Sam stands in a small gas station bathroom, her dirty white sundress hugging her curves in all the wrong places. The dress is too short for her long legs, exposing more of her skin than she's comfortable with. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and sees the reflection of Dean hovering behind her.
He reaches out and brushes her hair aside, his fingers lingering on her bare shoulder. She winces, her discomfort growing as she feels his breath on her neck. It's warm outside, even warmer in the stuffy bathroom, her skin slick and sticky.
Sam tries to move away from Dean, but he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close to him. His touch is rough, possessive even, as he whispers in her ear.
“You know you look good in this dress, don’t you?” he says, his voice low and gravelly.
Sam sighs, resigned to let Dean do as he pleases. "I'm growing out of it. Need to get something that fits."
Dean chuckles, his grip on her waist tightening. "I don't know, I think it fits just fine," he says, his eyes roaming over her body in the mirror. "Besides, I kind of like it when your clothes are a little too tight."
Sam squirms in Dean's hold, growing more uncomfortable. She fidgets, hands tugging at the hem of her dress like that'll fix anything. "We should go, De. Dad's waiting."
Dean tightens his grip on her, his fingers digging into her skin. "Dad can wait a few more minutes," he says, his voice dark. "I'm not done with you yet."
Sam’s heart pounds in her chest as she tries to squirm free from Dean's grasp, but he's too strong. He pushes her up against the mirror between the sinks , trapping her there.
Sam whimpers, face pressed against the cold glass. It feels grimy against her skin, unclean. "Dean-"
Dean presses his body against hers, pinning her. "Shut up," he growls, his voice low and commanding.
Sam can feel his breath on the back of her neck, his fingers gripping her wrists forcefully. She tries to struggle, but it’s pointless. Dean is too strong, too stubborn. She’s trapped.
It's not the first time Dean's done this, and it most certainly won't be the last. In a way, his words rang true. From the day Dean pulled her from the fire, she belong to him. She was his to care for, his to protect, his to own.
Despite the danger, there's a small, twisted part of her that finds comfort in the possessiveness. Dean's obsession with her has always been intense and consuming, but it’s the only thing she's ever known.
He leans in closer, his lips brushing against her ear.
"You’re mine," he whispers again, his voice low and dangerous. "You always have been, and you always will be. Understood?"
Sam nods, shutting her eyes when Dean lifts the back of her dress. She shivers, part desire part dread, not quite sure if it's butterflies or anxiety she's feeling in her stomach.
Dean's eyes roam over her body, his fingers tracing the exposed skin with a slow, deliberate touch. He snaps the band of her underwear where it meets thigh, tugging it. He leans in, his breath hot against her ear.
"You look so beautiful like this," he whispers, his voice filled with a dark, impossible need. "All mine."
His touch is possessive, almost violent as he turns her around so he can look her in the face.
Sam's pliant in Dean's hold, a doll for him to pose, to play with. Her head falls back against the mirror, eyes half open.
Dean smiles at the sight of her, his eyes dark and hungry. "That's a good girl," he says, his voice low and rough.
He runs his fingers over her bare skin, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He leans in closer, his lips only a breath away from hers.
"Say it," he orders. "Say that you're mine."
Briefly, Sam thinks it sounds almost desperate, like he's trying to hold on to something slipping away. And isn't that a thought, Sam getting away.
"Yours, Dean. Always yours."
Dean’s grip on her tightens, satisfied. "That's right," he growls. "You're mine. And don’t you ever forget it."
He leans in, his lips descending on hers in a rough, possessive kiss. His hands roam over her body, claiming her as his own with each touch.
Sam whimpers, her breath being stolen from her. Then again, was it ever even hers?
There's no escape, no way to resist Dean's possessive desire. He owns her, body and soul, and she knows it. Even still, she thinks she might try.