Dean x Reader
Summary: Dean flirts with everyone… except you. Suddenly, the guy who’s usually so smooth can’t seem to string two words together, and Sam has to step in to keep things from getting completely out of hand.
Genre: Fluff ♡
Word Count: 3.1K
Sam should really get out of the bunker more, maybe get an actual hobby that isn’t research or running laps before breakfast. Most importantly, he should probably spend less time around you and his brother before his last functioning brain cells decide to mutiny.
He’s blending a pile of vegetables in the kitchen when Dean walks in and… just stands there. Staring.
Sam can feel it, Dean’s gaze boring into the side of his head. He keeps blending. If he ignores it, maybe, just maybe, his brother will go away.
He does not.
There’s only so much liquefying you can do to a zucchini, so eventually Sam gives up and turns around. “What?”
Dean doesn’t miss a beat. “Do I look approachable to you?”
There it is.
Sam exhales through his nose. “What are you talking about?”
Dean isn’t even looking at him; his eyes are fixed somewhere over Sam’s shoulder. “I mean, I think I am. I guess. But maybe I’m not. Maybe I look… I dunno… standoffish.”
Sam blinks. “Standoffish.”
“I’m just saying, there’s a line, okay? Too friendly, and you look like some creepy guy offering free candy. Not friendly enough, and people think you’re gonna stab ‘em.”
Sam shuts off the blender, grabs his smoothie, and sits. Dean drops into the chair across from him, and he stares expectantly, eyebrows up.
“Dean, man... I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Okay, if you were a girl and saw me at a bar—”
“Great. Can’t imagine a better start,” Sam mutters.
“—would you think I was approachable? Like… someone you’d walk up to?”
Sam looks down into his glass, searching for the strength to keep going. Nothing. No strength. Just spinach.
“Dean… where is this coming from?”
Dean Winchester, the man who has picked up so many women he's lost count. And yet here he is, acting like he needs a pep talk.
Finally, Sam sighs, giving his brother at least the courtesy of an honest answer. “You’re approachable. You’re… you. People like you.”
Dean’s expression doesn’t ease at the reassurance. If anything, he looks more frustrated, brow furrowed, mouth in a pout that he’d absolutely deny making. “Then what the hell was she talking about?”
“…What? Who?”
Sam’s eyes widen. Oh. Oh.
You.
He lets out a long, exhausted sigh. Shakes his head. “Dean… dude. Just talk to her.”
“I talk to her,” his brother insists.
“Uh-huh. And that’s why you’re in here interrogating me about your ‘approachability,’ right?” Sam deadpans, leaning back with the weary authority of a brother who has lived through this many, many times.
“Whatever,” Dean grumbles, immediately hating where this is going. He pushes up from the table and heads for the coffee machine, chewing on his bottom lip like he’s trying to think a hole through it.
Two minutes later, you step into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge like you always do. And Sam sees it. God, he sees all of it. Front-row seats.
Dean cuts a glance at you from the corner of his eye, stands a little straighter, then his hand shoots up to flatten his hair. Sam just shakes his head. He swears he’s going to start avoiding the kitchen entirely when the two of you are in here together.
“Would you hand me a spoon, handsome?” you ask, completely unaware of what you just triggered.
Sam watches Dean freeze at the pet name.
“Spoon. Yeah. We, uh… we have spoons,” he stammers, somehow producing one like it’s a rare artifact. He hands it to you with the confidence of a Victorian maiden having her first conversation with a man.
Then he retreats to the safety of the coffee machine.
Yogurt and spoon in hand, you head out of the kitchen. Dean’s eyes track you the whole way, drawn like a magnet. The instant you disappear down the hall, something in him lights up.
The man beams.
“Handsome,” he says to the empty air, chest puffing up. “She thinks I’m handsome.”
Then he spins on his heel and strides out of the kitchen, riding the high.
Sam shakes his head, muttering, “Unbelievable.”
Two seconds later, Dean reappears, deflating the dramatic exit. “Forgot my coffee,” he says, grabbing the mug with forced nonchalance. He doesn’t make eye contact.
Sam just snorts.
—
It’s been around two hours when you spot Sam in the library, typing away on his computer.
You sit down across from him and wait.
When his eyes finally lift from the screen, one eyebrow raised, you say, “Can I run something by you real quick?”
“Sure,” he replies, tone calm. “What’s up?”
You hesitate. Usually, maybe you wouldn’t even ask. But it’s Sam, and you trust him. “How would you… rate me, on a scale from one to ten?”
“What?”
“Like, hypothetically… let’s say you walk into a bar and I’m sitting there. What’s your first impression of me?”
Sam, who doesn’t even like bars, has already been dragged into two bar hypotheticals today, and it’s barely ten in the morning. He resists the urge to sigh. “Just… talk to Dean,” he says. “Trust me.”
“How did you know I—”
“Really good intuition,” he interrupts.
You stare down at the table, lips pouting. “It’s just… He flirts with everyone, literally everyone – even the old lady at the market. He just… never flirts with me. So I try to be casual. But this morning... it sort of got out before I could stop myself, and I called him handsome. And he, uh – I don’t think he liked that.”
Sam lets out a quiet snort.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he mutters quickly, eyes darting back to the computer. “Just… maybe ask him to grab a coffee sometime. Keep it casual. Start small, you know?"
You hum thoughtfully, weighing the advice. “Yeah… maybe I could do that.”
Sam smiles faintly, satisfied, and goes back to typing. He can survive this, probably.
—
Dean is sweet.
Okay, maybe he doesn’t flirt with you. Not the way he does with everyone else.
But if you’re being even a little logical, you know he cares. A lot.
He worries about you no matter what you’re dealing with: hunt injuries, a headache, a papercut, a sneeze. One fragile little “achoo” and he’s glancing over all concerned.
And he pays attention.
You mention things offhand like your favorite snacks, a brand of tea you like, or that one candle scent you can never find... and the next time he comes back from the store, they’re sitting on the table like they magically appeared.
He never says it was him.
Probably thinks it’s nothing.
But it isn’t nothing. Not to you.
And sure, old Joanne at the market gets called “sweetheart,” and you don’t. But Dean has never bought her chocolate before.
…Wait. Has he?
Doesn’t matter.
Because the point is: you’re going to follow Sam’s advice and ask him out for coffee.
Even if he doesn’t like you back, Dean is sweet, and he deserves good coffee.
And you’re brave enough to offer it.
With this thought in mind, you walk into the kitchen the next morning.
Sam is already blending something green. You hover in the doorway until he finally shows mercy and switches it off because you really don’t want the sound of zucchini being pulverized to mark the beginning of whatever is about to happen.
Only then do you cross the room and sit down right across from Dean, who still hasn’t noticed you’re there.
He’s cradling his coffee, eyelids heavy, hair sticking up in five different directions. But the moment you enter his line of sight, he nearly jumps. His back goes straight, and he immediately smooths a hand over his hair, one stubborn piece still popping right back up.
God, he’s adorable.
“Mornin’,” he says softly, still half-asleep, voice rough like gravel, and your brain just… fries. Completely.
Not a thought up there for a good minute.
You had a speech planned, had summoned enough courage for it, and now there's just… nothing.
Soon enough, Dean’s hands are on the table, pushing him to his feet. “All right, I’mma—head to the store,” he says, nodding vaguely toward the door.
Sure. Go flirt with Joanne, you think. Bet she likes that a lot.
But then he turns those big, hopeful eyes on you. “Wanna come?”
“What?"
“Yesterday,” he adds quickly, “you said you wanted to go…”
Your chest melts a little. You only said that to Sam, and Dean… still paid attention.
You manage to smile. “Yeah. I’ll come.”
Dean smiles back before he tries to cover it up with a half-suppressed nod. “Cool. Yeah. Uh—let’s go then.”
He nearly walks into the doorframe on the way out.
—
“Joanne, looking incredible this morning,” Dean practically whistles at the older lady at the counter the second you step through the door.
“Right back at you, gorgeous,” she beams.
Of course she’s beaming. You’d beam too if he said you looked incredible.
Then she leans in conspiratorially, glancing around like she’s sharing state secrets. “Placed an order for that pie you like. Should be here tomorrow.”
Dean grins. “Sweetheart, you sure you wanna keep your husband? Competition’s fierce… just sayin’.”
You glare at the mismatched floor tiles and make your way toward the fridge aisle, while Joanne giggles behind the counter. Again, who can blame her?
Then they start talking in hushed tones, leaning in toward each other. You’re pretty sure they’re talking about you because of the way she keeps sneaking glances your way. You strain to hear while pretending to examine the products, but you’re too far away to catch a word. By the time you edge closer, the conversation cuts off, and Dean doesn’t even glance in your direction.
When you finally reach the till, Joanne leans in and whispers, “Darling, you gotta snatch that before it’s too late.”
She nods toward Dean, who’s hovering near the snack aisle. “I mean, look at him,” she adds, shaking her head with exaggerated approval. Your eyes follow hers, taking in everything from head to toe. “Seriously. If he looked at me the way he looks at you, I wouldn’t just stand there doing nothing.”
“The way he looks at me?” you echo, because apparently that’s the only sentence your brain can manage.
Joanne stares at you. “Sweetheart… are your eyes just for decoration?”
“What?"
Before she can say anything else, Dean returns with a bag of chips and puts it down gently on the conveyor belt. “Got the ones you like,” he murmurs, not quite meeting your eyes.
Aww, he's so cute.
You glance at Dean.
Then at the chips.
Then back at Joanne, who lifts her eyebrows in a ‘see what I mean?’ kind of way.
Okay.
Yeah.
You do have to snatch that before it’s too late.
—
The way he looks at you.
You’ve been chewing on that the whole ride back, trying to decode what the hell Joanne meant.
Sure, Dean glances at you, checks if you’re okay, keeps track of you the way he keeps track of Sam, Cas, his car, everything he cares about. That’s just… Dean. Nothing special about it.
Right?
“What were you and Joanne talkin’ about?” he asks suddenly, low and careful. His eyes flick over to you, then right back to the road. “What’d she say?”
He sounds almost… worried.
“Uh, nothing,” you lie, light as possible. “She might have a crush on you, though.”
That gets a small smile out of him, soft and relieved. Then he glances again. “That's all she said?”
“Why?”
He shrugs one shoulder, eyes fixed ahead. “Just… wonderin’.”
You do not bring up her actual comments, because dying from embarrassment in this car is not on your bucket list. “What about you?” you ask, as casual as possible. “What were you two whispering about?”
“Uh… she, uh… has this niece she wanted me to meet.”
“Oh.” It falls out of you flat and tiny.
“Yeah,” he adds, rubbing the back of his neck. “She thought I might be interested.”
“Really?”
“I’m not,” he says immediately, too immediately. “Interested, I mean. But Joanne kinda figured that out right away,” Dean finishes. “So it’s all good.”
The old lady wasn’t joking. Someone less insecure is going to snatch him up one of these days, and you’re going to regret all this waiting around doing nothing.
But the question is, how are you supposed to live in the bunker with him if you go all in on your feelings and he doesn’t feel the same? That’s just a recipe for disaster.
But then again… The way he looks at you.
You make it your personal project to figure out just what the hell that means.
Truthfully, it doesn't even take long to gather hints, one after the other.
He does look at you, more than you’d realized. Not the teasing, smirking kind of glance he gives literally everyone else. Not even the playful, flirty looks. No, this is different. His eyes linger, soft, careful, like he’s making sure you’re okay, or memorizing something only he can see.
And maybe you’re reading too much into it. Maybe. But every time he flusters when you tease him, or he scratches the back of his neck when you hand him a simple compliment, your brain takes notes. You start keeping a mental tally, just to make sure you’re not imagining things.
You’re also pretty sure you’ve seen him blush around you a couple of times. Enough to make your heart skip.
Dean Winchester, master of casual charm and reckless confidence, gets… flustered. Around you. And it’s the smallest, most perfect kind of proof.
After weeks of quietly gathering evidence and comparing notes with Sam, Cas, and even Jack, your case feels airtight. And with it comes a little surge of courage.
And then, out of nowhere, you stumble onto the final piece.
The big one.
You weren’t even supposed to be in the bunker.
You were meant to be at Charlie’s for the weekend: movies, junk food, girl talk, a detox from the job, and the crises that come with it. But she comes down with a brutal flu and refuses to get you sick, so the whole plan gets pushed back.
You were going to text the boys and let them know you were still home, but you never got the chance.
Because the second the front door slams, you hear Dean’s voice echo down the metal stairs: “That’s just stupid,” he grumbles. “I’m not doin’ that. I don’t even know if she likes me.”
You freeze mid-step.
Sam’s answer comes fast, like he’s run out of patience for the year. “Dean. Be serious. Are your eyes just for decoration?”
Sam and Joanne could be good friends, you think. They’re both full-time members of the Dean Appreciation Squad anyway.
Dean huffs loudly. “She lives here, Sam. What if you’re wrong? I don’t wanna make her uncomfortable.” His voice dips, softer, almost guilty. “God knows I probably already do.”
Your heart drops.
He actually thinks he might be making you uncomfortable.
Dean Winchester.
A man who apologizes when you bump into him.
A man who brings you your favorite snacks without a word.
A man who looks at you with care and devotion.
He thinks any of that is unwelcome.
You press back against the wall, breath catching in your throat, because the truth finally lands and it's undeniable.
He likes you.
Really likes you.
And he’s holding himself back because he’s afraid his feelings might somehow upset you.
...Well.
You’re going to have to show him exactly how wrong he is.
—
You stroll into the garage one slow morning, no hunts, no plans – just a little time to make yourself feel… well, you. No flannel. No worn-out boots. Today, something that hugs your curves just right, a touch of makeup to bring out your best features. You even had time to make your hair cooperate.
Dean’s under the car, elbow-deep in something greasy, when you lean against the wall, arms crossed casually.
“Whatcha doin’, handsome?” you murmur, voice soft but teasing.
Metal clangs to the floor. “Son of a—” He scrambles out from under the car, rag in hand, eyes widening as they travel up and down you, and he almost freezes. “You… uh… you going out?”
“That depends,” you say, tilting your head. “Are you busy?”
“Huh? Me?” Dean stammers. “Why? You… you need a ride somewhere?”
"No, not really. Wanted to take you out.”
For a moment, he just blinks. The words don’t seem to register. “Take me out?”
“A date,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, though inside you’re practically combusting.
“A date,” he repeats slowly. “You… and me?”
“Yeah. If you want to.”
A faint blush spreads across his cheeks, just enough to reveal his heart. "For real?"
"Yeah," you nod. "Do you want to?"
“God, yes,” he says, voice almost too fast. “I… uh… I’mma go change, real quick.”
Before you can even react, he’s already rushing to the garage door, as if he hesitates another second, you might change your mind. He pauses, hand on the handle, then spins back with a quick glance. “I don’t think I mentioned it, but you look... amazing. Just…” He shoots you an approving look, the kind that makes your chest tighten, before finally ducking out.
—
Sam should really get out of the bunker more, maybe get an actual hobby that isn’t research or running laps before breakfast. Most importantly, he should probably spend less time around you and his brother before his last functioning brain cells decide to mutiny.
Actually… scratch that.
It might already be too late.
He did start looking at local classes: pottery, pilates, and even a book club. But he never registered for any of them. And now? Now he deeply regrets it.
Because the poor man walks into the kitchen, thinking only about making a smoothie, and instead walks into—
Yeah.
That.
There you are.
There Dean is.
And you’re kissing him like you’re both about to start something Sam definitely doesn’t want to picture.
Right in front of the blender.
And - oh no - your fingers slip beneath the waistband of Dean’s jeans, and his breath itches. And then he's all like, “Oh baby, if you keep this up, I’m gonna put you right on this counter and—”
Sam slams his ears shut and salutes the blender for its bravery. Then he bolts from the room, muttering something about bleach and possibly moving to another state.
The next day, the blender is quietly relocated to the war room, where it can recover from trauma in peace, and Sam doesn't venture back into the kitchen for at least two weeks.
And you… Well, you’ll owe Sam a proper thank-you someday... Once he can glance at the two of you without immediately questioning every decision that has brought him here.
a/n - aaah hi !! it’s been so long since i’ve written a full fic im sorry for disappearing off the face of the earth. life has sucked but i’m back!! it’s been far too long since i’ve posted a sam smut so hehe i hope you guys like this. took me way too long to write a sex curse fic lmao. but i hope you enjoy !! leaving feedback on fics is the world to fic writers :)
cws - fem!reader, 8k words, friends to lovers, smut, sex curse, witchcraft, wet dream, brief jacking off, p in v, riding, missionary, size kink ish, a lot of cum, needy and kinda whiny sam, flirty rowena, big brother dean, feverish sam, brief cage/lucifer mentions
other fics can be found on my masterlist
“Shit- ah fuck,” Sam grunted with the next roll of his hips, the warmth around his cock so euphoric it was a wonder he didn’t cum right then. There was a haziness in the room, a strange atmosphere that in the moment he hadn’t thought to question. A bed he didn’t recognise, sheets too plain and walls even plainer, but his focus was solely on her beneath him.
Which led to the other strange thing he hadn’t thought to question — they hadn’t done this before. But his best friend was underneath him and the tight warmth of her cunt sucking him back in with every thrust just felt so right.
“So good, that’s so good, honey.”
Her fingers were in his hair and she just kept whimpering his name in a tone that made his cock throb harder, arousal curling deeper. His hands were tight around her hips as his own rolled again and again, pressing harder inside of her in a way that made both of their breaths shudder.
“Sam- m’so close,” she whined, her breath hot against his cheek, her grip tighter in his hair. The smell of her skin was addictive, his head tipped forwards to nose his way up her throat, her pulse throbbing in the side of her neck. “Gonna cum- Sam-”
A low groan left his throat as his hips rolled forwards into the lumpy mattress beneath him, spilling into his boxers.
It took him a moment to grow coherent enough to realise exactly what predicament he was in. Breathing heavily into the pillow Sam blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the sight of his motel room, the empty bed he was in. There was a burning tingling shame that spread right down to his stomach when he realised he’d had a wet dream about his best friend.
“What the fuck?” He breathed out hard as he sat up, and was relieved as he glanced across the room to see that Dean’s bed was empty and that he hadn’t been caught doing… whatever that was.
Sam wasn’t stupid, he was painfully aware of the feelings he had for her, the feelings that had been simmering for years. But what was he supposed to do? Even in the extremely unlikely case that she did feel the same, it wasn’t like acting on those feelings was a good idea. Nothing ever went well for him, it’d just be another thing he ended up losing one way or another. So he’d tried to shove it as far down as he could.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to deal with it before. There had been a few times that he’d had his fist around his cock after a long day of trying to ignore how close they’d been throughout the day when he’d thought of her, jacked off and thought of what she’d feel like or sound like beneath him, but each time he’d grown so shameful of what he’d been doing that he’d turned himself off completely and went to bed hard and uncomfortable.
But this? This was so much worse than that.
Sam grimaced as he pushed the covers off and felt the now cooling cum in his boxers, the fabric sticking to his skin, and so fucking embarrassed he quickly got up and went into the bathroom, once again glad that his brother wasn’t in the room.
He pulled off his shirt and stepped out of his boxers, a mental note to go to the laundromat later that day appearing in his head as he caught sight of the mess in his pants, then started the shower and stepped in beneath the spray of water.
What the fuck was wrong with him? Sure, he was a guy, he’d had wet dreams before, but not since he was a teenager and certainly never about her.
It had seemed so real. Her panted breaths against his neck with each thrust of his hips, the way her pussy had clenched so deliciously tight around his cock anytime his tip kissed her cervix, the way she’d moaned his name.
Sam huffed out a sharp breath through his nose when he realised he was already hard again.
“What the fuck?” He hissed, voice hidden beneath the sound of water hitting the tile. “Jesus Christ. Cut it out.”
His hand found his cock anyways, so hard he was fucking aching, and he took a few minutes to jack himself off to the memory — the not even real memory — of her beneath him until he was groaning deep in his throat and cumming onto the shower floor.
His hand reached up to turn the temperature dial all the way around to cold and he finished up in there as quick as he could, heart still thumping.
Pull it together.
It didn’t take long to pack up his stuff after his shower, but by the time Dean returned with coffee for the three of them Sam was hot. Not hot like he’d worked up his temperature by moving around the room, but like the warmth was sitting beneath his skin like a fever. The back of his neck was sweaty and his hair was sticking to his forehead, and as he took one of the to-go cups from his brother Dean frowned at him.
“You okay, Sammy?” He asked. “Looking a little pale.”
“Fine,” Sam waved him off as he grabbed his bags and moved towards the door. He was hard again, which was all he could focus on, frustration simmering with the heat. “Just wanna get on the road—”
He pulled the door open and stood face to face with her, and his jaw clenched as his cock throbbed.
“Hey,” she smiled sweetly, dodging past him to take one of the cups from Dean too. “My stuff’s in the car. Are we going?”
Sam hadn’t moved, shoulders stiff and throat dry as he stared at her. She looked like she usually did, if not a little worn down from yesterday's hunt, and maybe that was the worst part — nothing was different so what the hell was wrong with him? He’d become an expert at shoving away his feelings. There had been multiple occasions where she literally had her shirt off in front of him so he could patch up an injury and his eyes had never wandered further than necessary, respectful in the way he touched her and looked at her and thought of her. So now? He felt like a fucking pervert. She was his best friend.
“Hello? Earth to Sam?” Dean waved a hand so close to his face that he flinched and glared at his brother. “You get out the wrong side of the bed or something?”
At the mention of the bed and the thought of what he’d done that morning Sam glared harder, her eyes on him like a red hot laser and he didn’t dare look at her then. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck and he felt so uncomfortable and so fucking hard that he just wanted the ground to open up beneath him and swallow him whole.
“I’m fine,” he grit out. “Can we just go?”
Being in the car made everything so much worse.
The only saving grace was that he didn’t have to look at her, but her voice floating up from the backseat and the smell of her perfume was enough. Each bump in the road made him shift in his seat, achingly hard and pressed against the zipper of his jeans. He’d had to discreetly palm himself through the denim just to try and get some sort of relief a few times when Dean wasn’t looking.
When the heat didn’t die down he’d come to the conclusion that he must’ve been harbouring a fever. Since getting in the car he’d shed his flannel to just be left in his t-shirt and rolled the window all the way down, and though the wind blowing his hair back was nice he was still fucking hot.
“Dude,” Dean knocked his knee against his and he flinched, glancing up at his face. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look…”
“Like shit?” Sam scoffed when his brother nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine.” His eyes flickered up to the mirror and his jaw clenched at the sight of her in the back.
“Are you sure? You don’t look fine,” his brother pushed. “I told you we should’ve double checked what that witch did yesterday.”
For the past few days they’d been tracking a coven of witches across three separate towns. Ten different murders, all husbands, all mysteriously died in front of their partners. It hadn’t taken all that long to figure out that it was witchcraft when they’d found hexbags in most of the houses. Bitter with the loss of their own lovers they’d gone on a killing spree and caught too much attention.
The last of the witches they’d put down in the basement of the house they’d been camped out in had at one point shoved Sam up against the wall, gripped his throat so tightly he couldn’t breathe, and had murmured an incantation he hadn’t been able to make out through the ringing in his ears. There had been a hot pressure in his chest that started spreading outwards, but a moment later Dean had shot her in the back and she’d died right in front of him. The magic couldn’t have lingered if she was dead, could it?
“She died, Dean, you killed her,” Sam murmured, clenched his teeth tight when Baby hit a pothole and his cock was momentarily pressed harder against his zipper as he was jerked slightly in his seat. “Just feel a little hot. I’m fine.”
His head tipped to the side to watch out of the window as he did his best to ignore it, ignore how it felt — the simmering beneath his skin was a heat he’d only felt once, and he wasn’t eager to think about his time in the cage.
The heat only continued to get worse somehow. The only rational explanation he could think of was that he’d run himself down after back-to-back cases and was a little under the weather. He did not, however, have an explanation for the way the heat seemed to simmer worse whenever he looked at her, heart thumping and arousal curling deeper into his gut whenever she spoke.
They got to their next motel just before sunset, with the intent of getting a good night’s sleep before either finding another case in the morning or just heading back to the bunker. If he was being honest Sam just wanted his bed at home, but he didn’t really have the energy to argue with his brother, not when every single thought in his head was swirling over how he felt, over her.
The other two were talking as Sam forced himself to get out of the car, too focused on the drumming pulse in his ears to listen to what they were saying, so when he rounded the car towards the trunk and a hand landed on his arm he jumped at the burn. White hot like electricity. He flinched and his eyes shot up to meet her eyes, which were quickly growing concerned.
“Sam?” She frowned, and his eyes locked onto the plush of her lips. He knew they’d feel good against his, soft and warm, the little ‘o’ shape they’d make as she moaned underneath him— “Sam? Are you okay?”
Guilt flooded him immediately and he forced his gaze away. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t just think about her like that, it was disgusting.
He didn’t even utter an excuse, just quickly rushed into the room before he could make things worse.
“Sam?” Dean had followed him in and Sam grit his teeth. He’d been planning on sorting himself out in the shower again, at this point it was legitimately a necessity. “What the hell is up with you? You ignored her the whole drive-“ he cut himself off when Sam turned to face him. “What’s wrong?”
There wasn’t even any point in insisting he was fine anymore. The heat just kept getting hotter, he felt sweaty and weird and still thinking about that dream. “I just… have a fever.”
Dean scowled as he stepped forwards and reached up to touch Sam’s forehead, even as he tried to bat his hand away. “Why didn’t you say anything in the car? You’re burning up, man,” there was a pause before he sighed. “Call Rowena.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Because what happened yesterday isn’t sitting right with me and if anyone can make sure that witch didn’t do something to you it’s her.”
Even through the simmering beneath his skin Sam’s lips twitched. “You’re willingly asking me to call Rowena?”
“She’s still a bitch but she can be useful sometimes,” Dean rolled his eyes. “Just call her.”
Much to Sam’s dismay and an I told you so from Dean, Rowena also suspected that something was wrong after Sam called and explained his symptoms — well, not all of them, he didn’t dare mention the dream or his problem — and cut the call off with a chirpy confirmation that she’d get to him as quickly as she could.
It was dark out by the time Rowena got there. All of the windows in the room had been opened as wide as they could in hopes that the cold night air would do something to help the fire in his veins, but nothing was helping. His chest had tightened with the rising heat, there was absolutely no doubt that something was wrong.
“Well aren’t you a… sight.” Rowena hummed as soon as she stepped through the door, taking her time like she was just there for tea. The silk of her dress caught in the draft from the open door, blowing forwards with a harshness that should have been brought with cold. Sam didn’t feel it, the wind that hit his skin did nothing to soothe the burn. If not for the fact that she was visiting he would’ve stripped down to his boxers already.
He stood from where he’d been perched on the edge of his bed, fists clenched tight. “Rowena-”
“Calm down,” she raised a hand as she closed the door behind her. “I’m here to help, aren’t I?” Another gust of wind blew through the open windows and she pulled a face. “My it’s cold in here, isn’t it?”
“No,” Sam grit out, chest heaving with heavy breaths as he watched her step forwards. It had become harder to ignore the worse it got, the memory of the cage, what Lucifer had done to him. Burned his skin until it was all gone and then healed him to start all over again. The smell of his own flesh was something he was never going to forget, part of him kept expecting to look down and see his arms on fire. But they weren’t, like some cruel trick on his mind. If not for Dean noticing that something was wrong he would’ve been convinced that he was going crazy again. “It’s hot, I’m hot, I can’t fucking cool down it feels like I’m on fire.”
Rowena’s tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth as she came to a stop directly in front of him. “Hm. Take your shirt off.”
“Huh?”
Her eyes rolled. “I need to see if you have any magic attached to you, and it’s easier without your clothes in the way,” perfectly manicured nails dragged against the fabric of his t-shirt before she smirked. “Trust me, I don’t mind.”
Maybe he wouldn’t have been so quick to agree on a regular day, especially with her looking at him like that, but he was both desperate for this to be over and also used to Rowena being Rowena, so there wasn’t much hesitation as he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it up and over his head, dropping it down onto the floor.
Rowena made a show of looking him over, lips curled upwards at the corners.
“Rowena-”
“Alright, Samuel,” she sighed. “Forgive me for finding some enjoyment in the situation. Sit.” Her hand pressed to his chest and he flinched, expecting to feel the same burn that he’d felt from her earlier that day when she’d touched his arm, but Rowena’s palm felt cool against his flushed skin. It was actually nice, and he breathed out shakily as he allowed himself to be pushed backwards until he was seated on the edge of the mattress.
Rowena stepped forwards until she was stood between his legs, and then her hand was on his chest again. A pressure pushed through his ribs and he stiffened in the effort to keep still and let her search for any lingering magic attached to him. His eyes lifted to her face and he watched as her expression went from focused, to shocked, to… amused?
“Your symptoms,” she met his eyes as she pulled her hand back. “Tell me.”
“I’ve already told you-”
“Tell me again.”
Sam huffed out a frustrated breath and pushed a hand through his hair. “I’m hot, it feels like I’m burning from the inside out.”
She just continued to watch him.
“What?” He didn’t mean to snap but he was seriously losing his patience.
“Your other symptoms?” He opened his mouth to protest but she held up a hand. “Just be honest, Samuel. I think I know what the curse is.”
His jaw clenched. He’d never actually vocalised his crush to anybody before. Sure, maybe Dean wasn’t completely oblivious to have not noticed, but he’d never outright admitted it.
“I had this… dream, uh,” he ran a hand over his face, the heat in his cheeks now from embarrassment. “And it kinda stuck with me.”
Rowena was smirking. “And what was the nature of this wee dream, hm?”
He glowered at her. “I’m sure you know.”
“Oh I do, but it’s way more fun if you tell me,” he just continued glaring and she sighed. “You boys just have to suck the fun out of everything, don’t you?” She moved to sit on the bed beside him, and after adjusting her dress over her legs she turned to face him. “It’s called mali desiderii.”
“What does that mean?”
Her lips twitched again, like she was really trying to be serious. “It’s a curse that attaches itself to your deepest desire and makes you, well, want it.”
Sam swallowed around the dryness in his throat. “How dangerous is it?”
Rowena lifted a hand to gently circle her fingers around his wrist, her cool fingertips pressed against his pulse point felt nice. “You’re already burning up, and it’s only going to get worse. Unless you sate the desire, you’ll completely burn up from the inside out.”
He felt his stomach drop. “It’ll kill me?”
“Mhm, in a day or so, unless you deal with your little… problem,” She gestured to his jeans with a wicked smirk that made him want the ground to open up beneath him, before she sighed, a more genuine expression settling on her features. “Sam… she’s next door.” Her hand laid on his arm though that time he stiffened.
“I can’t just—”
“It doesn’t matter if you can’t. You’re going to have to,” she told him firmly, before her lips curved upwards again. “You never know, it might be something the both of you need. She’s smart, Samuel. If a big strong man came knocking on my door asking me to help him out, I’d… well, like I said, she’s smart.”
He grit his teeth and breathed out sharply. This was so stupid. She was his best friend, he couldn’t just turn up at her door and demand to have sex with her. “Isn’t there a cure or something?”
“This is the only way,” Rowena didn’t give him much time to think on it before her hand was on her knee, squeezing, then she stood up. “You’ll be fine. Trust me, out of all the things you could’ve been cursed with, this is definitely the most… pleasurable.”
At her smirk his stomach twisted uncomfortably, but still he stood up to let her out of the room. He didn’t bother to put his shirt back on, stood in the doorway as he watched Rowena climb into her car — a Porsche that he was certain didn’t belong to her the last time they spoke — the breeze of the night doing absolutely nothing to cool him down. As she pulled out of the parking lot he’d had a mind to go and tell Dean what was wrong, but he paused when his eyes landed on her door next to his.
Sate the desire, Rowena had said. Maybe on a typical day he wouldn’t have wanted to even approach the topic with her, save himself a lifetime of embarrassment when she inevitably turned him down, but this was his only shot. And the thought of finally having her was enough for his body to roll with another wave of aroused heat.
“Fucking crazy,” he breathed, hand lifting to knock on the door once he was stood in front of it. “This is fucking crazy.”
The door opened relatively quick and then there she was. She’d changed into her pyjamas since getting to the motel, a t-shirt and shorts that left him unable to help his gaze dragging up the length of her legs, imagining dipping between them. She really wasn’t making this fucking easy for him, was she?
“Sam?” She blinked, worried eyes widening as her gaze dragged downwards, and embarrassed he remembered he hadn’t put his shirt back on. Christ, this probably looked like the opening to a shitty porno. By the sounds of it, that’s how it was going to end up. Either that or he was going to die.
“Sorry,” he quickly blurted out, chest heaving with heavy breaths as his eyes fell down away from her face, before he caught himself staring at her legs and he had to look back up digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. Get a grip. “Sorry, uh… can I talk to you?”
Instantly she stepped aside. “Are you okay? Why was Rowena here?”
His teeth ground together with the realisation that Dean hadn’t told her that anything was wrong, either not to worry her or because he was just leaving it to Sam he wasn’t sure. He stepped into her room and exhaled sharply. The heat was getting bad, hands trembling as he pushed sweaty hair out of his face and turned back to face her.
“Sam you don’t look so good,” her eyebrows were pinched together in such worry. “Can I get you anything? Do you want some water? You look a little sick, you sit down and I’ll just-”
“It’s a curse,” he just got out. “One of the witches yesterday cursed me. That's why Rowena was here.”
She looked… god, the look on her face, she looked so devastated for him. “I- cursed? How bad is it? Are you okay?” She rushed forwards and touched his arm sympathetically, and usually it would’ve been nice — she was sweet, she was always physically affectionate but always more so with him than Dean. There had been many times they’d held hands on a hunt when either one of them was unnerved, or on nights where they could only get a motel with two beds or had to sleep in the car she always chose to sleep with him. Curled up with no choice but to hold each other in a small twin bed or the backseat of the Impala he’d always felt comfortable with her.
But her touch then on his arm, it felt like being singed. He jerked backwards and hated the way she looked at him when he did it. “Sorry,” he breathed her name like a plea, the last thing he wanted was to make her feel bad with what he was about to ask of her. “I’m… hot. The curse is burning me up and if I don’t do something about it then I’ve… got a day.”
“A day?” Her voice broke and it shattered something deep in his soul. “Sam, I… Rowena has a cure right?”
His eyes squeezed shut tightly and he took in a sharp breath. This was it. “It’s a, uh… well, there’s one thing I can do but it’s- I’d be asking a lot of you.”
Her response was immediate. “Anything.”
Steeling himself he finally just pushed out, “it’s a sex curse.”
She blinked at him. “What?”
“It’s a- god, this is so stupid. It’s a sex curse. If I don’t have sex in the next day then I’ll die.” Saying it out loud he realised just how ridiculous it was, how this really was just some fucking stupid porno, something he’d catch Dean quickly shutting off in the motel whenever he got back. “It really is stupid huh? Fuck, I don’t even-”
“Okay.”
It was his turn to blink at her. “What?”
“I said okay,” she hesitated before stepping forwards, like she was expecting him to jerk away from her again. “I’m not gonna let you… the curse isn’t gonna take over, okay? Of all the ways we’ve dealt with curses before this is actually a pretty easy fix.”
He was just staring at her. “But I can’t ask you to-”
“You aren’t asking, I’m offering,” the control in her voice made his cock throb in his jeans and he bit back a groan. It’d be nice to finally get some fucking relief. “This is gonna be easier than you going out to a bar and finding someone, Sam, and I trust you,” a pause then, her voice went softer. “And you trust me. Or at least I hope so.”
“‘Course I do,” he breathed. “But-”
“Sam,” she stepped forwards until she was right in front of him then, until he could smell her perfume and feel her breath hit his chest. “Let me. Please.”
Any restraint he’d been clinging onto snapped in that moment.
Giving in to the curse, at first, felt like being possessed, like watching from inside his body as he acted upon it. His hands cupped her jaw as he stepped closer, tipping down until he caught her mouth with his, hard, all desperation and lust as he licked and sucked at her bottom lip only just hesitating enough to not slip his tongue into her mouth immediately. She was making soft breathy sounds through her nose and it was making everything worse, his veins burned hotter and his cock was so achingly hard that he couldn’t help his hands sliding down to her hips and gripping hard as he started walking them back to her bed.
But he was shaking, his breathing all heavy and hot in his throat, the fever was still clinging to his bones and the curse made it hard to think about anything. His hands had just slipped beneath her shirt when she leaned back with a huff of breath, her palm pressed flat against his chest.
“Sam.” She breathed, heavy but concerned, eyes all soft and crinkled at the corners as she looked up at him.
“Yeah?”
Her fingers travelled down to gently start threading the leather of his belt through his buckle. The sight of her hands so close to where he needed them was almost enough to just cum in his boxers thinking about her. Again.
“Let me… let me take care of you, okay?” She breathed, pulling the belt free and then working open his zipper. “You’re shaking, let me do this,” she leaned forwards and kissed his chest and he shuddered. “Let me help you.”
All he could do was nod dumbly, hands squeezing at her hips as she unzipped his jeans and pushed them down his legs until he could step out of them. She hesitated as he fingers touched the waistband of his boxers, but he nodded, and she pulled those down too.
For a moment he was too distracted by the curse to really take much in, just panting softly as he waited for the inevitable relief. But when he did catch sight of her face, the way her eyes drifted down to his cock, hard and leaking like it had been all day, the way she swallowed, fuck.
“Come here.” He breathed, lustful and needy and possessive all in one, and then his mouth was on hers again as he took the final two steps back to her bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress. Sam moved to pull her in immediately but she paused to quickly slip her shorts and underwear down her legs, and only then did she let him pull her onto his lap, straddling his thighs.
If he was a little more with it, he’d have felt bad. In all the times he’d thought of being able to finally have her, it had gone differently. He’d been sweet and kissed her softly, taken her to dinner or for some drinks, they’d dressed nice and he’d complimented how pretty she was. He’d been gentle with her, taken his time, hadn’t wanted to rush it. She deserved better than the rushed desperation coursing through his veins, but he couldn’t help himself.
Sam was kissing her again once she was close enough. A hand slid up her back, soft skin beneath his palm, before he gripped her shirt and panted out, “can I take this off?”
Only when she nodded did he grip the hem and lift it up and over her head, dropping it on the floor with the rest of their clothes.
He allowed himself one moment to stare and take her in; chest rising and falling heavily, hardened nipples, soft thighs slotted over his like they belonged, her lips kiss-bitten and wet with their spit. Sam wasn’t entirely sure which part was the most devastating.
“God-” he choked, fingers curling around her hipbones again. “Look at you.”
Her chin tucked towards her chest all bashfully, and for a moment the flicker of guilt touched him. She deserved better than this.
But then her fingers wrapped around his cock and through the white-hot pleasure any other thoughts were wiped from his mind.
A grunt escaped his throat and his eyes squeezed shut, his grip on her hips tightening. “Shit-”
She shifted on top of him, lifting up on her knees to line his cock up with her entrance, and even if the feeling of his tip kissing her folds was enough for his head to spin a little he still stopped her with a squeeze of her hips.
“Are you ready? I mean…” Sam wasn’t stupid. He knew he was big, bigger than most. When he’d been with Jess he’d learned exactly how many fingers he needed to stretch her out before she could comfortably take him. He needed to feel her more than anything but he didn’t want to hurt her.
“It’s okay,” she breathed, and leaned down to kiss him again. “I can take it.”
Her tongue pushed past his lips and he moaned into her mouth as she slowly sank down onto him.
Nothing he had ever felt compared to that moment.
Charged, sparking pleasure exploded in his gut, shooting through his veins making every nerve ending tingle. Fuck. This was the relief he’d been craving, the lust he hadn’t been able to sort out himself with his hand or how much he could imagine in his head.
Her pussy squeezed tightly around him as she sank down slowly and for a moment all he could do was pant into the skin of her neck as he held onto her, grunting into her throat the deeper she took him and the tighter she clenched around him. Once he was sheathed all the way inside of her his breath punched out of him heavily. Somehow he hadn’t blown his load right then.
“You feel-” he whined as she shifted, rubbing against her gummy walks and spending more sparks of pleasure through him, “so fucking good, that’s- yeah, that’s it.”
She shifted again and that time it was her who whined, her palms hot on his shoulders as they grabbed at the muscle there. “Sam,” she breathed his name against his ear. “You’re so deep.”
He had a feeling he’d be getting hard over that sentence for the rest of his life.
“Can I-” her voice was trembling, and when he glanced up at her she looked a fucking picture — eyes all blown out, lips parted and panting, expression pinched in pleasure. “Can I keep moving?”
He couldn’t find his voice so he just nodded, and at the first shift of her hips his eyes rolled back and he moaned.
Time seemed to blur. He found himself able to release the death grip on her hips and instead smoothed his palms over her back, as his head tipped forwards to lick and suck at her neck. He’d never felt anything like this, it was like being high. Each squeeze of her cunt around his cock stole the breath from his lungs, made the magic from the curse flare inside of him in a way that had his hairs standing on end and his cock throbbing where it was held deep inside of her.
Noises were pulled from him without any of his say so. Keening whined and gasps of her name whenever she shifted. Her fingers tangled in his hair at one point and pulled and he almost completely lost it then.
She didn’t seem to be in a different state to him, if he knew any better he’d have said she was cursed from the way she was clinging onto him, panting his name and squeezing his cock inside of her.
This completely blew his dream out of the water.
“Hah- I’m-” It took an embarrassingly short time to get there, but given the heat bubbling inside of him he really did need the release sooner rather than later. “Fuck honey m’gonna cum-”
Her breath was hot on his cheek as her temple pressed to his, hips rolling and cunt squeezing along with her whimpered, “please Sammy.”
Sam watched as her hand dipped between them to rub at her clit with each roll of her hips and with the next time his tip brushed against her cervix he was gone.
He was certain that the sound that left him then he had never made before. Almost animalistic, in any other situation he would’ve found himself embarrassed, but the way pleasure shot up his spine, through his veins, made him shudder and gasp into her throat as his orgasm literally whitened his vision, he wasn’t in control of anything he was doing. It literally took his breath away, made his ears ring, one moment he was holding the back of her neck and kissing at her throat and the next he had his forehead pressed to her shoulder as he heaved breaths against her chest.
She must’ve cum too, not that he’d been able to even realise in the moment, but she’d also slumped into him, arms draped over his shoulders as she melted into him.
For one long moment, it was the best he’d ever felt.
“Hey,” she eventually whispered, leaned back to meet his eyes with hers, all soft and caring. “How do you feel? Did it work?”
“I think so.” He murmured, still trying to catch his breath.
His hands were more gentle on her hips as he helped her move off of him, hissing through his teeth as his cock slipped out of her, though he rubbed her back once she was sat on the bed beside him.
There was a flare inside of his chest, and then it hit him. That time it was almost unbearable, left him breathless with the fire that rolled through him. His eyes squeezed shut and his fists curled up as he winced in pain.
It hadn’t worked.
“Sam?” Her hand burned against his back. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
He couldn’t help it, tears stung in his eyes then. “It didn’t fucking work.”
His breathing was sharp as he looked back up at her then, and the way her expression dropped made everything else sink in. What the fuck was the point of that? Sure, he’d wanted her for a long time, but not like that. She deserved to be taken care of, treated like an angel and kissed sweetly and loved on. Instead she’d had him like that — sweaty and gross and needy — and she’d had to do all the work. Let alone the fact it was all pointless anyways, he was still going to die.
“I thought you said Rowena said it’d work,” she breathed, voice so soft and scared. “What did she say to you? Maybe we did it wrong or something.”
Sam pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes hard, hands shaking. “She said I need to sate my desire.”
She frowned at him then. “That doesn’t mean sex, Sam.”
“Hm?”
“Your… desire, that doesn’t have to mean sex,” she turned to face him a little more. Their lack of clothes and post-orgasm exhaustion was momentarily ignored as her hand found his and squeezed. The heat made his fingers tingle. “It just means what you want the most. And I mean it obviously wasn’t sex with me,” her fingers squeezed his. “So what is it?”
His breath left him in a rush. “You.”
She blinked at him. “But it didn’t-”
“Not the sex,” his hand squeezed hers tightly. “You. You’re my best friend and I… I’m in love with you. I don’t even know when it happened but you’re all I can think about all the time.”
She was just staring at him with those wide eyes of hers, mouth opening and closing a few times before she could actually form a response. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” She eventually pressed, soft.
A bitter laugh left him then. “What would be the point? I care more about you than what I want. I was happy to just stay friends- I am happy to do that,” he pushed out a sharp breath and dragged his fingers through his hair. “But it doesn’t fucking matter anymore. Because it’s not going to happen and I’m going to die.”
“Sam,” her hand gripped his tightly and when he looked up at her face she was scowling. “You’re an idiot.”
Before he could even think of a response she’d leaned in and then her mouth was on his. The kiss was soft, more gentle than their lust fuelled kisses from before, the plus warmth of her lips against his making his gut curl tighter than when she’d been grinding on his cock.
Her forehead pressed to his as she pulled away and her whispered words hit his ears, “I love you too.”
Sam leaned back enough to look at her. “What?” He breathed. “I- don’t just say that because I want to hear it.”
“Sam,” her fingers were gentle as they cupped his face. “I love you.”
The fire disappeared with a tingling hiss like he’d been dunked in ice water. Each heated nerve ending and muscle was instantly soothed with a coolness that made him groan as she kissed him again. Soothing cold ran up the length of his spine, down his arms, into his fingertips as he cupped her face and kissed her, lovingly, his tongue sweeping over her lips and pressing into her mouth saying everything that in that moment he couldn’t.
“God,” he breathed, all shaky, fingers stroking through her hair. “You- how long?”
She giggled as she looked up at him, eyes all crinkled at the corners as she smiled. “A while,” her hand lifted and laid flat on his chest. “How do you feel?”
“Better,” he sighed, fingertips gentle on her skin. “I think it broke it. I think you… you’re incredible.”
Her smile was like the sun. “Ditto.”
Sam laughed, the lightest he’d felt all day, both of them smiling too much when he went to kiss her again and he ended up kissing her teeth. “Ditto? All of that just to get a ditto?”
She was giggling against his mouth as his hands smoothed over soft skin, fingers tracing down her spine as he leaned over her, cupping the backs of her thighs so he could manoeuvre her onto her back. Laid beneath him like that, her pretty eyes and her pretty mouth and all of her that loved him, the feeling pressing against his ribs was no longer a heat, a curse, it was something much more magical.
His head dipped to kiss along her throat as her thighs pressed against his hips, drawing him closer. “I love you,” he whispered into her skin, a promise. “I love you.”
She was still wet from before, her chest brushing against his with each needy pant she made, so it was like second nature for his hand to reach between them until he could press his cock up against her, dragging the tip through her wetness until he caught her entrance and sank in slowly, the grip of her cunt around him making him moan into her throat as his hand found hers, fingers lacing through hers and pressing it down onto the mattress.
“Sam,” she moaned as his hips rolled, his cock nudging that soft spongy spot on the inside of her walls that made her whine when he hit it right. “Oh- fuck that’s-”
His tongue soothed over bruises he was sucking into the skin of her neck as he fucked her into the mattress gently, hands carressing and worshiping her. She deserved better than him, he knew that, deep down he knew she deserved everything he couldn’t give her and more.
But she wanted him. She wanted him. How could he deny her?
He moaned against her ear as he started fucking her a little deeper. His hand slid down her side to cup the back of one of her thighs, bringing it up and over his hip to press further into her slick cunt with each thrust.
There was a haziness in the room, not caused by a veil of a dream or curse, but the kind of desire that made somebody’s head spin with it. The bed beneath them a bare, plain motel standard, wales just as plain, but his focus was solely on her beneath him.
This wasn’t a dream. It was real. He had her.
“Sam I’m-” her voice trembled with each gasp she let out. Her nails dug into his shoulders that sent delicious sparks of pain down his spine where they dug in. Her cunt was clenched tightly around him, he could tell she was close, the way her gummy walls fluttered around his cock each time he sank himself back inside of her. “Please.”
He would do anything for her if she begged him like that.
“You’re okay, honey,” he breathed into her throat with another kiss. The image of their last round briefly flashed in his mind, her fingertips pressed to her clit when she got close, and he removed his hand from her thigh to dip between them. They were both soaked with leftover cum from before and new aroused slick that collected at the base of his cock. His fingers dragged through the wetness briefly before the pads of his fingers pressed against her clit where he started rubbing small circles that made her clench tighter around him, a whine punching up and out of her throat that made his gut clench. Fuck. “That's it, good girl, just feel it.”
Her hands gripped tight to his shoulders and she whined right in his ear. He almost came right then. “I’m- Sam-”
She shuddered against him as she came and Christ. The feeling of her pussy pulsing around his cock in waves as her orgasm dragged a breathless moan out of her throat was too much for him to handle. He only managed two more thrusts before he followed her, groaning into her skin as he rutted twice more into her before finally stilling on top of her.
For a moment, time didn’t move.
His fingers stroked feather-light up and across her ribs as he dotted kisses against her neck and jaw, until he finally lifted his head to press a soft kiss to her mouth.
“Hi.” She whispered when he leaned back and he smiled, a sweet loving thing.
“Hi, you,” he murmured, stroking her ribs. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, all flushed as she stole another kiss, her fingers stroking his hair made him relax. A thought nagged at him that he was sweaty and gross and he sighed, expression shifting to something a little more serious.
“I’m sorry.”
She frowned at him. “For what? Sam that was… that was great.”
He shook his head. “You should’ve had something better. I’m… I’m gross and sweaty and it was so rushed and I should’ve taken my time with you and… I’m just sorry.”
Her hand lifted to cup his cheek. “Don’t say that,” she leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead and he just about melted. “We broke the curse. I just saved your life, mister, I think that’s pretty great to me.”
He was still frowning. “I know but-”
“Sam,” Her finger pressed to his lips. “It was good. I promise.”
She kissed him again, soft and slow and gentle, and time melted again.
Eventually they pulled away from each other, and since he hadn’t taken care of her in the moment, he made sure to completely care for her in the aftermath. He got a wet cloth from the bathroom and gently wiped her clean before himself, and kissed her forehead before he left again to run the shower for her so that the water would be nice and warm by the time she stepped in. There was a relaxing domesticity to the way they stepped around each other with gentle shared kisses and whispered comforts until she took up the shower first.
Once the room was full of the scent of her shampoo and the gentle pitter of the shower on the other side of the bathroom door he found his phone and thought it was best he told Rowena it had worked.
“Samuel,” she greeted in that delighted tone of hers she had whenever they spoke. “How's the heat?”
“The uh, the curse is broken. I’m fine now.”
He could picture her grin through the phone. “Marvellous. I knew you could do it. It hasn’t been that long since I left, dearie, she must’ve been quite eager to help.”
He ignored the heat that rose to his face. “Yeah, well… thanks for your help, Ro.”
“You’re welcome, pet. I got started on the cure just in case you didn’t have it in you so I’ll send it your way once I’m finished in case you happen to ever need it.”
Sam stilled. “You told me there wasn’t a cure.”
“Aye, I suppose I did. It’s a pretty simple potion, actually. I just thought this way would be a little more… beneficial for you and your love.”
“Rowena-”
“I’ve got to go now, Samuel, but I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
The line went dead and he lowered his phone, sitting with what she’d just told him for a moment, that there had been a cure, a simple one. But then his eyes trailed up to the closed bathroom door, the soft humming behind it reaching his ears, and he just laughed.
if you’d like to be added to my tag list pls send me an ask letting me know what fics you’d like to be tagged for <3
summary: Dean did not realise you wanted to kill him when you insisted on stopping by Victoria's Secret for the holiday sale.
word count: 1,400
warnings: explicit language, very light NSFW .ᐟ
junie's rambles ✮⋆˙ — Sam's version ツ
Dean wanted to cry.
He’d had a hunch he would end up in Victoria’s Secret for months, whether he accepted his destiny or was kidnapped. A chunk of your lipgloss assortment had somehow invaded his toiletry bag. Bobby had catalogs mailed to his house so often, they nearly swamped his lore collection. Sam had learned enough about Fantasy Bras and Secret Charm to become a sales associate.
And so, when the inevitable dawned, he’d assumed he had been prepared.
He was NOT. He was six feet in over his head. Dean Winchester had never been tortured by lace, satin, and rhinestones until a snowy December Friday in 2006. First time for everything, he’d figured. Even death by lingerie.
The store was crowded. Thongs flied everywhere, boyfriends pleaded for mercy, employees scurried to help the majority of Sioux Falls’ population shop for holiday gifts. It was unadulterated chaos. Dean had almost considered abandoning you. Didn’t, being a part-time gentleman and all. But the temptation had lingered—apparently hell was dimly lit, suffocatingly perfumed, and fuchsia.
“Sweetheart?”
Dean could mouth your response as it came. Another minute, my ass. You had needed just another minute for the past hour and change. He’d already endured a protective tirade from an older lady when she’d caught her teenage daughter educating him about the thousand different flavours of Beauty Rush. Aimlessly wandered. Ducked out for a pretzel, gotten overly amused by Hot Sam, picked up Anne’s out of spite. Had gotten scolded again for bringing food inside the store. Eaten the pretzel on a bench outside like the defeated little man that he was.
“Go grab something to eat.”
“Already did,” Dean nodded at a brother-in-arms across the room. The poor soldier seemed every bit as weary as he was. “Had a pretzel. They made me eat it outside. Which is fine, I guess. But the people working here could be jollier. Ain’t it the holidays?”
Silence settled on your end, long enough Dean started to fidget. Did he say anything wrong? He didn’t think he did. The employees were rude. Ish. Nobody stood between a man and his pretzel for no reason. It wasn’t as if he had been attempting to smear cheese sauce over the bouclé sweaters or the satin pyjama sets.
“Do you want to come in here?” You peeked your head around the door.
Dean was pleasantly surprised lingerie hadn’t swallowed you whole. It easily could’ve, judging by the Everest of pink lace behind you. “Yes?”
“Yes?”
“Yup. Sure. Whatever.” He scoffed, but the bravado was overshadowed by the obvious tremble in his voice. He didn’t want to go in there. He’d crack like a cicada under a sneaker on a warm summer night.
Nonetheless, the toughened hunter persevered. He’d faced a Wendigo, he’d faced vengeful spirits, he’d faced demons. He could handle you partially naked. Or clothed. Whatever awaited him. He was the charming, badass type. Most of the time.
He scanned the space for threats, to put it wildly, and eased his way inside the fitting room, something he’d immediately learn would be his demise.
“Hi,” you drawled, voice as pure as the driven snow, smile as sweet as molten honey.
Dean’s face paled as every ounce of blood in his body rushed down south at once. He’d seen you in underwear, loved it—but this was lingerie. He just barely managed to remember that he should close the door, his brain scrambling to operate.
“Sweetheart,” he breathed at last. “Are you trying to torture me, or is that a fun little side bonus for you?”
If you searched for fuck me in the dictionary, Dean would be plastered underneath the definition. This was heaven. This was hell. This was everything he’d never dreamed to dream.
You giggled, soft, melodic. Like a siren about to prey on him, it seemed, especially as you traced over the rhinestone straps of the bra adorning your body, over delicate lace, over the blush ribbon of satin that must’ve been panties in Victoria’s Secret world. “I’m indecisive. Everything is so pretty. You want to leave, you have to help me.”
Dean slumped onto the ottoman in the corner, knees buckling shamefully. It had been years since he’d been seventeen, and yet right there, right then, his body had forgotten. He was the opposite of calm, cool, and collected, but he’d admit defeat, once every blue moon. Even the mightiest stumbled before vixens and goddesses.
“Off the record, I’m feeling damn useless,” he grunted. Another giggle escaped past your lips. Dean wanted to cry.
“Don’t freak out. I’m not asking you to measure my bra size.” He had a fleeting thought that he might be able to, by means of calloused hands instead of sewing tape, and though it was ignored, Dean was certain the fantasy would haunt his day and dreams alike later. “Just tell me what you think.”
“Just tell me what you think,” would’ve been easy enough if Dean.exe was operational. He simply stared, stared, stared until something tumbled onto the ground in the adjacent changing room and yanked him back, either to earth or the Garden of Eden. “Uh huh.”
“Uh huh,” you echoed, lips slowly twisting upward. If you felt out of your depth with the older Winchester brother this discomposed, you barely showed.
Dean eased the lump in his throat with a thick swallow. He was convinced you lived to torture him—in pain and pleasure all the same. “Buy the store,” he blurted out, adjusting his jeans, “is what I think. I don’t give a shit. My credit card’s stolen.”
You stifled yet another laugh, the comment catching you off guard more than the fluster staining his cheeks in bright magenta blotches. “Tempting.”
Whatever else you had spoken afterward might as well have been in Na’vi, Dean’s gaze straying to your chest without his permission as the bra fell undone, your nimble fingers draping the fabric over a hook. He stood by instinct, no obvious intention in mind. Dean had never considered himself devout, yet he constantly yearned to worship you. His hands rested on your hips as you turned, then glided over the contours of your waist, restless to revere.
“I’m serious,” he whispered, half to seem sensuous, half to hide the way his voice would’ve tumbled out an embarrassing pitch higher at normal volume. “Was this premeditated? Because, baby, I gotta tell you, if this was intentional…” he nipped at your neck, gently, once—just to serve a warning, just to maintain the frayed leash on his control.
“Don’t be silly,” you grinned, catching Dean’s eyes in the mirror. They were desperate, famished, startled. Good. Served him right for always being a teasing little asshole. “I come across Victoria’s Secret… anything, and I’m obsessed. You’re here to provide an unbiased opinion.”
Dean laughed, he hoped, even as the sound that reverberated against textured Thulian wallpaper resembled a confused huff on its adventure to a wheeze. “You do see the irony of that statement, right?”
In retrospect, maybe. The corners of your lips quirked up again. “You are useless.”
“And you’re downright gorgeous,” Dean closed the fraction of a gap between your bodies, his chest conforming to your back. His fingers twitched as his arousal pressed into your backside before his touch inched up, up, up, weathered skin kissing tender breasts. “How’s a man supposed to be unbiased?”
Your breath hitched. Your pulse thrummed in your ears as Dean’s thumbs brushed over your nipples. JoJo quieted, other people faded, shades of rose blurred into a solid pink backdrop around you.
And then somebody knocked.
“Hi there! How are those working out for you?” The sales associate sounded polite, if a little tired.
The world resumed.
You glanced back toward the door, hesitating at the question for no good reason. “Yes!” Dean’s hands found solace on your hips. Back in the game, he was. Smug bastard tried to obscure that infamous smirk of his. It broke through, anyway. “Everything is, uh… great.”
You could hear the woman walk away, you thought—your focus was mostly on Dean still. He pressed tighter against you, breathing you in like a man starved. It was only a stretched thin pause later that he looked up from the crook of your neck.
“Allow me to treat you, courtesy of Hector Aframian, and let’s get outta here. Sound good?”
⋰˚☆ dean x reader (feat. sam) | fluff | 4.9k
⋰˚☆ where you’d told sam that you were in love with dean, and he wanted to do all he could to help. even if that included dropping hints to dean for you. little do you know, you have nothing to worry about.
⋰˚☆ content: fem!reader, friends to lovers, best friend!sam featured, sam talking to dean in the first half, lots of cute awkwardness, shy and soft reader
⋰˚☆ read part 1 !
the idea of being in love with dean was simple enough. you’d spent a lot of time with him, learnt things he liked and didn’t like, enjoyed hearing about music and his car even if you never thought that’s what you’d be into.
what wasn’t simple, was you liking your best friends brother. although he seemed fine with it, you weren’t entirely sure.
if you and dean were actually together it would be different, sam would grow to hate it. you just knew it. he was only fine with it now because dean didn’t reciprocate your feelings.
well, at least, that’s what you assumed.
sam truly wasn’t the least bit bothered by your crush on his brother. all he wanted was for you to be happy, find someone that would love you to the same amount that you loved. especially since your heart seemed to be bigger than anyone’s he’d ever met before. even if you started off as polar opposites, changing into so much more.
after that day at the motel, when you got upset, told sam you loved dean, he watched you. saw you following dean around like a lost puppy, sat in the impala while he packed the car or fixed her up, all while he played you some cassette tapes.
you moved to sit with dean to do research instead of always staying at sam’s side, asked dean more questions on what he’d found, leaned beside him to see his laptop.
sam didn’t mind. perhaps there was a tiny piece of worry that you’d start wanting to be with dean more than him. but he’d never get in the way of your happiness. never.
the other thing sam saw though, was the way dean looked at you. a small smile playing on his lips when you laughed, how he pushed his half eaten pie towards you at diners so you could eat some, letting you sit shotgun in the impala, and most of all, that look of awe when you were peacefully asleep.
it hadn’t made sense before, but now it was starting to. he wasn’t sure if it started at the same time as you, or if it was more recent, since you’d been gravitating towards dean.
either way, it was there. he was sure of it.
maybe sam was wrong to take matters into his own hands, but he just couldn’t help himself when it came to your happiness.
it was late, after a long drive to another motel. you’d slipped out to get some ice and drinks from the vending machine. leaving the two brothers alone for a few moments. giving sam what he saw as an opportunity.
“let her ride shotgun again, huh?” sam started, trying to be casual at first.
dean shrugged, “what can i say, sammy?” he smiled. “she’s into the music now, gotta have her up there to sing along with me.”
sam sat back on the bed he’d opted to share with you. as usual. dean was busy kicking his boots off, turning to puff up his pillows to begin getting comfortable.
“even let her share your pie,” sam quietly laughed. “you never do that with anyone.”
“she likes the pies i pick,” dean glanced to sam.
“i like pie and you never share with me,” sam pointed out.
“you never ask.”
“neither does she.”
quiet surrounded the room. for the guy that usually had a comeback to everything, dean was oddly silent. oddly still. looking away from sam, more towards the window. it took sam by surprise.
“you know she never used to eat pie,” sam folded his blankets back, getting set up for bed. “never used to listen to metallica or— or radiohead either. not until you showed her.”
“so, she needed to hear some real music, and eat real food,” dean scoffed. “last time i checked that wasn’t a crime.”
“didn’t say it was.”
“then what are you saying?” dean narrowed his eyes at his brother. “‘cause it sounds like you’re trying to accuse me of something.”
defensive dean, now that was more usual. maybe going in the right direction. trying to break through this shell he always hid under. how he dealt with everything.
sam knew it would probably be hard, especially with this limited time. you’d be back any minute.
“nothing bad, dean,” sam tried to reassure quickly. “i just think that she—“
the door opened, your hands full with snacks and drinks, kicking the door shut with your foot before heading over to the table to place everything down.
that’s when you noticed the silence. you glanced to sam, then to dean, seeing the look on his face.
“everything okay?” you asked. arms folding after. “were you two getting into it about the hunt again?”
“no—“ both their voices sounded at the same time.
your eyebrows raised, hands moving to your hips as your eyebrows knitted together suspiciously.
“right, anyway,” you grabbed a beer from the table, walking over to dean. “got you a beer in case you wanted one.”
he narrowed his eyes, taking the beer from you without hesitation. but, he looked at you, really looked at you. thought you’d said you were going to the vending machine.
“where’d you get the beer?”
you scratched the back of your neck, “uh, the store, you know, the one next door,” you explained. “i just know you like having one, so i thought—“
“that’s okay, sweetheart,” he noticed you becoming unsure. “i appreciate it, didn’t have to go out of the way to get some beer.”
“well, it’s for you, so… not out of my—“ you paused, noticed sam looking at you, dean busy opening his drink. “i’m gonna go get changed for… bed.”
you walked away slowly, a little awkwardly. grabbing your bag from the end of your bed, bringing it to the bathroom so you could carry out your usual night routine. all while giving a brief glance to sam before closing the door behind you.
once inside, sam raised his hands at dean who seemed to already be enjoying his beer. he furrowed his brow, placing the drink down on the nightstand.
“what?”
“you made her feel bad,” sam tried to lower his voice so you didn’t hear.
dean was none the wiser, “i didn’t mean to,” he shrugged as if sam was personally offending him. “just didn’t expect her to bring back a beer.”
going by his brothers expression, sam knew he might’ve started to be a bit hard on dean. he wanted to try and help you out with this, get dean to admit his feelings without outrightly exposing your own.
it was harder now you were in the room, especially since you’d asked sam to not say anything to dean. although, sam was sure it was only because you felt certain dean could never like you in the same way you liked him.
sam decided to try a different approach, maybe a sweeter, less argument starting tone and word choices would work better.
“it’s kinda sweet, you know,” he smiled to himself, dean sipping his beer again. “this thing you two have going on.”
now he had more of dean’s attention again, “this thing?” a chuckle. “there’s no thing, sammy.”
sam would beg to differ, “sure there is,” a pause, maybe for effect. “you sharing your pie with her, and her getting you beer when she could’ve just got a soda from the vending machine.”
“you know what—“
the bathroom door swung open, “i can hear you guys.”
you stood there, arms folded, toothbrush in one hand. a light blush on your cheeks, a little embarrassed, a little annoyed at sam for trying to push this conversation. followed by glaring at him.
“i’m tired,” you took a breath. “i’m sure both of you are too. so please, stop bickering and go to sleep— or read lore or whatever.”
before you could step back into the bathroom, sam went to talk, inevitably getting interrupted by dean.
“why don’t you come share this beer with me when you’re ready, sweetheart,” mostly suggestion. you practically froze, gulping. “or.. to just sit.. or whatever.”
sam would’ve said something about needing sleep, that he was tired too. but he let this play out. wanted to see what you’d do, if you’d agree.
you glanced to dean, tucking your hair behind your ears on instinct, “i’ll come sit,” a timid smile. “be out in a few minutes.”
after you disappeared into the bathroom again, sam gave dean a knowing look. as if he was just confirming everything they’d just been arguing about. this way he is with you, the way this thing is going.
this time, sam didn’t speak. let dean take in the look, understanding what it was giving. up until you walked out, pyjamas on, hair tied into a messy bun to sleep in. dean’s eyes were on you instantly.
sam got up, gave a smile to you as he swapped to go into the bathroom while you were in the main room alone with dean. you folded your clothes placed them on top of your bag before making your way to the bed.
“don’t you look cosy,” dean teased, placing his beer on the nightstand.
“won’t sleep if i don’t have my fluffy pjs,” you shrugged, standing by dean’s bed.
without hesitation, dean pulled back the blankets, allowing you to get comfortable under them. leaving a small gap between the two of you for now.
“you know,” he shuffled slightly, cautiously leaning his arm over the pillows behind you. “saw a diner down the street when we drove in, maybe we can get breakfast before finding any new cases tomorrow.”
your face lit up, “yea i’d like that,” now you shuffled, an inch closer to dean. “think sammy will wanna?”
quiet. the cogs in dean’s head turning. not wanting an i told you so moment from sam, but wanting to give in just once, to let himself feel something other than anger or fear or a little of that sternness.
“well, i thought maybe it could just be… us.”
“just us?” a glance towards dean, still soft on your face.
he scratched the back of his neck, “yea, you know, like when we went out for pie but sam didn’t want any,” he reminded. “so, we just went together.”
a small smile grew on your lips, one you tried to not be too obvious about. even though you could be, you two were friends after all.
“i’d like that,” you repeated quietly. “should we ask sam though? what if he feels left out?”
that was one of the things dean loved about you. maybe love was a strong word right now. the way you always cared about others before yourself. how you never wanted anyone to feel left out.
“you can ask, sweetheart.”
the pet name slipped out again. it felt like second nature to call you that, among other things that he’d almost called you multiple times.
sam walked out of the bathroom then. all changed for bed, looking tired after a long day. he glanced to you and dean, saw how cosy you looked. hoped that while he was away you two would’ve figured things out.
“do you wanna grab breakfast in the morning?” you asked softly. meanwhile dean hoped he’d say no.
sam didn’t answer right away, “tomorrow? don’t you wanna sleep in?”
“i mean sure, but—“
dean spoke then, “i suggested it,” sam’s eyebrows raised, maybe he was trying. “said you might not want to but she wanted to ask.”
a slight pause while sam placed his other clothes over by his bag, looking away, a smile slightly grew on his face. dean had been the one to suggest breakfast. had just asked you to go, but you wanted to ask him.
he knew dean was trying, as much as he knew his brother would hate that he was right. sam wouldn’t get in the way of you being happy, knowing you wanted this too.
“think i’ll stay here,” sam acted as though a decision was made. “you two go ahead.”
he looked right at dean as he turned back, for once seeing a slightly thankful look on his face. he knew he’d said no on purpose, so it would give the two of you some time alone.
“just be quiet when you leave, i wanna catch up on some sleep before we get too deep into police files,” his eyes widened, knowing how noisy dean could be when getting ready.
“you got it, sammy, you won’t even know we left.”
dean picked up his beer once more, taking a sip. you watched as sam got into bed, seeing the small smile he offered over to you. you gave a subtle nod in thanks, knowing he’d done this for you.
sam rolled over, switching the light off by his bed to head to sleep, leaving space for you if you moved out of dean’s bed to actually get some rest. for the time being, you stayed put, leaning against him a touch more.
you glanced to dean, him already looking down at you after you’d moved closer, about to say something when… you yawned. a big one. tiredness catching up to you before you wanted it to.
“tired, sweetheart?” he placed his beer down, reaching to brush your hair away from your face.
a nod was all you could respond with. especially with how dean was looking at you. his intense hazel eyes on yours, hand hovering for longer than it should have. pulling away eventually.
“should get some sleep,” dean suggested. but the moment you went to move, his arm tightened around your shoulders. “didn’t say you had to leave, can sleep right here if you want.”
your brow furrowed, “are you sure? i haven’t slept with you before.”
he went to answer, your eyes widening at your wording, shaking your head at yourself.
“sorry— i didn’t mean— obviously i haven’t slept with you—“
“woah woah,” dean couldn’t help but laugh. “you’re good, i got what you meant.”
a small pause, then he continued, “i don’t mind,” his voice softened. “go to sleep, sweetheart.”
“okay,” quiet and tired response.
you settled down, shuffling onto your side, head leaning on dean’s shoulder. his arm staying around you as you began to drift off to sleep. dean glancing down every few minutes, a smile growing seeing you so peaceful…
. ・ 。 . ・ ゜ ✭ ・ . ・ ✫ ・ ゜ ・ 。 .
when morning came around, the sun was shining through the curtains, sam still asleep in the next bed over. you and dean had been quiet as promised, the motel door closing with a soft click as you left for breakfast.
nothing had been spoken of the nights sleep you’d both had. you’d woken up with dean’s arm loosely over your waist, your hand instinctively finding his while you slept. it was comfortable.
sitting in the diner down the street, in a booth opposite one another, you held your menu’s, sitting in silence for the time being. or maybe longer than that.
you’d been alone with dean before, but not like this since telling sam you liked him, since he’d talked to dean about his feelings, since sleeping in bed with dean and waking up with his arm around you. it’s as if you didn’t know how to talk to each other.
it took the waitress bringing you coffee for you two to snap out of it. you thanking her, dean asking for a couple more minutes which was very unlike him.
“so, uh,” dean placed his menu down, looking right at you. “you sleep okay last night?”
a visible gulp, “yea, um, slept just fine, you?”
he nodded, “sure,” a pause. “better than normal.”
your eyes fully met his, seeing his slightly wide, looking at you in a way that was almost questioning the words coming out of his mouth. after you didn’t seem concerned, or have any questions, he cleared his throat, glancing to his menu again.
“pancakes sound good.”
you saw where he was looking, scanning the options, “do you maybe—“ a hesitation, he looked at you again. “do you wanna get some to share?”
he had to stop a smile from forming, more of an unconscious one, “you wanna share pancakes?” you nodded, a soft blush covering your cheeks. “sure, we can share, sweetheart.”
then you smiled, giving dean the all okay to smile too, letting him feel this, whatever emotion it was. that’s when he shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment.
you were confused, feeling slight awkwardness at his expression. luckily you didn’t have to wait long for him to explain.
“we’re being awkward, aren’t we?” he chuckled.
you laughed quietly, “a little, yea,” you scratched the back of your neck. “if it’s because of how i slept last night—“
“what? no— no! that’s not it,” he defended faster than normal. “you were fine, sleeping like that was fine. if anything it was me, i was crushing you—“
“crushing me?” another laugh. “god no, no— no, not at all. it was more of a comforting hug. well, it felt comforting to me. it was kinda nice, you know? being that close, and you kept me warm and— oh.”
you saw the look on his face, realised you were still talking, “sorry i’m rambling,” a short pause. “why am i rambling? we’ve had breakfast alone before, it’s not like we’ve never done it. we’re alone all the time and it’s normally fine—“
“hey, stop,” he reached across the table, taking one of your hands softly in his. “it’s just me, yea?
a silent response, you stopped talking. eyes moving to look down at your hands together after. the way his fingers wrapped so easily around your hand, his thumb brushing back and forth causing warmth to spread through you.
dean couldn’t help but do the same, realising how nice it was to hold your hand. your soft, warm skin against his, something he didn’t realise he’d been craving more than anything else.
“listen uh—“
“ready to order?” the waitress cheerfully stood at the end of the table.
dean looked at you. you looked at dean. clearly still caught up from your rambling, your eyes widened, suddenly unable to get a word out.
“double portion of the strawberry pancakes for us, please, and thanks,” dean gave a quick smile, the waitress writing it down before leaving again. “as i was saying—“
“strawberry’s my favourite.”
“yea, sweetheart, i know. that’s why i asked for those—“
“you remember?” a surprise.
“course i do.”
“but you forget things that sam always orders.”
a deep breath, “because he’s my brother, he’s not you.”
“oh.”
finally, quiet again. your hand still in his. your eyes on each others. a few things starting to make sense, to click in both of your heads. maybe you didn’t think he could feel the same things you had been, but perhaps that was the same thing going through dean’s head.
“sam talked to me yesterday,” dean started. “about… us. i guess.”
you listened, giving his hand a slight squeeze in the process.
“i thought he was just badgering me,” a small chuckle left his lips. “i didn’t know what it was, him accusing me of doing things for you that i don’t do for anyone else. somethin’ like that.”
with your free hand, you tucked your hair behind your ears. nerves for where this conversation was going. slight worry about what sam had been saying.
“maybe i thought he was being hostile at how i treat you, since you’re his best friend, not mine,” a shrug. “thought he was accusing me of getting you closer to me, taking you away from him. even though we all know it ain’t like that.”
it wasn’t that at all. you knew it couldn’t be. especially since telling sam you liked dean. he didn’t seem bothered, more confused. more worried about you being happy over anything else.
had he been bringing it up to dean? did dean know? he couldn’t. you thought he would’ve said something already if he did.
“it’s been kinda nice recently,” you say quietly. “doing more of the research and hunting with you, rather than sam all the time.”
“yea?” a smile threatened to appear on his lips. “wasn’t sure if you liked it, since it’s a lot of me just… bossing you around.”
your brow furrowed, “i never saw it as that,” you reassure. “just like spending more time with you honestly.”
your voice got more quiet at the end of your sentence. the first admittance to something more. you weren’t sure if you should’ve come out with that, but you couldn’t stop yourself. hoped it didn’t come across too forwards.
“i like spending time with you too, sweetheart.”
now there were two smiles. one of relief, one of genuine happiness. dean held your hand tighter, changing to linking your fingers together, holding on more intimately. at least, that’s how he saw it.
you looked at your hands again, more obviously. smiling at the feeling. dean saw, started to slowly put things together in his head. you acting a little weird, sam and his conversation last night, the sleeping in the same bed.
it wasn’t so far fetched that maybe you did both feel the same.
“you think sam would be mad if we did this more often?” dean dropped the first hint.
“this?” you asked. “you mean breakfast? just us?”
dean nodded.
“um, i don’t think so, he was fine about this time, so i don’t see why— oh, oh!” the cogs turning in your brain. “are you asking me to do this more? is that what you’re saying?”
dean laughed softly as you realised, “yea, that’s what i’m saying,” a pause. “we don’t gotta do it all the time but—“
“no, no, i’d love that, dean,” a squeeze to his hand.
“yea?”
“yea.”
he looked at you, your eyes shining in the bright light of the diner. the sun further up in the sky now. then, pancakes, the waitress placing one plate down in front of you, double pancakes ready to be shared. quiet thank you’s passed over.
neither of you moved for a moment. feeling as though it was just the two of you here in your own little world. your own happy world full of feelings.
then you spoke, “do you mind if i come sit next to you?”
dean nodded a little too fast, shuffling over to give you some space. you moved slowly, letting go of his hand as you got up, sliding into the booth seat next to him. moving so close that your arms and legs touched.
you look a breath. so did dean. silence, until you reached for his hand next to you, linking your fingers again, turning towards him after.
“listen—“ you both spoke in unison, laughing instantly.
“go ahead,” dean let you talk.
where to start, you thought, “i spoke to sam, a little ago, about um… this,” you lifted his hand that was in yours. “i thought he’d be mad, maybe stereotypically the best friends brother thing, and i didn’t want to upset him by telling him i had feelings and—“
dean squeezed your hand, eyebrows raised at your rambling again.
“sorry,” you took a breath. “dean… there’s more feelings for me. more than friends. i didn’t know how to tell you, didn’t know what to do with sam in the middle.”
dean had to half agree, “i thought he’d be mad at me, more like a brothers best friend thing,” he copied as you’d said. “but last night, it’s like he was forcing my feelings out of me, like he wants us together.”
you breathed a sigh of relief. knowing sam wasn’t mad at either of you, and you were slowly admitting these feelings to each other. as if you weren’t sat there holding hands…
“i know i used to be an asshole, calling you a nerd just because you went to stanford like he did—“
“for the record that was… unfortunately what started it.”
“what?” dean was confused. “me teasing you?”
you blushed, nodded. unsure of why that put ideas in your head, did things to make him tease you more. because, you liked it. you liked him teasing you for being smart just like sam. that’s what it was at the start.
“then we started doing more research together, and you stopped the teasing,” you remembered. “and instead let me ride shotgun, took me on drives with you and talked to me about metallica and your other cassettes— and showed me more of baby , shared food with me. it just added to it.”
“yea, sam mentioned you’ve never been into that music, or cars, or pie…”
“i’m into it all because it’s you,” you smiled. “because it’s things that make you happy, and i love seeing you happy.”
dean’s lips curved upwards, you suddenly pointing beside his lips, “and you get those cute dimples, when you smile, and sometimes when you talk,” eyes on those spots. “i like them.”
“oh yea?” dean let go of your hand, reached up, brushed your hair behind your ears. “you get these little crinkles, near your eyes, when you’re really happy.”
your smile dropped a little, the crinkles going away. dean worried, moving back to give you a little space. you reached up, knowing where he was talking about.
“you noticed that?” you seemed unsure. “i never liked it.”
“yea? well, i like you so that kinda cancels it out.”
dean’s admitted feelings. said so matter of factly, so him, that you hardly knew how to react. other than those crinkles returning, the smile on your face growing, dean moving closer again.
his hand was on your cheek now, cupping softly, thumb moving back and forth against the warm skin. you couldn’t look away, neither could he, starting to lean in.
before he hesitated, “oh, sorry— is this okay? sam mentioned you haven’t really—“
“it’s okay,” a blush grew, slightly embarrassed that sam had told him that, mostly because of the close proximity.
he leaned in closer, breath against your lips before they connected. all you felt was a warmth in your belly, his soft lips on yours, the way his hand stayed against your cheek.
the kiss lasted longer than you’d been expecting, maybe your lack of relationships being part of that, dean having been with way more people than you. you didn’t mind though, smiling through it.
you were first to pull away, immediately leaning against dean’s shoulder, arms wrapping around his torso. he pulled you closer, a kiss getting left on your forehead.
“that okay, sweetheart?”
a shy nod, “more than okay,” you glanced up. “do you just mind if—“
“we take things slow?” he guessed, finishing your sentence. “we can talk about it more later, if there’s any boundaries that you need at first, yea?”
“i’d like that, thank you, dean,” you moved again, sitting up.
looking back to the table, the pancakes sitting there, waiting to be eaten, both deciding it was a good time to start. you grabbed your knife and fork, dean following, starting to cut into the food first.
you stayed sat right against him, knee bumping his every few minutes, a smile growing on dean’s face every time. sure that if sam was here he’d be telling you both to stop being so coupley.
“out of curiosity,” dean started talking with his mouthful. “why didn’t you say anything?”
“well,” you chuckled as you got a small piece of pancake on your fork. “didn’t think you’d like someone like me. you know, being a nerd like sammy and all.”
he knew where you were coming from. someone like his brother, who studied at stanford. but, it was completely different. you got into the music dean liked, loved learning about his car, going out for pie with him. sure he made jokes at first, but it was different now.
“so, what you’re a nerd?” you went to glare at him, changing your mind after. “but you’re my nerd.”
you blushed, a little too easily. dean smiled, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you tighter against him, your head leaning to rest in the crook of his neck.
“wait sorry— is it too soon to say stuff like that?”
your head shook, “no, i um— i like it, actually.”
he nodded to himself, instead going back to eating his pancakes with one hand, wanting to keep his other on your waist. you continued eating too, enjoying breakfast together, away from hunting for the short time you got to yourselves.
it didn’t happen often, but now you knew you’d be learning to make the most of it even more than before. wanting to make sure you had your time with dean, as well as still with sam as your best friend.
then you had a final thought, “should we tell sam when we get back?”
dean shrugged, a mischievous smirk rising, “think we should leave him in the dark for a few days, see if he figures it out.”
you nudged him, laughing softly. knowing you would most likely tell sam as soon as you walked through the door, or maybe, you’ll keep quiet, just for a little bit.
for now, all you could be was happy. a little bit relieved that this all worked out. that sam didn’t mind. that dean liked you back. things would be different now, a good different.
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Hello!! Could you write one in which reader is in a relationship with Dean and is completely obsessed with Deans freckles????
ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ the freckles by your eyes, dean winchester ༘♡
summary: it's not the first time you notice the freckles upon dean's face. but it's the first time you let him know how beautiful he is with them.
word count: 819
pairing: dean winchester x reader
⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧
The sun hits just right through the motel's kitchen window, catching the bridge of his nose, the curve of his cheekbones. He’s sitting at the table, coffee mug in one hand, eyes still half-lidded with sleep. There’s something about the way morning softens him—the way the harsh edges fade, the way his freckles come alive.
You’ve seen them before, of course. Countless times. But somehow, this morning feels different.
He looks peaceful. Vulnerable, even.
And you realize you’ve never really looked at him like this—like someone allowed to take their time.
You lean on the counter, smiling. “You’ve got more freckles than usual.”
Dean glances up, brow furrowing slightly. “What?”
You nod toward him. “Your face. The sun’s been getting to you.”
He huffs a laugh, rubbing his cheek with his knuckles. “Guess that’s what happens when you’re workin’ a job out in the middle of nowhere with no shade.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you tease, crossing the room. “They look good on you.”
He blinks, startled—not because you said something bold, but because it’s him you said it to. Compliments always seem to catch him off guard, like he’s not sure what to do with them.
“Yeah, okay,” he mutters, trying to brush it off. “Sure they do.”
You stop beside him, hand resting lightly on the back of his chair. “No, really. They do.”
He doesn’t look up at first. But when he does, his eyes are impossibly green in the light, and you can see every tiny freckle scattered across his nose. Some are faint, like whispers. Others darker, like little stories his skin decided to keep.
You tilt your head. “I didn’t realize there were so many.”
“Don’t start counting,” he warns lightly, but there’s a smile threatening the corner of his mouth.
“Oh, I’m definitely counting,” you say, grinning as you crouch down beside his chair. “Hold still, Winchester.”
He chuckles, cheeks tinting pink. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet,” you say softly, leaning closer, “you’re not stopping me.”
His smirk fades into something gentler, quieter. You’re close enough now to see the faint freckles just beneath his eyes, like tiny constellations scattered across his skin. You lift a hand, tracing the air just above them.
“There’s one right here,” you whisper, fingertip hovering near his cheekbone. “And another one here.”
He doesn’t move.
His breathing slows, lips parting like he wants to say something but can’t. You can feel the warmth coming off him, smell the faint mix of soap and coffee and old leather.
You finally let your touch land, barely grazing his skin as your thumb traces along the curve of his cheek. “They’re beautiful.”
Dean blinks, eyes flicking to yours. “You mean I’m beautiful?”
You smile. “That too.”
That earns a quiet laugh. “You’re outta your mind.”
You shrug, still tracing the bridge of his nose with your thumb. “Maybe. But I think you should know… when you laugh, the ones by your nose wrinkle up. Like little parentheses.”
He laughs again, softer this time, and you watch them appear—the freckles dancing across his cheeks like they’ve been waiting for you to notice.
“You really pay that much attention?” he asks quietly.
You meet his gaze. “Of course I do.”
Something in his expression falters—like you’ve said something dangerous and tender all at once. He swallows, the muscle in his jaw tightening.
“Why?” he asks, almost under his breath.
“Because,” you murmur, “you spend so much time seeing everyone else. Taking care of everyone else. I just… I like seeing you. The parts you probably don’t even think about.”
He blinks a few times, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting emotion he doesn’t quite know how to hold.
Then he says, very softly, “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”
“Yeah, but you like that about me.”
He smiles, small but real. “Yeah,” he admits. “I really do.”
You don’t say anything for a moment. You just stay there, watching him, memorizing every fleck of color on his skin, every freckle like a secret he didn’t know he was keeping.
Finally, you press a kiss to his cheekbone, right where the light hits. Then another, right on the bridge of his nose.
Dean exhales shakily. “You’re gonna kill me,” he murmurs.
“Not my plan,” you whisper against his skin. “I’m just admiring the view.”
He grins, eyes fluttering shut, and lets you keep kissing the freckles you love so much. When you pull back, he looks at you like you’ve given him something he didn’t know he was missing.
“Hey,” he says softly, voice rough. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For… not lookin’ past me.”
You smile, brushing your thumb along his cheek one last time. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
And when he leans forward to kiss you, the sunlight catches his freckles again—tiny constellations glowing beneath your touch—and you think, God, I could spend forever mapping him.
tags and warnings: another dean drabble. fluff, angst, unspoken romance, TOUCH STARVED!DEAN (my baby) dean feeling undeserving, you feeling otherwise.
summary: cleaning up dean after a hunt leads to a side of him you had never experienced before.
The motel room reeked of antiseptic and exhaustion.
A pale bulb swung from the ceiling, casting its weak light over the cracked linoleum floor and a man who refused to sit still.
"Dean," you warned, clutching the first aid kit in one hand and a damp cloth in the other. "Stop moving."
"I'm fine," he muttered, jaw tight as his green eyes darted anywhere but at you. Blood streaked his cheek, smeared and half-dried, blending into the stubble along his jaw. Neither of you sure if it was his or someone else's.
"You're not fine," you snapped, more forcefully than you'd intended. You softened your tone, getting closer. "Just let me help, okay?"
"I've had worse, this'll heal on its own." He smirked, but held a weariness in his eyes.
"Yeah? And what's your plan for the dried blood? Gonna wear it like a badge of honor?" You fire back.
He huffed a laugh, but when you reached out, he didn't pull away. Instead, he let you stand between his knees, close enough to feel the heat of him, close enough to notice the way his breath hitched as your fingers brushed his chin.
"Hold still," your murmured, your voice softening as you tilted his head towards the light.
Dean's gaze flicked up to you, and you could feel the intensity of his eyes even though you focused on cleaning the blood from his face. His expression was unguarded, vulnerable in a way he rarely let himself be.
"You're gonna fuss over me no matter what I say, huh?" he asked, his tone more fond than exasperated.
"Pretty much," you said lightly, dabbing at the dried streak. "You should be used to it by now."
He chuckled under his breath, the sound low and warm. He was comfortable. "Yeah, I guess I should."
You worked quietly, your touch gentle as you cleaned the wound on his cheek. Every so often, your fingers would graze his skin, and you felt him tense. Not from pain though, from something else entirely.
"There," you said, stepping back to admire your work. "Good as new. Well... almost."
Dean's lips quirked into a small smile. "Thanks, Doc."
"Don't get use to it." You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the grin tugging at your own lips.
"Too late," he said, his voice softer now.
The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the world outside the dingy motel room didn't exist. It was just the two of you, too close, sharing something unspoken.
"You should rest," you said, breaking the moment but not moving away.
Dean tilted his head, looking upwards to you still, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "What, you gonna tuck me in too?"
You swatted his arm lightly, laughing. "Don't push your luck."
But as you turned away from him, you heard him mutter, almost to himself. "I wouldn't mind if you did."
Your heart skipped a beat, and by the time you went to look back at him, his hand had gently wrapped itself around your wrist pulling you close to him.
You stood there, hovering above him, his arms snaking itself around your waist while the side of his head rested against your stomach. His breathing evened out, the tension in his frame finally began to dissipate.
Watching him from above, your chest ached in the best possible way. Though you didn't say it, you knew you'd stay right here, as long as he'd let you.
He nestled into you further, now one of your hands ran through his brunette head of hair, aimlessly.
"You don't have to do this," he said gruffly. His voice was low, laced with something unsaid.
"Yes, I do." You replied soft and gentle but full of intention like the embrace he had you in. "You never take care of yourself. Someone has to."
His arms tightened around you.
"You shouldn't have to," he murmured after a beat, so quiet you almost missed it. Almost.
"What does that mean?" You pause, your breath hitching. He looked up at you, his hands on both sides of your figure now. Your eyes locked with his finally.
"It means," he shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose. "It means I don't deserve it. Any of it. This."
Your chest tightened in protest. "Dean."
"Don't," he said, a note of desperation breaking through his usual bravado. "Don't make this harder than it already is."
Your heart stuttered, torn between his pain and your own. You wanted to reach for him, to smooth the lines of worry etched into his face, to tell him he was wrong. But you couldn't, not with the way his walls shot up the second you got too close.
"Why do you do this?" he asked suddenly, voice hoarse.
"Do what?"
"Care," he said simply.
"Because I do."
He didn't look away this time, and it was almost unbearable, the intensity of his gaze. "You shouldn't."
"And yet, here I am." You replied softly, a single hand of yours gently touched the side of his face. His eyes fixated on you, longing for you as your gaze lingered.
"Thank you." His lips twitched, almost a smile. He didn't let you go however, he pulled you back in. The two of you stayed like this for longer than you could remember, but for him you'd stay like this forever. Just close enough to him.
Dean Winchester, who is just sooo obsessed with you. Like he just thinks your the most perfect thing he's ever met. He sticks to you like a limpet whenever you're not in a life-threatening situation.
He's always finding a way to touch you, dragging you into his lap whenever your trying to research, small teasing kisses against your skin which slowly become more insistent. Kisses become his teeth scraping against your skin, red marks blossoming as whatever book you'd been reading, his tossed aside as his hands become more insistent. His fingers 'accidentally' grazing your thigh just enough to make you go soft in his arms.
He's a menace. Distracting you from any task you try and do which doesn't involve him. Trying to make breakfast becomes a balancing act between watching the bacon and smacking his wandering hands away as he presses up against your back.
Dean whines like a petulant child when you tell him no, sending him to the table as he mumbles something about you being a killjoy! So what if he was touchy? So what if you'd been through many, many bottles of concealer in the last few months in an attempt to cover up the marks he loved to leave all over your skin.
So what if you were spending more time letting him have his way rather than doing the research you needed?
He was just so obsessed with you...it's only fair he expresses his gratitude for the fact that you chose to put up with him.
