I’m such a harsh gatekeeper, my family and I were playing “guess the show by the theme song” and I was winning (duh). But supernatural came on and I literally shrank into my seat because the words almost spilled out.
Question! If I posted my Klaus mikaelson x OC here would you guys read it? She’s a black girl so heads up there 🤭, but I’ve been kind of wondering if anybody here would read?!????
I WILL keep it out of the x reader tag im just spreading the word as of right now…
Yes or no
Yes
No
Remaining time: 16 hours 49 minutes
If so put your @ in comments and I will tag you in all future chapters ;)
Summary: Finals are approaching, which means so are the end of semester frat parties—and for the first time ever, you were invited by a frat bro himself. The only problem? You’ve never even been kissed.
CW: None! “Practice kiss” trope, friends to… more, mutual pining, Sam being a jealous, cheeky sweetheart, readers nervous but Sam makes it better (as she stresses him out real bad)
WC: 4.3K
Based on this request!
The highlighter in your hand hasn’t moved in at least five minutes.
Its tip sits idly against the smooth paper of your notebook, bright yellow ink bleeding into the next page. Your hand smudges the pen beneath it, ink staining the heel of your palm as it rests over the same sentence you’d abandoned moments ago, before your attention drifted somewhere else entirely.
To someone else.
Sam is sprawled sideways across the plush covers of his bed, one knee bent awkwardly to the side, the other long leg of his hanging half off the edge. He twirls his pencil loosely between two fingers, The Stanford Daily crossword spread open across his thighs, covered in partially finished answers and soft graphite smudges. His fingers tap absentmindedly to the beat of some catchy rock song humming from the radio, his foot bouncing right along with it.
You’d shown up to his dorm to study. And, to be fair, you had been studying. It’s not out of the ordinary for you to swing by his room when the library gets a little too loud—the calm, warm sanctuary of your best friend’s space becoming one of your own. It’s cozy. Comfortable. Watching him do little mundane tasks while you fry your brain with chemical reactions and nuclear physics equations has become, funny enough, one of your most savoured pastimes.
And usually, it works. Keeps you grounded from the mental cyclone that is university. Especially when the pressure of finals is weighing on your shoulders so physically, that you’re pretty sure you’re developing a bit of a hunch. Your chemistry exam certainly isn’t about to write itself, no matter how much time you spend in the lab, and if you don’t get your head wrapped around the concept of chemoselectivity within the next fourty-eight hours, you can practically kiss your entire degree goodbye.
Metaphorically, of course.
But it’s hard to keep your brain focused on chemical reagents when Sam’s right there, worrying his lip between his teeth, wearing the world’s sweetest thinking face, and blissfully oblivious to the chaos silently unfolding in your head. A chaos that currently consists 40% of organic chemistry, and 60% oh my God, his mouth.
“Hey.” His eyes shift to yours, pencil pausing mid-spin. “What’s an eight letter word for ‘emphasized’?”
The question, breaking the silence, makes you raise your brows. Your highlighter finally slips from your loose grasp, rolling between the pages of your open notebook, leaving behind a wobbly, bright yellow line behind that you’ll probably complain about later.
“Uh,” you buffer, blinking at him. “Asserted?”
He makes an affirming sound, one that makes your heart flutter far more than it probably should, before he shakes his head.
“Mmm… should start with an S.” He scribbles it out quickly, his eraser moving in slow, lazy strokes. The radio crackles on the mellow chord of a guitar intro, the beginnings of something by Nirvana, but it only catches your attention for a second before your focus drifts back to Sam. Sam, twirling that pencil that looks so tiny in his unfairly large hands, staring intensely at the crossword like solving it will reveal the secrets of the universe.
He chews on the inside of his lip as he thinks, pulling the corner on sharp canines, and for a second too long, you can’t tug your gaze away. You trace the moles dotting his face, the shape of his mouth, the soft bow of his lips, the pink hue highlighted by the warm lamp light…
And by the time you snap out of it, he’s already looking back at you. Not just glancing this time, but holding the contact. His messy hair falls over his forehead, casting a soft shadow over his sweet face, while the lamp’s glow catches in his dark pupils. He blinks slowly, tilting his head slightly, the same way a dog might when they hear something strange, before he speaks gently.
“…You okay?”
Caught.
You freeze for a suspiciously long beat, staring at him with an, admittedly, pretty dumb expression; but he doesn’t press. You purse your lips, debating, before you’re shifting your notebook off your lap, and crossing the small room in two short strides.
You sit cross-legged in the middle of the bed, facing him, both of your hands falling into your lap, threading your fingers together as you give them a small, reassuring squeeze.
“Actually, I… there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” you say quickly. “You heard of that party tomorrow night after the football game, yeah? Tom’s frat?”
Sam’s brows furrow for a blink, before he softens. He lowers the newspaper slowly, setting it to the blanket beside him without looking away. His eyes turn full on attentive, damn him, the same look he wears when you ramble about something stupid, or ask him a million questions after lectures. The one that really means I’m listening, even though you’re definitely distracting me.
“Yeah?” he says simply, voice low and steady.
You swallow, gaze dropping to your hands as you squeeze them together, Sam’s eyes following suit. He saw that. He always does.
“Well… Chris from physics asked me to go,” you tell him quietly. “With him.”
Sam doesn’t move. Not a muscle. Not even that little crease between his brows that always forms when he’s processing something tough, or that tick in his jaw that always shows when he’s frustrated. Just… nothing.
“And… I dunno, I’m just—nervous? I guess?”
For the first time since Sam’s met you, the girl who borrows his hoodies without asking, who falls asleep against his shoulder during late night study sessions, whose laugh makes him stupidly giddy—he feels something cold and unfamiliar coil in his chest. Your words play on repeat in his head like a scratched record, one that’s too loud, too wrong, but is too out of control to shut off.
But he doesn’t say that. He never would.
Instead, he swallows, nods, and schools his expression into something carefully neutral.
“Okay, and… you’re going?” His voice comes out impossibly softer than usual, but in an almost manufactured, forced way. Careful-soft, the kind of tone people only use when they’re hiding something. You try not to dwell on it.
“I mean, I think so? Maybe?” you explain, an uncomfortable frown pulling at your lips. One of his own follows.
“You don’t have to. Don’t let him pressure you.”
Your jaw tightens as you shake your head, and your fingers tense hard enough to ache. Squeeze.
“No, no he’s not—that’s not what this is.” You laugh awkwardly, but it dies as quickly as it slips out. “He’s nice enough for… y’know. A frat boy. He’s just, bold, and I…”
You trail off, teeth pinching down on the inside of your cheek. Because God, why was this so damn embarrassing? It really shouldn’t be, because Christ, this is Sam. But it feels a little like beginning a presentation in front of an entire lecture hall, then realizing you forgot your notecards at your seat.
Your eyes flick back up to Sam’s, and something flashes across his face. Something too quick for you to decipher, gone far too fast for you to name. But if there’s one thing it does well, it’s make your words tumble out before you can catch them.
“Sam, I’ve never even kissed anyone.” Heat rushes to your face instantly. “What if I’m, like, awful?”
The room goes strangely quiet.
The radio keeps playing somewhere in the background, guitar humming softly through the speakers, but you become hyper-aware of everything else. Like the sound your palms make when they slide against each other. The slow exhale of Sam’s breath. The warm scent of his shampoo lingering in the room. The way he’s looking at you.
Or, the way he’s staring at you.
Because of all the things he expected you to say, that wasn’t even in the top ten. Nope—wasn’t even in the ballpark. Completely left field. Not about the party, or Chris, or his boldness. He knows all about that. But the sinking, twisting feeling in his gut was bracing for something else. For you to tell him that you liked Chris. Really liked Chris. That this conversation would shift to how excited you are. That he’d have to smile and nod as you gush, pretending that it doesn’t feel like a knife was jammed between his ribs.
But instead, you say that, staring at him like he’s the only person who can ease your nerves, and that? That just makes his chest ache in a whole new way. Because oh, oh fuck, he just hates how much the selfish, guilty part of him likes it.
His gaze softens, just a fraction. Not into something you can pick apart, not yet anyway, but some of that tension leaves his shoulders. Slowly, carefully, he turns to face you more fully, reaching his hand out to nudge your clenched fingers with his own, forcing them to relax.
“Oh, c’mon,” he tries, voice coming out lighter than his chest feels. “You won’t be awful.”
At that, your face does something a little stupid. Your nose scrunches up like you’ve just smelt something terrible, your hands lifting to scrape dramatically over your face, a whiny, pathetic sound slipping from your lips. Peering through the spaces between your fingers, you catch Sam’s expression cracking. Something like warm, fond amusement breaking through the mask in a dimpled grin.
“Everyone I know has said their first kiss sucked,” you deadpan. “I mean, you told me yours was barely a peck, and then you spilled soda everywhere!”
He cringes at the memory, before leaning forward slightly. Not enough to invade your space, not without asking, but enough to rest his elbow on his knee, cheeks slightly pink from mild embarrassment creeping up his neck.
“Okay, maybe mine sucked,” he admits with a shrug, and a sweet laugh. “But, y’know. Just keep your elbows away from soda cans, and you’ll be just fine—”
“Shut up, Sam.”
You roll your eyes, raising two hands to plant firmly on his shoulders. Those broad, muscled shoulders, that you have to pretend not to stare (read: ogle) at. His eyes widen at the contact, his body going a little stiff, before relaxing into the touch. “This is serious,” you complain, giving him a shake, and he sways like the jostling does anything. It doesn’t, not really. He just lets you believe it does.
He’s holding back a laugh, and you can tell. To his credit, he does an alright job, but there’s really no denying the way he’s biting the hell out of his tongue.
“I’m gonna ask you something, and I need you to not freak out, okay? Just, think about it. Please.” His face sobers up immediately, shifting into something almost concerned, which really, really doesn’t help the nerves licking up your spine. “I wanted to, um. Ask if you’d, uh… teach me.”
You swallow.
“Y’know. How to kiss.”
You’re almost sure Sam stops breathing for a second.
His eyes don’t widen. His lips don’t part. In fact, absolutely nothing happens to that usually very expressive face of his, which is infinitely more terrifying. It’s like every neuron in his genius brain fired at once, sent a thousand signals in every direction, before crapping out entirely.
“Sam.” You shake his shoulders again, and this time, he forgets to sway. Your fingers dig into the meat of his shoulders, leaving dimples in the soft cotton of his tee shirt. “Say something.”
He blinks, once, twice, before coming back to it. Mostly.
“…What?”
Your stomach drops like a rock in water.
“Please don’t make me say it again,” you croak, words catching in your throat like you’ve swallowed thick, sticky syrup. Your brain spirals—he’s too stiff. Too silent. What if you ruined things? What if he kicks you out? Oh God, what if he never speaks to you again? “I… I’m sorry. I know that’s—you don’t have to, I mean, I’d never—”
“Okay.”
You pause, choking on your words. “…Okay?”
Sam nods slowly, his face still really not giving you a whole lot to work with, and that only makes you spiral.
“Just—just okay?” you sputter, your hands dropping from his thick shoulders to grip the fabric of your pants. Squeeze. Your heart picks up a frantic, erratic drum solo against your ribs. “Nothing else? Y’just blank, and then ‘okay’?”
He blinks, the neutral mask finally shattering into something else, something almost defensive. But it’s the Sam-version of defensive, which as it turns out, is a whole lot cuter than it is intimidating. His brows pinch together, forming a sharp crease between them, his nose scrunching as he pulls up his hands in mock-surrender. “Well, y’know, I… you told me to think about it!”
“Yeah, well, not like that!” you shoot back, the strange mix of nerves, frustration, and sticky-sweet affection making your pitch pick up a fraction.
He winces, something like guilt painting his features. “Okay, okay, sorry. Uh.” He lets out a long, shaky exhale, and you feel it fan over your cheeks. When did he get so close? His shoulders drop with some sort of forced-calm, as his eyes search yours with a sudden, almost startling vulnerability.
“…Yeah,” he murmurs, the word soft, barely above a breath. “Yeah, of course. I mean, if that’s what you want. Really want.” He pauses. “I mean. It’s just… practice, right?”
You nod, but your throat feels too tight to speak. Right. What you really want. Practice. The words spin and dance around in your head for a moment, echoing on repeat, and there’s something about the smooth, comforting rumble of his voice that settles your spiraling anxiety into something shallower. Calmer.
“…Yeah. Practice.”
Sam shifts, closing just a bit of remaining distance between you. His movements are agonizingly slow, giving you every opportunity to pull away, to laugh it off, to change your mind. When you don’t, his hand comes up. Those long, warm, graphite-tinted fingers gently take your hand, flipping it over to brush a soothing circle over your whitened knuckles. The touch sends a fresh, electric wave of heat rushing to your face. Damn him.
“We can stop whenever you want,” he whispers, his gaze dropping to your mouth before flicking back up to your eyes. “Okay?”
“Okay,” you breathe out, your voice coming out far quieter than you’d intended, and he smiles. It’s small, a subtle tug of his lips, but dimples dent his pink-tinted cheeks in a way that makes your stomach flip.
“Relax for me,” he instructs. “Just a peck first, yeah? Test the waters. Then tell me how you feel.”
He waits for you to nod, then leans in, and nothing could pull you away from him then, not even your pulse threatening to pound straight out your chest. His eyes flutter closed, and it takes you a moment to realize that oh yeah, yours probably should too, and then they do, and then he’s kissing you.
It’s just a peck. Barely there, exactly like he said.
It’s not like the movies, where there’s a dramatic swell of music, or fireworks exploding somewhere in the distance. It’s just Sam. It’s the familiar, comforting scent of his laundry detergent and the faint, sweet trace of the coffee he’d abandoned on his desk earlier. It’s the soft, hesitant press of his lips against yours.
But it’s enough to make your entire world feel like it’s tilted on its axis.
His lips are softer than you’d imagined. And that only makes you think holy shit, have I imagined this before?, and that’s a whole new can of worms you’re not quite willing to open up yet. Not when he pulls away, far sooner than you’d like, and you find yourself wishing he’d lingered.
He doesn’t go far. Your eyes take a second too long to blink back open, and when they do, he’s already looking at you. Those soft, hazel depths swirling with something so warm that you have to fight the urge to squirm.
“See? Not awful,” he teases, his big hand squeezing yours where his fingers are still cradling your wrist. “…Feelin’ okay?”
“Uh-huh, yes. Okay.” You nod, a too-fast, jerky movement, and his eyebrow raises, a laugh huffing from his chest.
“Right,” he snickers, and then his other hand is moving. Still slow, still careful, but when it lands on your cheek, you have to fight every urge to lean right into it. But that sounds very non-platonic, and this is normal, friends-teaching-friends, thank you very much, so you resist. “…I’m gonna do it again. Just a little more. And you tell me if it’s too much, too fast.”
You nod, and then he’s closing the space again—but your palm lands flat on his chest, and he pauses. Confusion clouds his face, then concern, a question forming on his tongue, but you’re faster. “What—what do I do with my hands?”
The brief flash of worry melts, puddles into warmth right along with your heart, as his expression fades back into fond amusement. A faint dusting of pink blooms across his cheeks, across the gorgeous slope of his nose, and he lets out a quiet, breathy laugh, dipping his head.
“Whatever you want,” he says, his voice a low, raspy hum that vibrates straight through your palm still resting on his chest. He glances at your hand, then back to your eyes, tilting his head. “Or stay right there. I don’t mind.”
When you don’t say anything right away, a shuddering breath flowing from your parted lips, he softens. Completely.
“Hey,” he whispers, thumb stroking your cheek gently. “How about… you just keep ‘em where they are. Just like that. And then… just follow whatever feels right. Yeah?”
A smile tugs at your lips. “Okay. Yeah.”
This time, when he closes the distance, it’s not as hesitant. He tilts his head slightly, his warm palm gently guiding yours to do the same, and when his lips brush yours, the kiss is different entirely. It’s no longer a testing, fleeting peck.
His lips part slightly against yours, soft and yielding, and for one terrifying, wonderful second, the world narrows down to nothing but the heat of his mouth and the gentle, grounding pressure of his hand cupping your jaw. He has to duck his head to reach you, so you let yours fall back just slightly—it should be awkward, cramped, but God, it’s really not. He hums, a sound that feels a little like approval (and Christ you hope it was), and then his hand in yours slides away.
Not quickly, or harshly, only the opposite. It never leaves you completely, trailing warm, teddy-bear soft fingertips along your forearm until they dip, circling your waist. Now it’s your turn to hum, and he responds by adding just a little more pressure against your lips. Tilting your face a little further to align with his. Your body sings with the touch, head going all airy, mouth tingling, pulse fluttering, and holy shit, you’re really kissing someone.
You’re really kissing Sam.
Inevitably, your mind starts to reel. How do you breathe? Do you pull back? Is that rude?—but Sam must feel it in the way a shaky exhale warms his cheek, because his lips part from yours just long enough to drag a breath into your abused lungs. Then he’s right back on you all over again.
Yes, your body soars, a dumb, happy sound tumbling into his parted lips, high-pitched and giddy. His thumb dimples into the plush flesh of your hip, his lips popping off of yours. He chuckles, sneaking one more kiss to your cheek.
“Awh,” he coos, heat climbing up your neck. “That was cute.”
You don’t quite have the capacity to tell him to shut his trap, considering that you’re pretty sure your brain tapped out two Sam-kisses ago, but your body moves of its own accord. The arm that isn’t smushed between your chests slings around his neck, fingers threading into the messy hair at his nape, and then you’re pulling him in.
The enthusiasm at which he reciprocates pushes your body back, but oh, he catches you, strong arm still circling your waist, fingers pressing into your skin. He feels impossibly bigger that way, half-looming over you, broad and steady, never imposing. His neck is fever-hot beneath your fingertips, and you can feel the rapid, fluttering pulse pattering a frantic rhythm at his throat.
He’s feeling it too.
And that, that alone, has a fresh wave of electricity buzzing through your veins. Your mouth parts, instinct taking over, as he swipes his hot tongue along your lower lip. He doesn’t push through the seam, not even if your body was begging for it—not yet, anyway—but that little taste has your fingers tugging softly in his hair. Your body screams closer, closer, closer, your chest pushing against his, all that Sam-warmth of his a very welcome comfort.
“Don’t know what you were s’worried about,” he hums, breath hot against your lips. “You’re a natural, sweetheart.”
The words do something to your stomach, something gooey, something gratifying, a strange mix of heated flush and goosebumps rising on your skin.
“Yeah?” you purr, Sam responding by pulling you in further, shifting you up-right, letting both hands settle at your waist. Your body smushes so close to his, that you may as well be straddling those tree trunk-thick thighs of his.
In an utterly, completely platonic way, of course.
As it turns out, once you begin kissing Sam, it’s just about impossible to stop. You alternate between pecks and deep, long kisses. It’s not as sloppy as you imagined, and maybe less… wet, but that could just be him. Sam kisses with a force that could be mistaken for passion, or even reverence, sweet and gentle and fuck, the back of your mind just keeps rattling about how right it feels.
“You taste so good,” he breathes, and you mmm-hmm your agreement, unwilling to part too long, just as his tongue swipes across your lip again. Fucking-fuck.
“You planned this, didn’t you? Taste—tastin’ like heaven.” You don’t have time to fluster, not with how he mouths at you. All you can do is whine. “S’that strawberry, honey?”
You don’t have the breath to deny it, not when his mouth continues moving against yours with just devastating, sweet enthusiasm. He kisses you like he’s been waiting months, years to do it, and maybe, just maybe, he has. One hand slides up your back, slipping into your hair, tangling with the locks and holding you flush against him as the kiss deepens. It turns heavy, all consuming as you melt into him, a soft, breathy sound escaping your lips. And oh, Sam’s done.
His tongue finally, finally slips past your lips, tasting of black coffee and the sweet berry chapstick that’s smudged against his own mouth. It’s intoxicating.
Your brain croons, because this, this is it, you realize. It settles that Sam’s kisses are the best you’ll ever have, and you’ll just have to live with that forever.
Screw Chris.
The grip on your waist tightens as he angles his head, deepening the kiss until your mind goes entirely, blissfully blank. You can forget forming thoughts, your brain all gooey and useless in such a perfect way, something you weren’t even sure was possible. It’s heated, slightly messy in the best way, and you’re pretty sure he’s stolen your ability to breathe entirely.
It’s right in the middle of one of those searing, mind-numbing kisses when your brain, the torturous, unorganized organ that it is, suddenly misfires entirely. A synaptic impulse jumps the gap, and your eyes fly open.
You pull back abruptly, your hands falling to grip his shoulders again as if to steady yourself. You’re panting, lips tingling, face so hot you feel as though you could melt like ice cream in the middle of summer.
Sam blinks, dazed, those sweet, hazel puppy eyes blown wide. “What? What is it? Did I—”
“Stressed,” you blurt, breathless, voice carrying just a little too loud through the heavy air of the dorm room.
Sam freezes. His face falls. Hazy warmth clears the way for sharp, genuine concern. Both hands drop from your waist as though he was burned, cupping your cheeks instead, his thumbs brushing below your eyes as he scans your face for any sign of a spiral. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he soothes. His voice drops into that protective, heart-breaking register he uses when you’re on the verge of a panic attack, or sobbing over some organic chemistry lab. “Breathe f’me, okay? I’m sorry, we can stop, I shouldn’t have pushed—”
“No, no, Sam, listen,” you interrupt, grabbing his wrists to still his frantic, stupidly-comforting motions. “The crossword. Eight letters. Starts with S.”
He stares at you. Pauses. Then, slowly, the pieces click into place.
The concern in his eyes dissolves completely, into something so profoundly fond, so overwhelmingly soft, that it almost hurts your chest to see. A slow, dimpled grin spreads across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes, as a disbelieving laugh tumbles from his lips, and his forehead drops against yours.
“Oh my God,” he whispers, the vibration of his chuckle buzzing against your skin. “You, Jesus, I have my tongue in your mouth, and you’re thinking ‘bout the crossword?”
“It—it was bugging me!” you defend weakly, though a smile is already beginning to tug at your own lips. You can still feel the tingle of his. “And, y’know, it fits!”
“Uh-huh,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping back to your mouth. The fondness in his eyes darkens, slow and languid, slipping into something more heated. His thumb traces the curve of your jaw one last time. “Yeah. It does, sweetheart.”
Before you can say another word, long before you can register his big man-paws sliding back down to cradle your waist, he closes the distance. He shuts you up completely, mouth crashing against yours in a kiss that doesn’t feel platonic—and sure as hell doesn’t feel like practice.
Not at all.
AN: Okay sooo, got side tracked by this adorable ask, oops! Have some sweet, fluffy Stanford Sam (who, I’ve come to realize that you guys absolutely adore. Me too, my friends).
Anyways, should be returning to my roots, writing absolute filth soon, I promise! I just have absolutely no focusing ability recently, lol. Also, side note, the chemistry stuff in here is just stuff I vaguely remember, so it’s probably definitely wrong.
This might just be the MOST ADORABLE FIC IVE EVER READ OH MY GOD!!! I DON’T EVEN HAVE WORDS IM JUST LIKE… INJECT IT INTO MY VEINS- FEED IT TO ME FOR BREAKFAST, LUNCH, AND DINNER!!
Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader - formerly Sam Winchester x reader
Summary: you and Dean get a little closer, hidden feelings come to light.
An: finally something for my Dean. I’m in a bit of a Dean phase rn I can’t even lie, like I’ve been absorbing so much Dean content as of late so here’s to that. Definitely gonna do a part three where they finally… yk.
wc: 1.9k - Dean Masterlist - part 1
You left home.
The change had been simple at first. You had cut Sam from your life in the ways that mattered. That was every way.
You supposed it was because you had accepted a long time ago that you and Sam weren't meant to be. That maybe the budding feelings you've had for his brother was the universes fucked up way of ruining the small family you had.
It hadn't. It had just opened your eyes to the bigger picture.
You were at a park, sitting on a bench watching the lives of men, women, and children who hadn't been tainted with the knowledge of too much.
You sighed, pulling your knees to your chest, praying that the approaching footsteps weren't who you thought they were.
"You ever plan on comin home?" Said a familiar voice that you had come to miss. You shrugged your shoulders. "Didn't know if I was still welcome." You replied.
Dean takes a seat next to you. You can feel the warmth of his body even through the layers of clothing he insists looked sexy.
He snorts "please. Sam and I say worse things to each other on a daily basis" he tries to comfort. You knew he wasn't truly aware of your inner turmoil.
You shook your head, looking at him, he looked like he hadn't been sleeping, and drinking too much, even for him. "I meant what I said Dean. Sam and I… were done. I think we have been for a long time and just refused to accept it."
Deans eyes connect with yours, his eyebrows were drawn and the frown on his face deepened. "Sam loves you"
You laughed bitterly "he left me Dean. Over and over. Would you do that to… someone?" 'To me' is what you meant, but you couldn't say it.
Deans expression didn't waver, but his anwser came immediately "I'd take myself out before I willingly leave… someone I love" 'before I willingly leave you' is what he meant but couldn't say. "I'd- I'd like to say Sam would do the same… but-" he couldn't finish his sentence as if finally accepting what you already had.
You swallowed harshly, understanding perfectly "right"
"Right"
You went home with him. Against your better judgment you did.
You looked around the bunker cautiously, not ready to face Sam and the final acceptance that comes with it.
Dean noticed the caution on your face "He's not here. Left out this morning for a hunt. Shouldn't be back for a few days."
Your body visibly relaxed. What Dean refrained from telling you, was that he made Sam go because he knew you were less likely to come home if he was there.
You looked at Dean, who looked just a few pounds lighter. "Thank you for bringing me home" you said, giving him a soft smile before taking off to your room.
You spent the rest of the day there.
You were in the middle of making your bed when a knock sounded at your cracked door. You looked over and it was Dean, pushing the door open further, his apron on and a plate in his hand.
You raised your eyebrows, he cleared his throat "I uh- figured you were-" he gestured at your new change of clothes "decent, since your door was open" his ears reddened
You smiled "lucky you" you mused.
He gave a small smile, "yeah… well I made you dinner. Know you like my burgers so I fired up the grill" he held out the plate to you.
You walked towards him, grabbing the plate noticing how he kept the burger meat seperate from the bun and all of the toppings to the side because you hated soggy burger buns.
"Thank you Dean." You said, the smile on your face growing. "I- did you already eat? Or can I join you?"
"Uh no, I was gonna watch a movie in the Dean cave, you can join if you want." He offered.
You nodded "yeah of course"
That's how you spent the night, Dean, a snack bowl he had prepared (with the hopes of you joining him) and a cowboy movie.
You spent half of it giggling at deans dramatic but accurate reinactions of the movie.
The next half you spent asleep, head in deans lap. He had moved you because your head kept slipping from his shoulder.
His heart sank and soared at the sight of you in his lap. On one hand, the guilt from the feelings that had been eating him alive for years was gnawing at him more than ever. Sam's his brother, he'd do anything for him.
But in the other hand he couldn’t deny that his brother didn't deserve you. The woman that picked him up after every fight, the one who stayed beside him even after he'd done something to humiliate her (yet again) the woman he kept proving would never be the one for him.
Dean couldn't fault you for leaving Sam. Hell he'd prayed for the day that you realized he wasn't it for you. Selfishly he prayed for the day that you looked towards him with eyes that looked at him like he hung the stars and moon for you. Because he would.
Of all the things in the world Dean would do anything for you. Anything. Even if it came down to it- betraying his brother.
He tuned out the galloping sounds coming from the tv, focus set solely on you. His thumb caressed your jaw, holding back from saying everything his heart pleaded of him.
Three words and eight letters. Except he couldn't say them, not out loud. Not to you.
You woke up in your bed, your mind immediately reminded you of last night. You smiled to yourself at the content you felt.
It had been a long time since you felt that. Content. Not worrying yourself to the ground wondering if the man you loved truly loved you back. Now it didn't matter.
You slipped out of bed, quietly making your way to the kitchen to put coffee on. Your foot tapped impatiently, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing before realizing you needed a mug.
You moved towards the cabinet where the mugs were kept, groaning in irritation when you noticed the mugs far too out of your reach. "Seriously?" You muttered.
"Need a hand?" Deans voice infiltrated your ears. You turned around, eyes locking with Dean who looked at you with raised eyebrows.
You nod, stepping back. Dean brushed past you, effortlessly grabbing a mug and placing it in your hand. He glances as the coffee maker "enough for me?" He asks. You nod, he turns to grab one for himself.
"You always bring me back." you spill randomly.
He looks at you, confused and intrigued "what do you mean" his eyes narrow in the way they always did when he was trying to decipher something.
His gaze was heavy on you, like you could physically feel the weight of it. It made your heart flutter, the familiarity of it.
You turned away from him, opting to pour your coffee than watch his reaction to the words about to spill from your mouth. "When Sam messes up. Or when he decides that I'm no longer needed in the next chapter of his life. It's never him to come pick up the pieces" you explain as the coffee fills the cup.
Dean was caught off guard. Of course he knew that. Because something in him. Some sick and twisted part of him kept hoping that one day its be him that you come home to.
"Why?" You asked
'I'd be better for you. I bring you back because even with Sam I can't do this without you. I don't wanna. I want you to hurt anymore but I can't sit and watch you go.' It's what his heart said.
"Because you deserve better" was what slipped out. His gaze stayed heavy on your back, the weight almost felt like a plea. For everything and nothing at the same time.
Please let me down easy.
Please give yourself to me.
You placed the mug down on the counter, letting out a breath "I need more than that Dean. Tell me the truth." You knew there was more. You felt it and you knew he did too.
"I- look at me. Please" Dean softly demanded. You turned to him, his eyes were softer, shoulders sagging, body looking like it was half in, half out.
He moved closer to you, "I- I bring you back because I need you here." His hands grab yours " even if I can never have you, even if you're Sam's-"
"I'm not"
"Doesn't matter. You were and I can't have you because of it. But I'd rather have you around than not at all."
Your vision blurs, tears filling your waterline. "You can have me. For once be selfish." You pleaded with him. Dean closed his eyes, forehead leaning against yours "you still love Sam" he tells you.
You shake your head ready to object but he cuts you off "and even if you don't. You're off limits to me."
"I don't have to be" you muttered "he's your brother, but where was he when you were In purgatory? While I spent night and day trying to find you? In bed with another woman. One he loved."
Dean pulled away from you, he looked shocked. As if you had burned him. "You looked for me?" He asked breathlessly.
"I never stopped."
In the blink of an eye he was on you. His lips pressed against yours and for the first time ever your world seemed at peace. You moaned into his kiss, your hand moving to the back of his head and tangling in his hair.
"Thought you forgot about me" he muttered against your lips. You whined in response because how could he possibly think that? "I could never." You promised.
Deans tongue danced with yours, both of your breathing harsh and heavy against the others skin. It was so wrong, but it felt so right.
Dean grabbed your hips, pulling you as flush with him as possible. He pulled away from the kiss, his lust blown eyes connecting with your own "I need you to be mine now" he said. His eyebrows were pulled together and he looked two seconds from dropping to his knees.
He wasn't going to beg you. Not verbally. And even if he did, you didn't need to. The second you realized that Dean was the one, months before he'd returned from purgatory, you knew.
Your lips brushed against his, "I've been yours" you whispered back. Dean smiled, connecting your lips once again he pulled you tighter "damn right"
You could feel his touch travel through your bloodstream, it sparked feelings in you that you didn't know where possible. The touch, smell, and feeling of him made you feel like you were floating.
However, that all came crashing down when the sound of a clearing throat interrupted you. You killed away from Dean, looking towards the sound.
There he was, back two days early from his trip. Sam stood in the doorway, looking between you and Dean who made no effort to separate further than you already had.
Sam's jaw clenched "you weren't kidding" he said.
You shook your head "nope. How does it feel?" Your expression cold and hardened. You stepped towards him "I hope it hurts. I hope it shatters you. Maybe then- you will know a fraction of that hurt you caused me. Over and over again."
Sam's looked utterly crushed. His eyes connected with deans who's expression was as unreadable as it always was.
He looked back at you there were now tears in his eyes.
I saw this edit and it makes me think that they should make a movie or tv show about two young women who befriend each other and find out they are both being courted by charming vampires until they realize the vampires in question really are dangerous and violent monsters, so they team up to take them down and become vampire huntresses together (+ they fall in love).
Does this make me weird 😓? It’s giving demon Dean and soulless Sam and I’m here for it in the best ways
I can't view them BC I don't have Instagram and it keeps redirecting me to the app store but I'm pretty sure I know what you're talking about and the predator/prey stuff isn't really my thing but...this is kinda hot.
Explicit/16+ - predator/prey, hunting, free use - gn!reader
I feel like they wouldn't do the whole dressing up thing naturally but would 100% hunt you down if they couldn't find you one day, then when you tell them you're into it, they go all out.
They get the gear, they "release" you into the forest somewhere in the middle of Oregon where no one will find you and get to work.
They split up and make it a competition, whoever finds you first gets to fuck you. And if they can keep you quiet, they can keep you, but if you're too loud, the other one will find you and they'll both use you however they like.
When they're like this, they're ruthless fucking killers and they will stop at nothing.
They'll keep you in the forest for as long as you can stand, not caring about creature comforts, only wanting to fuck you until you break.
wordcount: 1622
summary: having to do a presentation in front of a classroom full of teenagers feels a lot less terrifying when there's a six foot four moose standing beside you, willing to do anything and everything to make it easier for you.
warnings: fluff, deer!reader (fem), moose!sammy, idiots in love figuring out n being oblivious, highschool life is Hell, reader implied to have social anxiety, sammy is a sweetheart, dean teasing because he’s a through n through messy older brother– think that’s all for now !!!
The announcement should've come with a warning. A waiver or something, maybe a small note explaining exactly why high school teachers enjoyed inflicting psychological warfare upon their students. Because standing in front of a classroom full of teenagers and willingly drawing attention to yourself? Sounded suspiciously similar to public execution. Unfortunately, your teacher seemed to disagree. "Project presentations will be worth thirty percent of your grade for this semester" The collective groan that swept through the classroom felt somewhat validating. Good. At least everyone else understood how shitty the situation was. "You guys can choose your own partners"
The room immediately erupted into movement– chairs scraped, people called out to friends, someone nearly tripped over a backpack. Meanwhile, you simply turned your head and Sam was already looking at you.
"Hm?" He tilts his head in a silent question.
You barely had to reply, simply nodding with a soft: "Mhm"
That settled that.
Throughout the morning, working with Sam was surprisingly easy. You'd expected at least one argument, one disagreement or at least one moment where you had to remind him that not every project required the same level of dedication as a NASA launch. Instead, the two of you easily slipped into a rhythm– research during lunch, planning during free periods, library sessions after school.
Sam handled information like he was born for it. Facts, sources, organization. Meanwhile, your contributions mostly consisted of listening to him ramble on and on about different concepts. In your defense, it was mesmerizing. He put such dedication and care into learning, explaining everything to you– not to make you feel bad about not knowing it already, but to let you into his little world of knowledge. "You color coded the concepts?"
He glanced up from his notebook, wide hazel eyes meeting yours through the messy locks or brown hair falling over his face. "Mhm?"
"Sammy" You can’t help but chuckle softly, disbelievingly fond at his logic.
"What?"
"People don’t usually do that"
His eyebrows pulled together in that confused-puppy look he got all the time. "How else would you organize it?"
You stared at him, lips slowly pulling into a soft smile, shrugging. “Fair enough” Sure, organizing the necessary points by red-orange-green depending on importance wasn’t the usual way of going about it, but it wasn’t like either one of you were normal in any other way so whatever.
His boyish grin arrived immediately, dimples and all. God those pretty dimples.
The first main problem appeared once y’all started practicing the speaking part of the presentation. Not the project itself, not the information, not even the note cards. The actual standing-up-in-front-of-people part.
Sam finished his section without issue. Despite being fairly quiet in class and soft spoken overall, it was fairly easy for him to openly talk about the stuff that he likes. The awkward six foot four nerd turns into a calm professor-level presenter with big words and hand gestures.
Then it was your turn. You stood, looked down at your notes, and started reading. You got a good three sentences in, maybe four before every word started tangling together. Your mouth felt wrong, the library felt too warm, too quiet, too– "Sorry" You immediately sat back down, heat creeping into your face. Embarrassing. Pathetic. Ridiculous. Oh my God you were gonna look so stupid– Sam was going to do an amazing presentation and you’d just make it look awful with your trembling words and dodgy eyes.
Across the table, Sam frowned– not judgmental, just concerned. "You okay?"
The answer came automatically. "Yeah"
His expression didn't change, which was unfortunate because by now he knew you pretty darn well. And apparently? That meant he knew when you weren’t being fully honest either.
Presentation day arrived far too quickly for your liking. You spent most of the first period considering your options, they included:
A) running away
B) faking your own death
C) running away after faking your own death
None of them seemed realistic. (Unfortunately) By the time you reached your locker, Sam was already there, waiting for you like always. "Hey"
"Hi" He handed you a stack of note cards, you blinked while looking over them. Then blinked again. "...Sam?"
"What?"
You flipped through them. Most of the presentation had been rearranged– the longer sections, the introductions, the parts involving speaking in front of everyone… They were all his now. Your eyes lifted to meet his warm, expectant gaze. "You changed it"
He shifts on his feet, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck as if it weren’t a huge deal for you. "A little"
"Sammy"
His huge shoulders hunching slightly into himself– making himself smaller like he always does. "You looked nervous" The words were simple, matter-of-fact– not pity, not judgment. Just an honest observation. The way someone might mention it was raining outside instead of confessing the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for you without even having to ask. You stared at him, then down at the cards and then back at him. Your chest felt weirdly tight– not the bad kind of tight, like when trying to speak in front of the class. Tight in the ‘oh my God you’re such a sweetheart’ kind of way.
"Oh"
Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "If that's okay, I mean… I don’t want to be overbearing or just assume anything or whatever–"
You laughed softly. Because somehow he'd spent hours reorganizing an entire presentation and still looked worried you'd be upset. "Yeah" A pause, you smile softly up at him. "That's okay" The relief on his face was immediate.
After that, y’all walk together to class just like every other day. There were a couple other groups that went before you, but eventually the inevitable came– standing in front of the class still sucked. For the record, it sucked tremendously. (No amount of preparation could change that) Your heart hammered against your ribs, your body felt hot, the room felt too big, too loud, too everything. You glanced sideways, Sammy stood beside you– calm, steady, ready. From the outside? It must’ve looked a bit ridiculous, the towering wall of floppy brown hair shielding your smaller, skittish frame from the class’ searing gaze. When Sam noticed you looking, he offered a small smile, the kind meant only for you. Somehow, your breathing evened out, even if it was just a little.
The presentation began– whenever you stuttered, he picked up the thread. Whenever you hesitated, he gave you a second to recover without making a big deal out of it. Never interrupting, never taking over, just...being there, beside you like always.
The presentation was done before you knew it, over much faster than you’d made yourself think it would last. Relief had already started settling into your bones by the moment y’all sat back down.
A couple hours later, the final bell rang. Students flooded into the hallway while you and Sam lingered behind, gathering your stuff with all the time and peace y’all used to have around each other. For a moment, it was just the two of you. "Pretty sure you carried that entire presentation" You hummed softly, glancing over at him from the notes you were stuffing into your backpack.
Sam looked up, confused like the idea had never occurred to him. "You did all of the slides"
"Still"
He shrugged, simple and easy. The answer was obvious in his mind. "That's what partners are for" Something warm settled quietly inside your chest– comfortable, familiar, safe. Like finding shelter beneath the branches of a tree you'd known for what felt like forever but never fully trusted you could use. For a second, you wondered if maybe the guide on the field trip had been right, animals did seek familiar environments during periods of stress. For you? That had slowly become Sam Winchester.
When Sam got back home, the front door had barely closed behind him when Dean's voice drifted lazily from the couch. "So…"
The younger brother immediately groaned. "Dude, don’t"
Dean grinned without even looking away from the TV (Something western and probably older than both of them playing on the screen) "Didn't say anything."
"You were going to" He huffs, kicking off his shoes and walking into the living room.
The blonde shrugs shamelessly. "I was"
Sam plopped down onto the couch next to him. "Don't"
Dean finally looked over, a teasing glint to his eyes. Of course he had to tease him! It was his duty as an older brother. "How'd the presentation go with your deer?"
The tips of Sam's ears immediately turned pink. "She's not my deer"
"Good" He nodded faux solemnity. "Glad to hear the six hours you spent reorganizing that presentation paid off"
Sam froze. "...What?"
"Dude" Dean scoffs, glancing over at his brother. "We share a room" A pause for dramatism because of course he does. "You were up until like one in the morning, ‘course I noticed the scribbling n’light on"
Sam groans in embarrassment, rubbing his hands over his face. "I was just helping"
The blonde barks out a laugh. "Right"
"I was" Sam doubles down, glaring at his older brother.
"Sammy"
"What?"
"You completely rewrote some crappy project ‘cause you saw she was nervous" The moose shifted awkwardly, back of his neck suddenly becoming very interesting to touch. Dean pointed at him. "See?"
"What?"
He scoffs, gesturing vaguely at him. "That"
"Dude what?"
"That thing you do"
Sam frowned with puppy-like confusion, head tilting to the side. "I don't know what you're talking about"
Dean looked toward the ceiling like he was searching for strength from someone up above. "Man, you got it bad"
Requests are closed for the first time EVER 🤯 I love you guys’s requests but because I took a week or so from writing they’ve managed to pile up. I love conversations with you guys and your requests are always so good! I’ve made a few new friends since I’ve started writing more but I would like to start shifting focus back to my stories.
Twisted luck - Sam Winchester rewrite
HNTRZ - band Sam x Fem!reader
SERENDEPITY - Klaus mikaelson x fem reader
Winters heart - Bucky Barnes x fem!reader marvel rewrite (unreleased)
SOUL-TIED - Klaus mikaelson a fem!reader tvd rewrite. (Unreleased)
There’s so much unfinished with these stories and ideas have been coming to me like crazy, there’s nothing I want more than to continue these stories. Now requests won’t be closed permanently, mostly until I clear my inbox, but they may take a bit longer for me to get to as they won’t be my main focus. If you don’t mind feel free to send them in once they’re open again :)
I have a very serious question to ask, and it may be difficult to answer.
What's your favourite animal?
I've come to the realization that I only know three of my mutuals' favourite animals and I wanna bring back 6 year old me's favourite question and throw it at some people, it's surprisingly useful information to have if you're a odd person lol
Mine's dogs bc I love mine to tears but I also adore cats and some other, less common cute ones like otters, raccoons, dikdiks, quokkas and many more <3
Oh this is easy.
I’ve had a fascination with wolves since I was a kid. It’s never changed just wolves. I had a project in second grade and I did a huge diorama on it and got first place because it was a hyper fixation I already had all the info I needed. I still to this day actively seek out wolf documentaries (there aren’t very many) when I’m trying to sleep.
But it makes sense my top 5 fave characters includes Klaus mikaelson.
I also have ZERO clue about the last two animals you named.
Was driving with my grandmother and in broken English she says “no eyes… no nose… no face. Don’t trust.” To which I looked around wildly in search of this omen of ill portend.
PAIRINGS: Dean Winchester/Fem!Reader, Demon!Dean Winchester/Fem!Reader, Mark of Cain!Dean Winchester/Fem!Reader
CHARACTERS: Female Reader Insert Character, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Rowena MacLeod, Charlie Bradbury, Crowley, Castiel, Claire Novak, Cain, Death the Horseman, Donatello Redfield, Amara
TO NOTE/WARNINGS: Angst, Smut, Spoilers for S9 & S10, Established Relationship, Demon Dean Winchester Being an Asshole, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Cure for the Mark of Cain, Minor Character Death, Temporary Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt No Comfort, Torture, Injury, Needles, Implied Cheating, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, Biting, Alcohol, Nightmares, Grief/Mourning, Canon-Typical Violence, Robbery, Attempted Sexual Assault, Murder, Mildly Dubious Consent, Angry Sex, Cunnilingus, Spanking, Arguing, Vomitting, Miscommunication, Betrayal, Blood, Depression, Makeup Sex, Emotional Sex, Gentle Sex, Shower Sex, Self-Destructive Dean Winchester, Led Zeppelin Reference, Angst with a Happy Ending(?), Not Canon Compliant, Fingering, Cowgirl Position
A/N: Demon!Dean and MOC!Dean hold my heart. I've been wanting to write an angsty fanfiction about the Mark of Cain arc for a while now, and the @jacklesversebingo challenge has inspired me to finally go for it. I haven't written a multichapter fanfiction in years, so I'm both nervous and excited. This is a longer project, bear with me. Be mindful of the warnings for each chapter, please. Feedback is always appreciated. <3
SUMMARY: As his nightmares get worse, Dean realizes he’s turning into something he’s terrified of; he needs his girlfriend’s help. The corruption of the Mark of Cain leads to a heart-wrenching promise. Can the curse be lifted or will it leave scars?
PLAYLIST
Chapter 1: Practice My Confession
Chapter 2: Breathe Me In, Bleed Me Out
Chapter 3: Bruised Fruits & Rotten Cores [PODFIC]
Chapter 4: You're Stained
Chapter 5: Fan Fiction
Chapter 6: Drown My Demons
Chapter 7: Love Is the Death of Peace of Mind
Chapter 8: I'm a Winged Insect, You're a Funeral Pyre
Chapter 9: Matador
Chapter 10: Rain On My Parade
Chapter 11: Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You
Epilogue: Daybreak
LISTEN TO THE PODFIC OF CHAPTER 3 ON YOUTUBE OR SPOTIFY:
Podfic Narration Time – Excerpt of “Tainted” by xReikaLiane (AKA ChevroletDean on tumblr, xReika on AO3) loves the Mark of Cain and DemonDea
Holy angst. I’ve been blessed today. Is it bad that I ACTIVELY look for this kind of angst? Like on a daily basis. And somehow Dean always has the best freaking angst
