued moving with slow, gentle thrusts that soothed and comforted, drawing out the last vestiges of pleasure. He kissed your neck, your shoulder, whispering words of praise and adoration. You clung to him, your body still trembling in the afterglow.

Finally, he stilled, collapsing against you, his weight welcome. You wrapped your arms around him, and let silence settle. After a few moments, he nuzzled into your neck, his wings wrapping around you both like a warm, feathery blanket. "I love you," he whispered softly, his voice full of contentment. You snuggled closer, smiling against his skin. "I love you too," you replied, feeling completely at peace.

[tldrthor]

things we shouldn't have said | steve rogers

Summary: The Captain has a scathing outburst that puts their already rocky relationship six feet under for good. He reaps the consequences when she gets hurt while looking out for him.

Part one // She was watching my back, and I wasn't watching hers. // word count: 3k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I am sick and tired of you endangering yourself and others, (y/l/n)!” The shouting started from behind the frosted panes of the meeting room. Tony, sitting on one of the benches outside, wondered if he had considered that the meeting room wouldn’t be soundproofed enough to stop people hearing sensitive information, or, if you were Steve and (y/n), insanely loud arguments nearly every day. It seemed like a design flaw.

“You were the one who made the wrong call! They weren’t on the left wing, they were on the right, who knows what could’ve happened if I hadn’t followed my instincts?!”

“It doesn’t matter, you flung yourself headfirst into danger, and disobeyed a direct order.”

“I’m not your soldier, Rogers. And I told you exactly what was happening, you just didn’t listen!”

Natasha banged the back of her head repeatedly on the wall she leant on. “How long do we reckon this ones going to take? I need a shower.” She sighed, sniffing at her armpits and wincing a little at the result. 

Tony looked at his watch, responding: “If I am correct in my estimation (y/n) will storm out right around …” The door to the meeting room burst open, and out barrelled a seething Agent (y/l/n). “Now.” Tony concluded, as the others laughed at his uncanny ability to predict how a Rogers-(y/l/n) fight went. He waved his hand and lowered his head in a fake bow.

“Do you think they’ll ever get along?” Young, innocent, naïve Peter asked. He had previously been fast asleep sitting upright in the uncomfortable waiting chairs. The sound of the door hitting the plasterboard on the wall had startled him awake.

Sam chuckled. “Kid, those two have been at each other’s throats since you were in middle school. It’s just what they do.”

Peter seemed to accept that answer, nodding slowly before covering a yawn with his hand. “That's classic enemies to lovers stuff.” He was nearly asleep again by the time the others had processed his statement enough to question what it meant.

The door opened again. “Come on, let’s debrief.” Cap pulled an anxious hand through his hair, clearly in turmoil. The Captain looked exhausted, his eyes nearly bloodshot. The bags under his eyes were some of the worst Tony had ever seen, and that was saying something. When his eyes landed on Peter, he shook his head, “Pete, head to bed. You’re beat.”

Peter nodded again, but fell asleep in the exact same position, approximately 0.3 seconds after the door closed behind the other Avengers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Good morning." (Y/n) muttered, walking into the briefing room with a coffee in hand. It wasn’t like her to be late, especially not with coffee. Tony realised that lately, she had been more and more demoralised after every mission. Especially after every argument with Cap. He was worried there was more going on with her than they knew. 

Nevertheless, he couldn’t resist a dig.

"Don't you hate it when someone turns up late to a meeting with Starbucks in hand?" Tony tilted his head and spoke with sarcasm coating nearly every word.

"Bite me, tin man." She joked with her mentor. It wasn’t her usual chipper humour, but rather much more subdued, more pointed. She looked more tired than usual as well, Tony noted. But he had a meeting to present, and an interview in an hour, so there wasn’t much time to mull it over.

Steve didn’t pick up on anything strange, blinded by his annoyance. He shook his head silently in the corner, jaw tensed, eyes sending daggers into her with every step she took.

"Young lady, you are in a terrible mood this morning. And, I'm about to make it worse." Tony flashed her a charming but sarcastic smile. "We've got a code red recon mission over in Europe, and only you and our dear fearless leader are available to man it."

Her face immediately fell, but she wasn't the first to find her voice.

"Nope. There's no way." Steve responded to the news. She sent him a foul look at his rude outburst, before chiming in with her own.

"Rude, Rogers. But agreed, you send us on that mission, one of us is coming back in a body bag." And it won't be me. She thought.

He wouldn't meet her eyes, his tense posture maintaining an intense gaze on Tony. His arms, crossed, shoulders raised nearly to his ears.

Tony rolled his eyes at their reactions. "You guys need to stop your middle school bullshit. We're the Avengers, and at the end of the day, we've got each other's backs."

She decided to bite her tongue, opting for a vicious look towards Tony instead. Sure, it would be awful, but she wouldn’t mind a chance to prove to Steve that she was a valuable member of the team, and shove it in his face that he was wrong about her. 

She looked towards him, expecting him to have a similar disposition. Mr. Upstanding, the moral preacher. To her shock, he didn’t. And god, was he vocal about it.

“No, she’s a goddamn liability.” He turned to her with a withering, disdainful look. “She messes up every mission, and I’ve had enough. I’m not putting a code red in her hands, she doesn’t have the skills for it.” He immediately turned to face her, expecting her to fire back with the same passion.

He didn’t expect her neutral, almost – almost – hurt expression. She pressed her lips into a straight line, and his heart dropped when he thought maybe there were tears in her eyes. For just a second.

He might have gone too far. He didn’t think he would ever miss her rebuttals, her constant nitpicking, her endless talking back. But at this moment, he knew he would have preferred it. 

She looked away from him, and back to Tony, who watched the outburst with an open mouth. It wasn’t very often he was rendered speechless, but it took a solid ten seconds for him to clear his throat, pick his jaw up off the floor and continue.

“Unfortunately, there is no other choice, um, so hopefully that will go smoothly. You will leave at 8am sharp tomorrow. Uh … onto other business…”

(Y/n) drowned the rest of Tony’s briefing out as she replayed the Captain’s outburst over and over again. Liability. Messes up every mission. Doesn’t have the skills. It was all of her worst fears come true, packaged up neatly coming from the mouth of someone she had always secretly admired. Not that she would ever tell him that.

She wasn't sure why, but his words had cut her to the core.

An excruciating thirty minutes later, Tony concluded his meeting. “Okay, everyone out. Except Cap, we have to talk about logistics for tomorrow.” He watched with eagle eyes as (y/n) ran out of the room, lowering her face and ignoring anyone who sent pitying looks her way.

He turned to the Captain, who covered a bright red face with his hands.

“Now what the hell was that?” He asked.

Cap groaned, “I messed up.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8am. Sharp. She took a deep breath as she left her room, locking the door behind her. Her pack wasn’t too heavy, considering they were only supposed to be gone for a couple of nights max. Her chest felt tight, walking to the aircraft hangar, a pit of dread growing and growing with every step.

Before she met the hangar, she passed by Tony’s office. It was one of Tony’s off days, so she knew he wouldn’t be in. She slipped an envelope under the door, hoping he would only see it once she was long gone.

“See ya later.” She whispered to no-one.

Trudging to what felt like the executioner’s block, she was dismayed to see Steve already fully ready and waiting for her. She braced herself for the lecture, for the ‘we said leave at 8am, not arrive.’ But it didn’t come. 

“Good morning.” He spoke cordially, almost upbeat. Making up for something.

She could only manage a polite smile in return. He frowned at the lack of response, but she didn’t see it. 

“All systems ready to go.” She said, once she had got a seat and checked all her listed items. Steve nodded, and made a call through the radio to air control. “Alpha base control, this is Eagle and Wunderkind, ready to take off.” She hated hearing him say her nickname from Tony, which had become her official callsign for all base activities. 

Through the headset, she heard the confirmation from ATC, and watched as the Captain piloted the quinjet up and away from the base. God, it was going to be a long trip. 

As soon as she could, she took off her harness and retreated back to the seats further away from him. She heard the gentle click and mechanical thrum of the auto-pilot being put on, and the movement of the leather seats as Steve moved away from the cockpit.

She felt his presence over her as she tried to focus on her kindle. She had been reading and re-reading the same page, over and over, desperately trying to take in the words. But it was futile. 

“(y/n).” He sighed, knowing that she was purposefully ignoring him. “I want to apologise for my outburst at the meeting yesterday.”

She shrugged. He desperately searched for some kind of anger, some kind of white-hot hurt that she would respond with. It was what he deserved, after he had embarrassed her and doubted her in front of the whole team. 

“You told me how you really feel. It’s okay.” She still didn’t look at him.

“That’s not –” He huffed. “That’s not what I think. I was out of line.” It seemed that the words he wanted eluded him. What do you say to someone after you’ve put out their spark? How do you ‘fix’ a quenched fire?

“It’s fine, Captain. Honestly.” 

Rogers sighed and understood that he was being subtly asked to leave. He understood, really. But there was something about her dejected manner, her slumping posture and her big, sad eyes that made him feel like more of a villain than he already did. Like he had kicked a puppy, or stolen candy from a baby or…

Completely humiliated one of the newest Avengers in front of the whole team.

“I’m sorry.” He managed to stutter out, before turning and leaving to fiddle with some of the controls on the quinjet’s interface. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the six hours were long. Painfully, achingly long. The tension in the atmosphere was only marginally cut by the quiet hum of the engine and the tap, tap, tap of the Captain getting some work done. The captain spent a longer time staring at his comrade than he would ever admit, watching as she frowned at her book. She turned one page approximately every five minutes, her eyes continually moving from the top to the bottom of the same page, over and over again. Her frustrated sighing the only sign of emotion coming from her.

He took a deep breath, trying to remove the suffocating guilt from his chest.

Standing, he waved a hand in her line of sight, interrupting her ‘reading’ session. She slid her headphones off, looking up at him expectantly. “We’re going down.” He spoke. “Thought you would like to get ready.”

The problem with recon missions was that a quinjet was a dead giveaway. So, they had to take their large, heavy packs, and camp out in the forest surrounding the castle. Why was it always a castle?

The hike was hard. The frost on the path made it difficult to get a proper grip on the near-vertical slope, and she realised quickly she had forgotten her gloves. The frost nipped at her hands, growing more painful with her step. She cursed Tony for sending them here in the dead of winter.

She threw her pack up a ledge, scrambling up behind it. While scrambling up the side, she made the mistake of grabbing on to a bundle of brambles. She hissed and retracted her hand, a line of crimson appearing straight across her palm, a precious droplet splashing down onto the snow. 

“You good?” Steve turned to watch her as she folded and unfolded her palm. He reached a hand out to help her up, his eyes focusing on the blood drip, drip, dripping.

She wiped the wound on her trousers, and took his offered hand with her opposite one. “I’m good.” She seemed agitated, nervous. “Do you feel like something’s not right?”

When she said it out loud, just for a second, his heart rate raised. He had convinced himself through his inner dialogue that he was just being overly cautious, but as she said it, he realised that she was right. If there was one thing Steve had learned, a true philosophy of his, it was that one Avenger’s intuition can be wrong. But two Avenger’s instincts are always correct. The unique blend of pattern recognition and situational awareness made the Avengers the closest thing on earth to fortune tellers. Or, so he believed.

“I agree. Let’s hunker down for a minute.” They settled in some of the brush, making themselves as invisible as possible. She was thankful to have a rest, she couldn’t lie. The tossing and turning all night, and every night for weeks, had truly taken its toll.

“Do you think it's bad intel, or a set-up?” She asked, her heart beginning to race at the sight of Steve becoming more and more stressed. She realised that the forest was absolutely silent. No wind, no birds, nothing. She hated it.

He took a second to respond, “I’m not sure. I don’t think we should keep going.”

“What? Then we’ve come all this way for nothing?” 

“I would rather us have come for nothing than die for nothing.” He spoke, trying desperately to manage his tone. How did this girl have such a way of getting under his skin?

She scowled. “Aye, aye, Captain.” A sarcastic salute followed.

With a futile deep breath, he snapped. He rolled his head in disbelief, incredulous that she would choose now to be obstinate. “Are you serious, (y/l/n)? You want to walk straight into something we have no idea about?” He gesticulated, hands flying wildly through the air. 

Both of them were too annoyed to realise that they were on a recon mission while quite loudly arguing in a forest. The Captain, blood boiling, didn’t hear the snap of a distant twig.

“I didn’t even say anything, Rogers! Don’t pretend like you care about my opinion anyway.” She scoffed. “Let’s just fucking go back.” She grabbed her pack, hauling it onto her back, standing from their spot in the brush.

“Shit!” She exclaimed as a bullet past her ear by less than an inch, the sound startling her down. The Captain instantaneously jumped over her, pulling her into him and covering them both with the shield. 

For the record, he smelt like cedarwood and rosemary.

“Came from the East.” He smouldered into the distance. If she hadn’t been so focused, she would have scoffed. He turned to her, his mouth mere centimetres from her ear, his warm whispers tickling her neck. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, no. Aside from the goosebumps, she had luckily been missed. The eye contact he made had something behind it… something she didn’t recognise. Something she had never noticed before.

The moment was shattered by more gunfire.

So, they did the avenging thing. He covered her, she shot as much as she could. Bullets sprayed in every direction, missing them both by the narrowest margins possible. They battled on and on, seemingly endless waves of agents appearing as soon as they thought they were almost through with it.

That’s when she saw it. The bullet heading straight for him. 

“Steve!” She screamed. She didn’t know why she called him by his first name. They weren’t friends. Hell, soon, they wouldn’t even be colleagues. 

He snapped to attention, spinning quickly to ricochet the bullet off of his shield. The bullet was so close to hitting him, he realised she had potentially just saved him from dying in the snow, 5,000 miles from home.

He looked to her to thank her and it all happened in slow motion. She screamed, a shrill, ear-splitting scream that turned his stomach. “No!” He shouted, still fighting through the hordes, sprinting to where the snow turned maroon.

His thrown shield thudded through the undergrowth, distant shouts of soldiers nearly split in half by the metallic disc. He grabbed the gun that had fallen from her hands, unleashing the last of its bullets on those who still dared to try him.

And the forest fell silent.

“(Y/n)!” He looked at her, her usually rosy face growing greater pallor by the second, her chest moving ever-so-slightly, and with growing effort. The black stain on her suit grew larger, and larger, and larger. Any and all medical training he had escaped him, as he realised that now, this moment, was where his regrets were fated to culminate. This was his punishment, his comeuppance.

He didn’t hate her. As he watched this hollow form of her, he realised he would give his own life to bring her back. He would bargain with anything and everything he could for this to be a nightmare that he would wake up from. He would fight with everything he had left to give to her.

Grabbing his pack from behind him, he tipped out its entire contents. 

God, what had he learned on those courses? What was going to kill her first?

“(Y/n), if you can hear me, this is going to hurt. I don’t… I don’t have anything to stop the pain. You’re bleeding out.” He spoke into the void, using scissors to remove her outer layer, exposing the wound. He noticed the blood slowly trickle from her mouth and nose, only worsening his anxiety.

It was worse than he thought, in fact, too deep for him to even suture… He used an antiseptic wipe to clean the area, before packing it with cotton swabs. He swore to himself. They had left the quinjet so far away, and he didn’t know if she would make it all the way back to the compound. 

He had to get her out of here. It was cold, and wet, and there could be even more enemy agents on their way there, right now.

“God, you’re going to have to hold on for just a little while longer, (y/l/n).” He whispered to her, picking her up bridal-style and running for the jet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The other avengers weren’t expecting them to be back for a couple of days, so when Sam ran into the room with news that the quinjet was on the way back, they were pleasantly surprised. Each had finished their missions or meetings early it seemed. Which meant that just maybe they would be able to have some time as a team. Something they were in dire need of.

Tony smiled at his friends, but for a change wasn’t chatting. He sipped his coffee, and smoothed his hand over the handwritten note in his pocket. The note that he thought would never come.

Steve's voice over the intercom. “Mayday, mayday. Eagle to Alpha Base Control, we have a critical medical incident on board. Ready the medbay for severe blood loss and potential hypothermia. Wunderkind is compromised. Wheels down in 10.”

A panicked hush fell over the group.

“Okay, code red.” Sam jumped into the procedures they had all been trained on. “Bruce and I will go down to the hangar and help out. The rest of you stay here and we’ll keep you updated.” The four named avengers immediately ran to their stations, as the others tried to busy themselves doing other tasks that could be useful. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The quinjet came into land at a near-dangerous speed. Bruce and Sam burst open the door as the back door of the jet opened and Cap ran out with a limp (y/n) in his arms, jumping over the ramp before it had even reached the ground.

“What happened?” Sam shouted, running in front of the Captain up the stairs to the nearest Medbay, making sure the way was clear. FRIDAY has thankfully opened all doors in advance.  

“Gunshot wound to the chest, severe haemorrhage. I’ve managed to pack it but not stalled the bleeding nearly enough, she needs help now.”

“Have you got vitals?” Bruce ran along, slightly behind them, not quite as fit. 

“She’s still breathing on her own, weakly. Low pulse. Unconscious since the event.” 

As they reached the medical room and Steve laid her down on the surgical table, it hit all of them how severe the situation was.

“Oh my god.” Whispered Sam, as he saw not only the extent of her wounds, but the volume of blood that covered every inch of the Captain. The colour of skin on his hands could not be seen from the crimson staining covering every inch of them, and his once-blue suit looked more like an inky black, even under the fluorescent lighting of the medical ward. 

More than that, the expression on Steve’s face was something he could only recall seeing on him once. When they discovered that Bucky was alive. He was shell-shocked.

“You guys need to clear the room.” Commanded Dr. Cho, scrubbed in and ready to operate. “We’ll keep you updated.”

“We trust you, Doctor.” Bruce spoke, as he realised the others weren’t going to. Both men grabbed Steve’s shoulder, gently directing him back through the double doors. Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away, as Dr. Cho made demands to the other members of her team, beginning surgery immediately.

“Come on, bud. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Sam was trying not to treat him like a ticking time bomb. But he knew that the Captain was going to snap out of his stupor eventually, and the consequences could be disastrous.

Steve’s eyes didn’t move from her lifeless body on that cold, steel table until they were well past the doors. When Sam tried to lead him out of the medical wing in general, his feet stopped just short of the door.

“I can’t, I - I have to wait.” He turned back around. He looked to Sam, almost asking permission. “I can’t leave her.”

It wasn’t lost on Sam that Steve had to have been keeping her alive by himself for at least six hours, over the Atlantic. That’s not only an impressive feat, but a damn near miracle. It was beyond dedication, it was lunacy. And something like that will make a pretty strong bond between people.

There was something deeper at play here. And as the pieces started to click into place, he wondered how he had never seen it before. The reason Cap was so hard on (y/n), and had been since the beginning.

“Okay, okay.” He guided him to a seat, as an unspoken compromise. “Bruce, could you grab a wet towel?” He spoke softly.

Banner nodded, and wandered off to find ways to help Steve be a little more comfortable. When Bruce returned, Sam gently took his bloody friend’s hands and wiped away the crusted blood that stained them.

Cap watched the red as it left his hands. He couldn’t help the sinking feeling that with every smear of dark brown on the towel, she was slipping away. 

Sam’s adrenaline could only abide the silence for so long. “Cap, you gotta talk to me. Are you hurt?”

“She saved me, that’s how she got shot.” He didn’t make eye contact, instead staring towards the doors, behind which she lay on death’s door.

“It’s not your fault.” Steve didn’t have to say anything for Sam to know that’s what’s running through his mind. A hazard of being an Avenger – the unending and relentless guilt.

“It is my fault. She was watching my back, but I wasn’t watching hers. And I had the damn audacity to call her a liability.” He scoffed, bitterly. 

“It’s nobody’s fault, Steve. These things happen, it’s part of the job. She’s going to pull through.” Sam hadn’t even considered the fact that the last proper interaction they had had, was rather… vitriolic in nature. He didn’t dare ask if anything else had happened on the mission. Not for now, at least.

Steve felt like he was being crushed by his own ribs, like his own body was depriving him of oxygen he didn’t deserve. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare think, except to chastise and punish himself for what he had done.

And not once did he take his eyes off those doors.

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part two: promises we intend to keep

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