#winchester x reader

[cumkissed]

. ｡❀ “ 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 . . “ ̼︵

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄 : months of jealousy, lingering looks, and mutual pining finally boil over when sam and dean realise they’ve both fallen for you. what begins as a childish bet over which brother can make you break first turns into an honest confession neither of them expected. you refuse to choose between the winchesters, and once they agree to share, all three of you discover exactly how much trouble two jealous brothers can cause : 14k

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : 18+ . sam winchester x fem!reader x dean winchester . polyamorous relationship dynamics . no incest . the brothers do not interact sexually . jealousy . possessive behaviour . mutual pining . competitive flirting . praise kink . dirty talk . pet names . consensual sharing . threesome . oral sex . blowjob . deepthroating . mouth fucking . hair pulling . spit . gagging . penetrative sex . unprotected sex . riding . clitoral stimulation . multiple orgasms . overstimulation . nipple play . facial ejaculation . cum swallowing . messy sex . light degradation . soft dominance . mdni

navigation : kofi . this was requested ages agoooo, sorry for the wait </3 i had writers block.

DEAN WAS CLEANING THE SAME gun for the third time that night, and Sam knew it because the slide had already clicked back into place twice before. The bunker was quiet around them, all low lamps, old paper, whiskey breath, and the distant hum of pipes buried deep in the walls. Dean sat at the library table with his boots kicked out, a rag twisted between his fingers, and his jaw set in that particular way Sam had learned to read before either of them were old enough to shave. It meant Dean was irritated, but not in the usual way.

This wasn’t a bad lead, a broken engine, or some smug demon getting under his skin. This was worse because Dean couldn’t shoot it, burn it, salt it, or make a joke mean enough to chase it away. The problem was you, and Sam knew that because he was having the exact same problem on the other side of the table. He had a book open in front of him, some old Men of Letters volume with a cracked spine and tiny print, but he hadn’t taken in a single sentence for the last twenty minutes.

Every few seconds, his eyes moved without permission toward the hallway, where you had disappeared after telling them you were going to change. Dean noticed every time. Sam noticed Dean noticing. Neither of them said a word, which only made the silence feel more guilty.

You had been with them long enough to make the bunker feel different, and Dean hated how much he liked that. You weren’t just another hunter passing through with a fake badge, a half-healed bruise, and a duffel bag full of knives. You had become part of the place in small, stubborn ways, leaving your boots near the stairs, your favourite mug beside the coffee maker, your notes tucked inside books Sam swore nobody else was allowed to annotate.

Dean had complained the first time he found your jacket thrown over the back of his chair, but he hadn’t moved it for three days. Sam had noticed that too. Sam noticed everything when it came to you, which made him feel like a creep on the nights when he caught himself listening for your footsteps in the hall. Dean was less subtle, but he liked to think he wasn’t obvious. He was wrong.

Sam had seen the way Dean watched you when you bent over a pool table during interviews, the way his hand found your shoulder in crowded bars, the way his smile got tight when another man made you laugh too easily. Dean had seen Sam too, though. He had seen the way his brother softened when you said his name, the way Sam’s anger dulled around the edges when you touched his arm, the way he leaned closer when you spoke like the rest of the room had gone quiet.

Dean still remembered the first night they met you because you had walked into the middle of their hunt like a thunderstorm with a shotgun. The case had been ugly from the start, a string of disappearances around an abandoned church in Ohio, the kind with too many bones under the floorboards and not enough locals willing to talk. Sam had been elbow-deep in research for two days, and Dean had been getting twitchy from waiting around, which meant they were both a little too tired and a little too sure of themselves when they went in.

Then the spirit had come out of the walls faster than expected, and Dean had ended up flat on his back in the mud with the breath knocked out of him. You stepped over him, fired a round of rock salt into the dark, and said, “You always let ghosts throw you around like that, or am I special?” Dean had stared up at you, rain dripping off his lashes, too surprised to be annoyed as quickly as he should’ve been. Sam had come running from the other side of the graveyard, flashlight cutting through the downpour, and he had stopped dead when he saw you standing there.

You had blood on your cheek, mud on your jeans, and a look on your face like you had already decided the Winchesters were a full-time headache. By sunrise, you had helped them burn the bones, called their plan reckless, and accepted diner coffee from Sam with both hands curled around the mug. Dean had told himself you were trouble. Sam had thought the same thing, but softer.

After that, you kept crossing paths with them until it stopped feeling like coincidence and started feeling like a choice. Dean would never admit it, but every time your number lit up his phone, something in his chest settled before he even answered. Sam was worse in a quieter way, always asking if you were okay before asking what case you were on, always saving you a seat at the library table when you came through Lebanon.

You teased him for it once, nudging his boot with yours beneath the table, and Sam had gone pink around the ears like he was still capable of being embarrassed by kindness. Dean had laughed at him, of course, but only because your foot had brushed Dean’s ankle next, and his own thoughts had turned dangerous enough to make mockery feel safer. You became the person they both looked for after a hunt, the person they both wanted beside them in the Impala, the person they both pretended not to watch when you were curled up on the couch in one of their stolen flannels.

It wasn’t clean, and it wasn’t simple. Nothing about wanting you had ever been simple. Dean wanted you loudly, even when he tried to hide it. Sam wanted you carefully, which somehow made it worse. The worst part was that you seemed to know.

The hunt that night had only made things uglier between them. You had gone undercover at a bar outside town, all warm smiles and easy laughter, leaning close to some suspect with your hand wrapped around a glass you barely drank from. Dean had watched from a booth with his shoulders stiff and his mouth pressed into a flat line, looking like he might break the table if the man touched you. Sam had been standing near the jukebox, arms folded, expression calm enough to seem harmless to anyone who didn’t know him.

Dean knew him. Dean saw the tension in Sam’s jaw, the way his eyes followed the man’s hand when it drifted too close to your waist. “You gonna glare him to death, Sammy?” Dean had muttered, but his own voice came out rougher than he wanted. Sam hadn’t looked at him right away. He kept watching you smile at a man neither of them trusted, and the old protective instinct twisted into something much more selfish inside him.

“You’re one to talk,” Sam had said finally, low enough that only Dean could hear. The words should’ve ended there, but Dean had looked over just as you laughed at something the man said. His hand tightened around his beer bottle. Sam saw that too, and something bitter and competitive sparked between them before the hunt had even finished.

By the time the three of you got back to the bunker, the air inside the Impala had been thick enough to choke on. Dean drove too fast, one hand loose on the wheel and the other tapping restless patterns against the leather. Sam sat in the passenger seat with his shoulders squared and his eyes on the road, acting like he wasn’t listening to you shift in the backseat.

You were quiet behind them, probably tired, probably amused, probably too aware of the way both brothers had gone tense the second that man at the bar looked at you like you were something he could keep. Dean glanced at you in the rearview mirror more times than he needed to. Sam caught every single look reflected in the glass.

“Case is done,” you said from the backseat eventually, your voice soft but edged with curiosity. “So why do you both look like you’re still hunting something?” Dean huffed, like the answer was ridiculous. Sam didn’t answer at all. That was when Dean knew his brother was in deep, because Sam Winchester only got that silent when the thing he wanted was sitting too close and too far away at the same time.

Now, in the library, Dean kept dragging the rag over the pistol like friction might burn the image of you out of his head. Sam closed the book in front of him with careful hands, the sound small but final. Dean’s eyes snapped up at once, because everything Sam did had started to feel like a challenge tonight. “You gonna actually read that thing, or are you just trying to look thoughtful?” Dean asked, his voice lazy in a way that didn’t fool Sam at all.

Sam leaned back in his chair and looked at his brother over the book, expression mild but eyes sharp. He didn’t answer right away, because he knew Dean hated waiting almost as much as he hated being seen through. The library light caught on Sam’s cheekbones, making him look tired, annoyed, and far too composed for Dean’s liking.

Then Sam looked toward the hallway again, where you still hadn’t reappeared, and Dean felt something hot and ugly move under his ribs. “I’m thinking fine,” Sam said at last, his voice measured. “That’s usually the part where you get nervous.” Dean laughed once, short and humorless, because the comment landed too close to the truth. He set the gun down carefully, which only made him look more dangerous.

You appeared in the doorway before Dean could answer, and both brothers went still in two completely different ways. Dean’s stillness was physical, a sudden pause in his hands, his breathing, his entire posture, like his body had forgotten what it was doing. Sam’s was quieter, but no less obvious, his gaze lifting to you and staying there just long enough to give him away.

You had changed into soft shorts and an oversized shirt, your hair slightly messy, your face bare of the focus you wore on hunts. You looked comfortable in their home, and that did something unbearable to both of them. Dean’s eyes flicked over you before he forced them back to your face, and Sam watched him do it with a tightness gathering in his chest. “You two are doing that thing again,” you said, stepping farther into the room.

Your voice carried easily in the quiet, teasing at first, but there was something underneath it that made Sam’s fingers curl against the arm of his chair. Dean tilted his head, acting confused because denial had always been one of his favorite bad habits. “What thing?” he asked, like he hadn’t been sitting there vibrating with jealousy for the better part of an hour. You looked at Sam instead of answering Dean, and Dean’s smile sharpened.

Sam saw the way Dean reacted to your attention shifting, and he hated the small satisfaction it gave him. You weren’t trying to be cruel. That was the thing that kept ruining them both. You didn’t toss them looks because you wanted to watch them bleed.

You did it because you were honest with your attention, because when you cared, it showed, and when you wanted, that showed too. Sam had seen it in the car, in motel rooms, in the bunker kitchen when you reached over him for coffee and lingered close enough that he could smell your shampoo. He had seen you go warm under Dean’s praise, and he had seen you turn quiet when Sam’s voice softened around your name.

“The thing where you both act like you’re mad at each other, but somehow I’m the one getting stared at,” you said, folding your arms loosely as you leaned against the table. Dean dropped his gaze to the movement for half a second, then dragged it back up, annoyed with himself. Sam looked down at the closed book like it might offer mercy. It didn’t. “Maybe you like being stared at,” Dean said, and the words came out lower than he meant them to. You didn’t flinch. You smiled, and Sam felt the room tilt around it.

Dean knew he should stop there. He knew that tone, that look, that dangerous little space opening between all three of you was exactly the kind of thing that ruined people’s sleep and made mornings complicated. But then Sam looked at you again, and the look on his brother’s face was too careful, too hungry, too patient. Dean hated patience when it came to you. He hated the way Sam could stand there and make restraint look like devotion. “Careful, Dean,” Sam said, and his voice was calm enough that it sounded almost kind. Dean turned his head slowly, brows lifting as if Sam had just done something interesting and stupid at the same time.

There was no raised voice, no slammed glass, no dramatic shove toward violence, but the tension between them snapped tight anyway. You felt it too, because your smile faded into something softer, something more aware. “Careful with what?” Dean asked, though they all knew he wasn’t asking because he didn’t understand. Sam’s eyes stayed on him for a moment, then moved back to you. “With acting like you’re the only one who gets to say things like that to her,” he said. The words landed heavy in the room, and Dean’s grin disappeared.

For a few seconds, nobody moved. The bunker seemed too large around you, too quiet, every small sound suddenly amplified. Dean could hear the faint buzz of the light overhead, the shift of Sam’s breathing, the tiny inhale you took before you tried to hide it.

Sam could hear Dean’s knuckles flex against the table, could see the muscle jumping in his jaw, could feel the old Winchester warning signs lining up one by one. You looked between them, and something in your expression changed from amused to caught. Not scared. Not uncomfortable. Caught, like you’d walked into a room where the truth had been waiting long before you arrived.

“Is that what this is?” you asked, your voice quieter now. “You’re both mad because you think the other one’s getting too close?” Dean wanted to answer fast, something smart and filthy enough to knock the softness out of the moment. He couldn’t. Sam’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth, then lifted again, and Dean saw it. That was what finally pushed him over the edge.

Dean leaned back in his chair, but there was nothing relaxed about him now. “I think Sam here’s got this idea in his head,” he said, dragging his eyes from his brother back to you, “that if he waits long enough and talks soft enough, you’ll just fall right into his lap.” The sentence should’ve sounded like a joke, but it didn’t. It sounded like an accusation dressed up in Dean’s usual arrogance, and Sam’s face went still in the way that meant the comment had hit exactly where Dean meant it to.

You looked at Sam, and Dean hated himself a little for watching your reaction so closely. Sam didn’t rush to defend himself. That was what made him dangerous. He took his time, sitting back with one hand resting on the closed book, his thumb brushing the worn edge of the cover like he was thinking through every possible consequence before choosing the worst one.

“And Dean thinks if he smirks hard enough and calls you sweetheart,” Sam said, voice low and even, “you’ll forget he’s terrified of wanting anything that wants him back.” Dean’s eyes flashed. You went completely still.

That should’ve been the moment one of them backed down. Sam knew it. Dean knew it. Even you seemed to know it from the way your eyes searched both of their faces, no longer teasing, no longer pretending this was just another argument they’d laugh about later. But the truth was already in the room, and neither brother had ever been good at walking away from something once it started bleeding.

“You both sound ridiculous,” you said, though your voice didn’t have enough force behind it to make either of them believe you meant it. Dean’s mouth tugged up at one corner, but his eyes were too dark for the expression to feel light. Sam’s face softened when he looked at you, and Dean hated that too, hated how Sam could make sincerity look like a weapon.

“Maybe,” Sam said, and his voice gentled in a way that made your fingers tighten around the edge of the table. Dean saw it. Of course he saw it. “Or maybe we’re just done pretending,” Sam added, and the room seemed to shrink around the three of you. Dean’s smile returned slowly, but this time there was no humor in it.

The bet came out of Dean because Dean was always better at turning fear into something reckless. He looked at Sam first, like the idea was meant to challenge him, then at you, like he already knew it would make your breathing change. “Fine,” Dean said, tapping two fingers against the table once. “Since we’re all being honest, maybe we settle it.”

Sam’s brows drew together, suspicion flickering across his face, because he knew that tone and almost never liked where it led. You didn’t ask right away, but your attention sharpened, and Dean felt it like a hand around his throat. He stood slowly, chair scraping against the floor, and Sam’s posture shifted at once, not defensive exactly, but alert. Dean didn’t move toward you yet.

He wasn’t that stupid, and despite everything burning through him, he wasn’t about to make you feel cornered. “Settle what?” you asked finally, and the softness in your voice made Sam’s eyes narrow at Dean in warning. Dean’s gaze stayed on you. “Who makes you break first,” he said. The words dropped low, warm, and dangerous, and your breath caught before you could stop it.

Sam heard that breath and felt every thought in his head go quiet. Dean heard it too, because his eyes darkened with immediate satisfaction, the kind that made Sam want to wipe the look off his face. But Sam didn’t move. Not yet. He watched you instead, watched the way you tried to gather yourself, watched the way your gaze moved from Dean to him like you weren’t sure whether you wanted to run from the fire or step closer to it.

“That’s not a bet,” Sam said after a moment, though his voice had gone rougher than before. Dean glanced at him, pleased that he’d managed to drag that much reaction out of him. “No?” Dean asked. “Sounds like one to me.” Sam stood then, slower than Dean had, and the height of him changed the balance of the room. He kept his hands visible, his distance careful, his focus split between Dean’s challenge and your face. You swallowed, and Sam saw that too. Dean saw Sam see it, and the whole thing turned sharper.

You looked like you were trying to decide whether to laugh or tell them both to get a grip, but the flush at your throat betrayed you. Sam’s expression softened again, and Dean wanted to curse because he knew exactly how effective that would be on you. “You don’t have to play along with anything just because he’s being an idiot,” Sam said, and he aimed the words at you, not Dean.

It should’ve made the moment gentler. Instead, it made Dean’s jealousy flare hotter, because Sam’s concern sounded intimate, like he had already earned a place closer to you than Dean had. You looked at Sam for a long second, and Dean’s fingers curled at his side. “I know,” you said, and your voice was steady enough to make both brothers listen.

You shifted against the table, not backing away, not stepping forward, just staying exactly where you were as if you wanted them to understand that the choice was yours before it was anyone else’s. Then your eyes moved to Dean. “And what makes you so sure I’d beg for either of you?” Dean’s smile came back slow and wicked, but Sam saw the relief underneath it. You hadn’t shut the door. You had opened it wider.

Dean took one step closer, stopping with plenty of space still between you, and Sam clocked the restraint with reluctant approval. Dean was reckless, but not careless with you. That mattered, even if Sam was too wound up to feel generous about it. “Because you like pushing,” Dean said, voice low enough to roughen at the edges. “You push and push, then act surprised when somebody finally pushes back.”

His words made your eyes narrow, but your mouth gave you away, parting just slightly before you pressed it shut. Sam watched the reaction with a strange ache in his chest, equal parts want and irritation. Dean had always known how to hit the obvious nerve first. Sam preferred the hidden ones. He took a step too, not toward Dean, but enough that you felt his presence from the other side.

“And because you’ve been waiting for us to say it,” Sam said, quieter than Dean, but no less certain. Your attention flicked to him, and something vulnerable moved over your face before you buried it. Dean saw that expression and realized with a bitter twist that Sam might be right.

The library had become too warm, or maybe that was just the weight of three people refusing to pretend anymore. You glanced down at the table, then back up, and Dean saw the question in your eyes before you formed it.

“So what?” you asked, and your voice came out softer now, not weak, not shy, just honest in a way that made both men stop posturing for half a second. “You two make a bet over me, and I’m supposed to what? Stand here and let you decide who knows me better?” Sam’s face shifted first, guilt flickering there because the question landed exactly where it needed to. Dean’s jaw tightened, and for once he didn’t have a fast answer.

The silence that followed was different from the one before. Less jealous. More serious. Sam looked at Dean, and Dean looked back, both of them understanding at once that the game ended before it began if you weren’t holding the center of it. “No,” Sam said finally, turning back to you. He spoke carefully, every word chosen with the kind of restraint that made Dean grit his teeth. “You decide if there’s anything to decide.”

Dean nodded once, rough but immediate, because whatever else he was, he wasn’t going to let you think for one second that your wanting didn’t matter more than theirs. “You say no, it’s no,” Dean said, and the cockiness had dropped out of his voice, leaving something rawer underneath.

“You tell us to shut up and go back to pretending we’re normal, we do that too.” Sam almost laughed at that, because none of them were normal, and pretending had never saved them from anything. You noticed the faint movement in his expression and looked at him again. Sam held your gaze, steady and open, though his heart was beating hard enough that he could feel it in his throat.

Dean watched that silent exchange and had to force himself not to interrupt it. That was the worst part of loving you around Sam. Dean wanted to be selfish, but he knew Sam would be good to you. Sam wanted to be patient, but he knew Dean could make you feel wanted in a way that burned bright and immediate. Neither of them could hate the other’s wanting when it looked so much like their own.

You breathed in slowly, and the room seemed to wait with you. Dean’s hands were loose at his sides now, but his whole body looked like restraint had become a physical effort. Sam stood a little farther back, giving you space, though his eyes never left your face. You looked from one brother to the other, taking in Dean’s heat, Sam’s control, the jealousy they had been dragging around like a curse they couldn’t bury.

“And if I don’t tell you to shut up?” you asked. Dean’s expression changed so quickly it almost made Sam roll his eyes, that familiar Winchester grin flickering back with dangerous relief. Sam didn’t smile, not quite, but his gaze deepened, and you saw it. You saw both of them.

That was the thing that had always undone them. Dean stepped closer to the table, careful, still waiting. Sam’s voice came from your other side, low and steady, not rushing you. “Then we talk rules,” he said. Dean’s grin widened just enough to make your stomach twist. “And then,” Dean added, softer now, “we find out who you ask for first.”

You stood there for a few seconds after Dean spoke, and the silence felt different than it had before. It wasn't sharp anymore, and it wasn't angry. It felt exposed, like somebody had finally turned on the lights in a room all three of you had been hiding inside for months.

Dean remained near the table, his shoulders tense despite the confidence in his expression, while Sam stood a little farther away with his hands loose at his sides. Neither of them was pushing. Neither of them was moving closer. For the first time all evening, they were waiting entirely on you. Your heart was beating hard enough that you could feel it in your throat, because you had spent so long imagining this conversation that actually standing inside it felt unreal.

You'd imagined Dean admitting he wanted you. You'd imagined Sam doing the same. You had never imagined both of them standing in the same room, looking at you like this. The possibility of it had always seemed too selfish to say out loud. So you wrapped your arms around yourself, partly for comfort and partly because you suddenly didn't know what to do with your hands.

You had fallen for Dean first, though not in the dramatic way romance novels promised. It happened gradually, hidden inside long drives and late-night diner stops and the way he always made sure you were walking on the inside of the sidewalk without even thinking about it.

Dean was warmth and movement and noise. He was music turned too loud, coffee made too strong, terrible jokes after terrible hunts, and the kind of loyalty that frightened you because it was so complete. He made you laugh when you wanted to stay angry. He made you feel wanted in a way that was impossible to ignore. Every time he called you sweetheart, something inside you tightened despite your best efforts.

You noticed the way his eyes followed you when he thought you weren't paying attention. You noticed how quickly he became protective whenever another hunter got too familiar. There had been moments when his jealousy flashed so openly that you almost reached for his hand without thinking. You knew Dean wanted you because Dean was terrible at hiding it. The problem was that you wanted him back enough to be scared of it.

Sam had happened differently. Sam had happened quietly, slowly, the way dawn arrived when nobody was looking at the sky. You couldn't even identify the exact moment it changed. Maybe it was the first time he stayed awake with you until four in the morning while you researched a case neither of you could solve.

Maybe it was the way he listened whenever you spoke, like your words deserved his complete attention. Maybe it was how careful he became whenever you were hurt, never treating you as fragile but always making sure you weren't carrying pain alone. Sam made you feel seen in places you usually kept hidden. He remembered little things you forgot saying. He noticed when you were tired before you admitted it.

He brought you coffee exactly the way you liked it without ever asking twice. Sometimes he would look at you across the library table with this quiet expression that made your chest ache because it felt so honest. He didn't flirt the way Dean did. He simply stayed close. Somehow that became even more dangerous.

The worst part was that you had realized they both wanted you months ago. Dean's jealousy practically announced itself every time another man smiled at you too long. He became sharper, louder, more possessive in little ways he probably thought nobody noticed. Sam's jealousy was quieter, but you had learned him well enough to recognize it. He would grow still. He would watch.

His voice would become softer in that way it only did when he was trying very hard not to feel something. You had seen Dean glare across bars because someone touched your elbow. You had seen Sam step between you and strangers so naturally that nobody even realized what he was doing.

You knew they both wanted you because nobody looked at another person the way they looked at you without wanting more. The problem wasn't uncertainty. The problem was that you wanted them too. You simply didn't know whether either Winchester could survive hearing that truth.

You had spent months assuming you would eventually have to choose. Some nights, lying awake in your room, you would imagine Dean knocking on your door. Other nights, you imagined Sam staying behind after research and finally saying your name the way he sometimes looked at you.

You never let yourself imagine both of them because it seemed impossible. Dean and Sam loved each other fiercely, but they also competed over everything from pool games to pie. You couldn't imagine either brother being willing to step aside. You couldn't imagine either brother wanting to share something as complicated as feelings. So you stayed quiet.

You laughed off Dean's flirting. You pretended not to notice Sam's lingering looks. You convinced yourself that eventually one of them would move on or find somebody else. Instead, the tension only grew. Sometimes you caught Dean watching you while Sam was talking. Sometimes you caught Sam watching Dean watch you. Those moments made your stomach twist with equal parts hope and guilt.

Dean shifted beside the table, and his voice softened enough to surprise you. "You don't have to answer right now." His eyes remained fixed on you, but there was something gentler behind the heat now. Dean Winchester could be reckless, arrogant, and impulsive, but he wasn't careless with your feelings. That mattered more than he probably realized. Sam nodded slightly from where he stood. "He's right." The agreement between them felt almost stranger than the argument had. You had expected competition.

You had expected jealousy. You had not expected them both to step back at the same time and give you room to breathe. That simple act made your chest ache because it proved what you had secretly suspected all along. Neither one of them wanted to win if winning meant hurting you. Dean folded his arms, looking suddenly uncertain beneath all his confidence. Sam glanced toward the floor briefly before looking back at you.

"I've known for a while," you admitted quietly. Your own voice sounded unfamiliar in the library. Dean blinked first. Sam went completely still. You looked down at your hands because looking directly at them suddenly felt impossible. "Not everything," you clarified. "But enough." Dean let out a breath through his nose. "We're not exactly subtle." His attempt at humour earned the faintest smile from you. Sam's expression softened immediately at the sight of it.

"How long?" he asked. The question was careful, almost hesitant. You thought about it honestly before answering. "Long enough to know Dean gets jealous whenever somebody flirts with me." Dean looked offended for approximately two seconds. "That obvious?" You glanced at him. "Dean, you practically growl."

Dean muttered something under his breath that made Sam smile despite himself. The sight of Sam smiling relaxed something inside you because it reminded you that beneath all the tension, these were still your boys. These were still the men who sat with you during nightmares and brought you food after difficult hunts. Dean rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Okay, fair." Sam looked toward you then, his expression more vulnerable than you had ever seen it.

"And me?" he asked. The question carried genuine uncertainty. That almost broke your heart. Sam Winchester, who could read ancient languages and understand monsters nobody else believed in, somehow didn't know whether you had noticed him looking at you. You met his eyes fully. "You look at me like you're trying not to," you said softly. Sam went quiet immediately. Dean looked between the two of you and sighed dramatically.

"Great," Dean said. "So apparently we're both idiots." His voice carried some of its familiar warmth again, which helped ease the tightness sitting between all three of you. You found yourself laughing quietly, more from relief than amusement. The sound seemed to affect both brothers in entirely different ways. Dean smiled automatically because your laughter always did that to him.

Sam relaxed visibly, his shoulders lowering slightly. "You know what the worst part is?" you asked. Dean lifted an eyebrow. Sam waited. You swallowed before continuing. "I didn't know if either of you would be okay with me..." Your voice trailed off. Dean's expression changed first. Sam's followed immediately afterward. Neither of them interrupted. Neither of them rushed you. The patience of it gave you courage.

"I thought eventually I'd have to pick one of you," you admitted. The confession settled heavily into the room. Dean's jaw tightened slightly. Sam's eyes lowered for a moment before returning to you. "Because I knew how I felt about Dean." You looked toward him briefly.

Dean's expression had gone completely serious now. "And I knew how I felt about Sam." Sam looked almost startled hearing his name spoken like that. Your heart hammered against your ribs because these words had lived inside you for so long that speaking them felt impossible.

"But I never knew if..." You paused again. Dean took a slow breath. Sam remained perfectly still. "I never knew if either of you could handle hearing that I didn't want to choose." The honesty of it left you feeling exposed. Dean's eyes widened slightly. Sam looked almost stricken.

The silence afterward wasn't uncomfortable. It was simply full. Dean looked toward his brother for the first time in several minutes. Sam met his gaze. Whatever passed between them happened quietly, years of understanding condensed into a few seconds of eye contact. You watched them looking at one another, and it hit you again how much you cared about both of them together.

Dean brought out pieces of Sam that nobody else could. Sam steadied parts of Dean that nobody else could reach. You loved their arguments, their loyalty, their ability to communicate entire conversations through glances. You had never wanted to come between them. If anything, the idea terrified you. "You two matter too much to each other," you said quietly.

Dean looked back at you immediately. Sam did the same. "I never wanted to be the reason something changed between you." Dean's expression softened so completely it almost hurt to see. Sam looked like he understood exactly what you meant.

Dean rubbed his thumb against his lower lip before speaking. "Sweetheart, we've been driving each other insane for forty years." The faint humour helped. You smiled despite yourself. Sam shook his head slightly. "You're not ruining anything." His voice carried absolute certainty. Dean nodded immediately afterward. "Seriously." The reassurance settled somewhere deep inside your chest. You had spent months fearing this exact conversation because you assumed somebody would lose. You assumed somebody would get hurt.

Instead, both brothers stood there looking at you with the same impossible tenderness. Their jealousy suddenly made more sense. Their arguments made more sense. The longing looks and tense silences and protective instincts all fit together now. They hadn't only been afraid of losing you. They had been afraid of losing each other too.

You looked between them again, suddenly overwhelmed by how much you appreciated the ridiculous honesty of the evening. The bet itself was stupid. Childish, even. It sounded exactly like something Dean Winchester would invent because he didn't know what else to do with his feelings. Sam clearly knew that too, judging by the look he gave his brother. But beneath the ridiculousness sat something that touched you more than you expected.

Two men you loved had spent months wanting you enough to become jealous. They had noticed each other's feelings because they were both paying attention to you. They had reached a point where pretending no longer worked. Dean wanted you enough to risk rejection. Sam wanted you enough to admit it aloud. That knowledge settled warmly inside your chest. You looked down briefly, suddenly shy in a way that hunting monsters had never made you feel. "The bet is kind of stupid," you said quietly.

Dean immediately groaned. "Knew it." Sam rubbed a hand across his face. "Dean..." The embarrassment on both their faces made your smile widen slightly. You shook your head before either of them could retreat completely.

"No, I mean it is." Dean looked resigned. Sam looked apologetic. You took a slow breath. "But..." That single word brought both their eyes back to you immediately. You could see hope there now, carefully hidden but unmistakable. Your pulse jumped harder. "I appreciate it too."

Dean frowned slightly, confused. Sam looked curious. You folded your arms more tightly across yourself, suddenly aware of how vulnerable you felt. "Knowing that you both want me enough to be jealous." The confession made Dean inhale sharply. Sam's eyes softened again. Neither of them spoke.

Your cheeks had begun warming several minutes ago, but now the heat spread fully across your face. Dean noticed immediately because Dean noticed everything physical about you. Sam noticed because he noticed everything else. The library suddenly felt too quiet again. You looked at Dean and saw all that heat and confidence hiding uncertainty underneath. You looked at Sam and saw all that patience concealing the exact same fear.

They wanted answers. They wanted reassurance. More than anything, they wanted to know whether this conversation was about to end with disappointment. Your fingers tightened against your sleeves. Your stomach twisted hard enough to make you dizzy. Dean opened his mouth like he might speak, but stopped himself. Sam waited. Both of them waited.

You finally looked up, your face warm and your heart pounding, and met both their eyes at once. Dean seemed almost afraid to move. Sam looked like he was holding his breath. The weight of months sat between all three of you. The jealousy. The pining. The late nights. The stolen looks. The fear of saying the wrong thing. You swallowed once, and your voice came out softer than you intended.

"What if..." Dean's expression changed immediately. Sam took the smallest step forward before stopping himself. You could feel yourself blushing now, unable to hide it anymore. Your eyes moved from Dean to Sam and back again. For the first time all evening, you allowed yourself to say the truth exactly as it existed. "What if I want both of you?"

Neither brother answered at first. Dean’s mouth parted, but whatever quick remark had been waiting on his tongue disappeared before it could leave him. Sam’s breath left him slowly, his expression shifting from surprise to something so openly hopeful that you nearly had to look away.

You could almost see both of them replaying your words, searching for some hidden condition or cruel misunderstanding. Dean looked at Sam, and for once there was no challenge in it, only a silent question that carried the weight of everything they had already admitted.

Sam met his gaze steadily, his throat moving as he swallowed. The jealousy between them hadn’t vanished, but something inside it had softened, becoming less like a weapon and more like a fear they finally shared. Then Dean let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh and dragged one hand down his face.

“Both of us,” Dean repeated, testing the words like he wasn’t entirely convinced he was allowed to believe them. You nodded, though the movement was small because your nerves had started making your whole body feel strangely weightless. Sam watched your face closely, careful even now, like he needed to make certain your answer wasn’t coming from pressure or panic. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice rougher than before despite how gently he spoke.

“I’m sure,” you said, forcing yourself to hold his gaze even as warmth spread down your neck. Dean’s eyes moved over your expression, searching for hesitation, and some of the tension finally left his shoulders when he didn’t find any. Sam took a slow breath, the smallest smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Then we can work with that,” he said, and Dean turned toward him with his eyebrows raised.

“We can work with it,” Dean agreed, though his tone made it clear he was already imagining several ways to prove that point. Sam gave him a warning look, but there was no real anger behind it anymore. “That doesn’t mean this is going to be simple,” Sam said, looking between you and Dean.

Dean scoffed softly and folded his arms, trying to disguise how vulnerable the moment had made him. “Nothing with us is simple, Sammy.” His gaze settled on you again, his expression losing some of its teasing edge. “I’m gonna get jealous,” he admitted, the honesty sounding almost uncomfortable in his mouth. Sam glanced at him before adding quietly, “So will I.”

“I don’t need either of you to pretend you won’t,” you told them. Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly, not suspicious, but attentive in a way that meant every word mattered. Sam stepped closer to the table, though he still kept enough distance to let you breathe. “Then we talk about it when it happens,” he said.

“No turning it into some competition where one of you has to win,” you added, giving Dean a pointed look. Dean placed a hand over his chest with exaggerated offence, but the faint colour rising along his neck betrayed him. “I have no idea why you’re looking at me.” Sam’s mouth twitched before he said, “And no making decisions for her because you think you know what she wants.”

“And neither of you gets to pull away without telling me why,” you continued, looking at Sam this time. His expression changed immediately because he understood exactly why that rule belonged to him. Dean glanced at his brother, some quiet recognition passing over his face before he looked back at you. “Fair,” Sam said, though the word came out softer now. Dean nodded once, the gesture firm and immediate.

“Yeah, fair.” The agreement settled between you, fragile but real, and the last of the earlier hostility seemed to drain from the room. What remained was heavier in a completely different way, all anticipation, heat, and three people suddenly aware that nothing stood between wanting and acting on it except permission.

Sam moved first, but only by a single step. Dean followed more slowly, circling the edge of the table until the two of them stood on opposite sides of you. You stayed exactly where you were, your palms pressed lightly against the worn wood behind you as your heartbeat climbed higher.

Sam raised one hand, stopping before his fingers reached your face. The restraint in that unfinished movement made your stomach tighten more than confidence ever could. “Can I touch you?” he asked, his eyes fixed on yours. “Yes,” you whispered. His fingertips brushed along your cheek so carefully that the tenderness of it almost hurt.

Dean came closer behind you, near enough that the warmth of him reached your back without his body touching yours yet. “Still okay?” he asked, his voice lower beside your ear, stripped of every joke he usually used to protect himself. “Yes,” you answered again, more steadily this time. His palm settled at your waist, broad and warm through the thin fabric of your shirt.

Sam watched your reaction, his thumb tracing once beneath your cheekbone while Dean’s fingers flexed gently against your side. Being held between them should have felt overwhelming, but instead it felt like the answer to a question your body had been asking for months. “You two are being suspiciously careful,” you murmured, trying to disguise how uneven your breathing had become. Dean’s quiet laugh brushed across the side of your neck as he said, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’re just getting started.”

Sam’s expression darkened at Dean’s words, though the change wasn’t directed at his brother this time. He leaned down slowly, giving you every chance to turn your head or change your mind. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. You answered by curling your fingers into the front of his shirt and pulling him the final inch toward you.

The first kiss was softer than you expected, a careful press of his mouth against yours that lasted only long enough to make you chase him when he began to pull away. Something in Sam snapped at the movement. His second kiss landed harder, his hand sliding from your cheek to your jaw as he tilted your face upward and kissed you with a hunger that didn’t match his usual gentleness. A quiet sound escaped you before you could swallow it, and Dean’s grip tightened instantly at your waist.

Dean pressed closer behind you, his chest finally meeting your back while Sam kept your attention trapped in front of you. One of Dean’s hands spread over your stomach, holding you securely as his mouth brushed beneath your ear. The touch sent a shiver through you, and Sam felt it in the way your fingers clenched harder around his shirt.

“Didn’t know Sammy had that in him, did you?” Dean murmured, his lips grazing the sensitive skin below your jaw. Sam broke the kiss just enough to glare past you at his brother, though his swollen mouth ruined any real attempt at intimidation. “You talk too much,” Sam said, his voice low and strained. Dean smiled against your neck. “She usually likes it.”

You turned your head before Dean could say anything else and caught his mouth with yours. He made a surprised sound that quickly deepened into a rough groan, his hand pulling you more firmly against him as he returned the kiss without hesitation. Dean kissed exactly the way you had always imagined, hot, demanding, and almost impatient, like he had spent too long restraining himself to waste another second.

Sam’s hand remained against your jaw, his thumb stroking over your skin while he watched, the jealousy in his eyes tangled tightly with fascination. You reached for him blindly, catching his wrist and keeping him close so he couldn’t mistake your attention shifting for rejection.

His expression softened immediately, and Dean felt the movement, breaking the kiss with a breathless smile. “Look at that,” he murmured, his forehead resting briefly against yours. “Already making sure neither one of us gets left out.”

“I meant what I said,” you whispered, still holding Sam’s wrist while Dean’s hand stayed firm at your waist. Sam stepped closer until there was hardly any space left in front of you, his body boxing you gently between both brothers without making you feel trapped. “We know,” he said, though the wonder in his voice suggested he was still trying to believe it. Dean brushed his nose against your temple, his breathing warm and uneven beside your face.

“And we meant it too,” he added. Sam’s eyes moved briefly to Dean’s, and whatever silent conversation passed between them ended with both men turning their attention back to you. The jealousy would come, and so would arguments, mistakes, and all the complicated pieces none of you could solve tonight.

But when Sam kissed you again and Dean’s arms tightened around you from behind, you realised complication had never frightened you as much as losing this chance would have.

Dean’s chest pressed harder into your back as Sam crowded closer in front of you, their bodies hemming you in without either brother touching the other. The thin fabric of your shirt did nothing to soften the heat pouring from both of them, and every breath you took made your body brush against Sam’s while Dean’s arms tightened around your waist. Dean’s erection pushed thick and unmistakable against the curve of your ass, his hips giving one involuntary roll before he caught himself with a rough exhale against your neck.

Sam was no better, the hard length of him pressing against your lower stomach through his jeans whenever you leaned into his kiss. “Feel what you’ve done to us, sweetheart?” Dean murmured, sounding far too pleased with himself for a man whose breathing had already gone ragged. You rolled your hips backward just enough to make him groan, then pressed forward into Sam until his jaw tightened and his hand closed around your waist.

Sam caught your chin between his fingers and kissed you slowly, but the controlled pace only made the hunger beneath it more obvious. “Still good?” he asked against your mouth, his eyes dark and fixed on yours. “I want more than good,” you whispered, and both men reacted like the words had struck straight through them.

Dean’s hands slid beneath the hem of your oversized shirt, his palms spreading over the bare skin of your stomach while Sam lifted the fabric carefully from the front. “Arms up,” Sam said, and the softness of his instruction made you obey before you even had time to tease him. Dean helped pull the shirt over your head from behind, letting it fall somewhere beside the table while Sam’s gaze dropped openly to your chest. The shorts came next, Dean hooking his fingers into the waistband while Sam steadied you with both hands at your hips.

“You boys always this coordinated?” you asked, breath catching when the material slid down your thighs. “Only when there’s something worth working together for,” Dean replied, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as you stepped free of the shorts. Sam crouched briefly to guide them over your feet, his knuckles brushing your calf before he rose again with a look that made your knees feel loose.

Your underwear remained in place for only another second before Dean traced the damp fabric between your legs and let out a low, satisfied sound. “Sammy,” he said, voice thick with amusement, “she’s already soaked.”

Heat rushed across your face, but Sam’s expression turned reverent rather than smug as he took in the sight of you standing bare between them. Your breasts rose and fell with every unsteady breath, full and soft beneath his gaze, their weight shifting slightly whenever Dean moved you against him. Your nipples had tightened into hard little peaks from the cool air and the attention, and Sam brushed the back of one finger over the nearest one as though he couldn’t resist testing your reaction.

The light touch made you gasp, your chest arching instinctively toward his hand while Dean cupped your other breast from behind. “Sensitive,” Dean observed, rolling your nipple gently between his thumb and forefinger until your thighs pressed together. Sam’s eyes followed the movement, then dropped lower when Dean slid your underwear down and exposed the wet shine gathered along your folds.

You were slick enough that the inner curves of your thighs glistened, the evidence of your arousal impossible to hide even before Dean spread you slightly with two careful fingers. A slightly unruly patch of pubic hair rested above your pussy, soft and natural, and Dean’s grin deepened when he noticed the way you tried to glance down at yourself. “Don’t you dare get shy now,” he murmured, kissing beneath your ear while Sam said softly, “You’re beautiful exactly like this.”

You turned in Dean’s arms before either man could keep staring without consequence, catching the hem of Sam’s shirt and tugging it upward. Sam lifted his arms and let you strip it away, his broad chest and defined stomach coming into view beneath the warm library light. Dean made an impatient sound behind you, so you reached back and dragged at his shirt too until he laughed and pulled it off himself.

Their jeans were harder to manage with your hands shaking, but you worked Sam’s belt loose first while Dean kissed your shoulder and offered entirely unhelpful commentary. “Easy there, sweetheart, you break the giant and I’m not carrying him,” Dean said, earning a flat look from Sam and a breathless laugh from you. Sam’s cock sprang free when you pushed his jeans and underwear down, long, thick, and flushed dark at the head, a bead of precum already shining at the tip.

Your mouth went dry at the sight, and Sam’s stomach tightened when your fingers wrapped experimentally around his shaft. Dean stepped out of his own jeans beside you, revealing himself just as hard, his cock slightly shorter than Sam’s but heavy and broad, the veins standing out along its length as it curved toward his stomach. “Still think the bet was stupid?” Dean asked, and you answered by stroking them both once, making their teasing disappear into matched groans.

They guided you toward the couch with a hand at each hip, not rushing you but leaving no doubt about where they wanted you. Dean reached it first and dropped onto the cushions on his back, stretching his body along the length of the couch with his legs parted and his cock hard against his stomach. “C’mere,” he said, curling two fingers toward you while his eyes dragged over your naked body.

Sam stayed behind you, one palm sliding down the line of your spine as you climbed onto the couch between Dean’s legs. You settled on your knees facing Dean, your hands braced against his thighs while he watched you with a mixture of hunger and disbelief. “You’ve thought about this,” you accused, leaning close enough that your breath warmed the head of his cock. “Every damn time you wore my flannel with nothing under it,” Dean admitted, his voice cracking slightly when your lips brushed him.

Sam knelt on the couch behind you, his thighs framing yours without touching Dean, and gathered your hair away from your face so Dean could see you clearly. “Show him what he’s been imagining,” Sam murmured near your ear, and the command sent a fresh pulse of wetness down your thighs.

You wrapped one hand around Dean’s shaft and licked slowly over the bead of precum at his tip, tasting salt as his abdomen clenched beneath you. His head fell back against the couch with a rough groan, but he forced himself to look down again when you opened your mouth around the broad head. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathed, one hand fisting in the cushion instead of grabbing you before you invited it.

You took him deeper a little at a time, letting your tongue flatten along the underside while your hand worked what your mouth couldn’t yet fit. Dean’s hips twitched upward, then stopped when Sam planted a steadying hand against your lower back and gave him a warning look over your shoulder. “Don’t make her choke because you can’t control yourself,” Sam said, though his own voice sounded strained from watching your lips stretch around Dean.

Dean laughed breathlessly and threaded his fingers into your hair with deliberate care, guiding rather than forcing as you bobbed your head. “Hear that?” he murmured, eyes locked on your face while you hollowed your cheeks around him, “Sammy’s pretending he isn’t dying back there.” Sam answered by sliding two fingers through your soaked folds, and your moan vibrated around Dean’s cock hard enough to make him swear.

Sam stroked you from behind with slow, deliberate passes, spreading your wetness from your entrance to your swollen clit while you continued sucking Dean. Each glide of his fingers made your hips rock backward, your body asking for more even while your mouth stayed full. “So wet,” Sam said, the words almost lost beneath Dean’s ragged breathing.

He pressed one finger inside you, then a second, curling them until your knees shifted wider on the cushion and another muffled cry escaped around Dean. Dean looked wrecked beneath you, his lips parted and his chest rising hard as he watched Sam prepare you without ever looking directly at him. “That’s it,” Dean praised, brushing your hair back from your flushed face, “take what you need from him while you take care of me.”

Sam withdrew his fingers only when your pussy was clenching greedily around them, and you heard the slick sound of his hand closing around his own cock behind you. He rubbed the thick head slowly through your folds, coating himself in your arousal and nudging your clit just enough to make your whole body shake. “Tell me you want it,” Sam said, one hand gripping your hip while the other lined his cock up with your entrance.

You pulled off Dean just long enough to drag in a breath, your hand continuing to stroke him as you looked back over your shoulder at Sam. “I want you inside me,” you said, voice shaking with need, “and I want Dean in my mouth while you do it.” Dean made a broken sound beneath you and guided your face back toward his cock, his thumb brushing affectionately over your swollen lower lip. Sam pushed forward slowly, the broad head of him stretching your entrance before the first thick inch slipped inside.

Your mouth opened on a cry, and Dean used the moment to slide between your lips again, groaning when the sound closed hot around him. Sam paused with both hands firm on your hips, giving your body time to adjust as your pussy fluttered tightly around the length already inside you. “You’re squeezing me so hard,” he whispered, bending over your back to kiss your shoulder while keeping his body carefully separate from Dean’s.

Dean stroked your cheek and smiled down at you with ruined, hungry tenderness, saying, “Look at you, taking both of us exactly the way you wanted.”

Your lips closed around Dean again, swallowing the low groan that tore from his chest when your tongue dragged firmly along the underside of his cock. Dean’s hand slid from your cheek into your hair, his fingers gathering it carefully before he tightened his grip enough to hold your head steady. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he breathed, watching your mouth stretch around him with a look of ruined fascination. You hollowed your cheeks and sucked as you moved, taking him deeper with every downward stroke until the broad head pushed against the back of your throat.

He started guiding you gently, testing the rhythm before giving a slow thrust upward that made your eyes water. Each push of his hips fed more of his cock into your mouth, and you relaxed your throat around him as best you could, letting him feel how willingly you took it. His cock dragged hot and heavy over your tongue while his thumb stroked the side of your face, the tenderness of the gesture contrasting obscenely with the way he used your mouth.

“Tap my thigh if you need me to stop,” Dean reminded you, his voice strained despite the careful seriousness in his eyes. You answered by gripping his leg and sucking harder, making his head fall back against the couch with a broken curse.

Once he felt you settle into the rhythm, Dean’s control began slipping, his hips lifting more firmly as he fucked into the wet heat of your mouth. His fingers stayed tangled in your hair, holding you exactly where he wanted while he drew you down until your nose nearly brushed the coarse hair at the base of his cock. He rolled his hips upward again, slow enough to let you breathe between thrusts but deep enough that your throat tightened around him.

You let saliva spill from the corners of your mouth, slicking his shaft and your swollen lips as he pulled back before pressing deep again. Tears gathered along your lashes from the repeated stretch, and Dean wiped one away with his free thumb without slowing. Dean groaned when you swallowed around him, his stomach flexing beneath your hands as the muscles in his thighs tightened.

“You look so fucking pretty with your mouth full,” he praised, his voice turning rougher when you moaned around his cock. The praise made you press backward instinctively, silently begging Sam to give you more at the same time. Sam’s hand tightened around your hip as he understood the movement, and his next thrust drove deeper into your soaked pussy.

Sam fucked you with long, forceful strokes, drawing nearly all the way out before sinking back inside until his hips met the soft curve of your ass. His hips established a steady rhythm that rocked your entire body forward onto Dean’s cock each time he buried himself inside you. The angle had the thick head of him rubbing somewhere deep that made your thighs tremble and your fingers dig into Dean’s legs.

One hand remained firm on your hip, controlling your movement, while the other slid around your body and found your swollen clit. “Spread your knees a little wider for me,” Sam instructed, his breath breaking when your pussy clenched around him. You obeyed immediately, opening yourself farther and giving his fingers more room to work between your thighs.

His fingertips rubbed tight circles over your clit, slick with the wetness that coated you both, while his cock continued stretching and filling you from behind. The pressure built so quickly that your stomach pulled tight, every thrust grinding his fingers harder against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your moan vibrated around Dean’s cock, making him thrust into your mouth with a groan while Sam whispered, “There she is.”

Sam felt your body beginning to unravel before you could warn him, your pussy fluttering rapidly around his cock while your hips chased his fingers. “Right there?” he asked, already knowing the answer from the desperate way you pushed backward against him. He kept his thrusts deep and measured, grinding into you instead of pulling away as his fingers rubbed your clit faster.

Your knees shifted unsteadily on the couch, and Sam tightened his arm around your waist to keep you supported between them. Dean slowed the movement of your head, giving you room to breathe while still keeping his cock resting heavily against your tongue. He held your gaze as your eyes lifted toward him, his expression softening despite the raw hunger carved across his face. “Cum for him, sweetheart,” Dean encouraged, stroking your wet cheek while Sam drove into you again.

Sam pinched your clit lightly between two fingers before rubbing it with firm, rapid strokes, his mouth pressed close to your shoulder as he praised how tightly you were taking him. The combined pressure of Sam filling you, his fingers working your clit, and Dean’s cock pulsing inside your mouth finally dragged you over the edge.

Your orgasm tore through you with enough force to make your entire body lock between them, a muffled cry breaking around Dean’s cock as your thighs shook violently. Your pussy clamped down around Sam in repeated waves, squeezing him so tightly that his thrusts faltered and a harsh groan ripped from his chest.

Sam swore against your skin, holding himself deep inside you while his fingers continued rubbing your clit through every helpless contraction. Dean pulled his cock back enough to let you gasp for air, his hand still supporting your head while he watched your face crumple with pleasure. You shook beneath Sam’s hands, your hips twitching uncontrollably as slick wetness spread over his cock and down your inner thighs. “Good girl,” Sam murmured, pressing slow kisses along your shoulder while your pussy continued pulsing around him.

Sam kept his movements shallow until the overstimulation made you whimper, then finally stilled and let his hand rest warmly over your lower stomach. Dean withdrew from your mouth completely, his cock shining with your saliva and still hard enough to throb against his abdomen. Neither brother let himself cum, both of them visibly straining against the need because they had already decided they weren’t finished sharing you.

For a moment, all three of you stayed tangled together while you struggled to catch your breath, your body loose and trembling from the orgasm. Dean brushed your damp hair away from your forehead, looking far too smug for someone whose cock was still flushed and aching beside your face. “We’re not done with you yet,” he said, tracing your swollen lower lip with his thumb before glancing toward Sam. Sam eased out of your pussy slowly, watching the way your stretched entrance clenched around nothing once he was gone.

“Swap?” Sam asked, wrapping one slick hand around his cock and stroking himself once as he waited for your reaction. Dean’s grin sharpened while your exhausted body immediately stirred with fresh heat at the suggestion. They moved carefully around you, never touching one another as Sam stepped away from the couch and Dean shifted into a seated position.

Dean sat with his back against the cushions and his legs spread, his erection standing thick and rigid between his thighs. He reached for your hips and guided you around until you were hovering above him with your back facing his chest.

You lowered yourself onto Dean slowly, the broad head of his cock pressing through your soaked folds before stretching your sensitive entrance open again. Dean’s cock sank into you inch by inch, thicker than Sam’s in a way that made your pussy burn pleasantly as it adjusted around him. He groaned into the back of your neck when your ass finally settled against his lap and he was buried completely inside you. “Back against me, sweetheart,” he instructed, wrapping one arm firmly around your waist and drawing you against his chest.

You settled against him, your head resting briefly on his shoulder while his cock pulsed deep inside your still fluttering pussy. Dean planted his feet against the floor and lifted your hips before pulling you down again, making you gasp at the sudden force of the thrust. He thrust upward into you repeatedly, using his arm around your waist to bounce you against his lap as your wetness coated his cock.

Your breasts jiggled freely with every hard movement, the soft weight of them bouncing as Dean drove you up and down over his length. Dean cupped one from behind and squeezed it, rolling your stiff nipple between his fingers while he murmured, “Look at these pretty fucking tits bouncing for me.”

Sam stepped in front of you, towering over the couch with his cock still slick from your pussy and flushed dark from holding himself back. His cock twitched near your face, precum gathering thickly at the tip while he watched Dean make your body bounce in his lap. You wrapped one hand around Sam’s shaft and stroked him slowly, spreading the slickness along every hot inch as your lips parted beneath him. “Open up for me,” Sam said, catching your chin gently and tipping your face upward while Dean continued thrusting from below.

You did, extending your tongue so Sam could drag the swollen head across it before pushing his cock between your lips. Sam used your mouth at his chosen pace, one hand cradling the back of your head as he slid over your tongue and pressed carefully into your throat. Your free hand continued stroking the base of his cock whenever his hips pulled back, twisting your wrist and squeezing firmly enough to make his breath hitch. Dean thrust harder every time Sam pushed into your mouth, making your breasts bounce wildly while his fingers pinched and tugged your nipple.

Caught between Dean’s cock pounding into your pussy and Sam fucking your mouth above him, you could only moan around Sam’s length while both brothers praised how perfectly you took them.

Sam’s cock slid deeper into your mouth as Dean thrust upward beneath you, forcing a broken moan from your throat that vibrated around Sam’s length. Every drive of Dean’s hips lifted your body, making your lips move along Sam’s shaft while your hand tightened around the slick base of his cock. Dean’s arm stayed locked around your waist, holding your back firmly against his chest as he fucked into your dripping pussy from below.

Your breasts bounced with every impact, the soft flesh jiggling uncontrollably while Dean’s free hand squeezed and kneaded one of them. “That’s it, sweetheart, let him use that pretty mouth,” Dean groaned against your ear, pinching your hardened nipple until you whimpered around Sam. You sucked harder, hollowing your cheeks as Sam pushed forward and let the head of his cock press into your throat.

Sam’s fingers tightened in your hair, keeping your face tilted upward while he watched your watering eyes and saliva-coated lips. “You’re taking me so well,” he praised, dragging himself almost completely out before sliding back across your tongue. The sensation of being filled at both ends left you helpless between them, your wet pussy clenching around Dean every time Sam’s cock reached deep into your mouth.

Dean felt every contraction around him, and each tight pulse made his control fracture a little more. He planted his feet harder against the floor and drove his cock upward in forceful strokes, bouncing you on his lap until your ass slapped repeatedly against his thighs. Your slick coated the full length of him, gathering around the base of his cock and smearing across his skin whenever he buried himself completely. “Fuck, you’re soaked,” Dean muttered, slipping his hand from your breast down over your stomach.

His fingers found your swollen clit and rubbed it in rough circles while his other arm continued holding you in place. Your whole body jolted, forcing Sam’s cock deeper as you cried out around him. Sam paused long enough to let you breathe through your nose, his thumb brushing tenderly beneath one of your tear-bright eyes.

“Too much?” he asked, despite the dark hunger in his expression and the way his cock throbbed against your tongue. You shook your head urgently and stroked him faster, making Sam’s restraint disappear beneath a low, ragged groan.

Sam began fucking your mouth more steadily, guiding your head onto his cock while meeting each movement with a controlled thrust of his hips. The swollen head pressed against the back of your throat again and again, leaving you gagging softly while saliva slipped down your chin. His free hand cupped your jaw, feeling the shape of himself through your cheek as your mouth stretched around his thickness.

“Look at me,” Sam instructed, slowing just enough for you to lift your watery gaze to his. You obeyed, sucking hard as he withdrew, your tongue following the sensitive underside until only the tip remained between your lips. Sam’s breath hitched when you swirled your tongue around the head and dragged your fist firmly along the rest of his shaft.

“She knows exactly what she’s doing,” Dean said, his voice rough with pride while he continued pounding upward into you. Dean’s fingers pressed harder against your clit, matching the rhythm of his thrusts until your thighs began trembling around his legs. You moaned Sam’s name with your mouth still full, the muffled sound making his cock jerk against your tongue.

Dean kissed the side of your neck while his cock drove into the deepest part of you, each thrust forcing your body upward before he pulled you down again. Your breasts bounced wildly in front of Sam, your nipples stiff and flushed while Dean’s hand occasionally left your clit to slap lightly against the underside of one breast. The soft impact made your chest jiggle harder and sent another surge of wetness around Dean’s cock.

“These gorgeous fucking tits,” Dean breathed, cupping both breasts briefly and squeezing them together. Sam looked down at your body, watching Dean’s cock disappear into your pussy without directing any touch or attention toward his brother. His gaze stayed fixed on you, on your open mouth, bouncing chest, and the desperate movements of your hand around his shaft.

“You like being watched?” Sam asked, pulling his cock free so you could answer. “I like knowing what I’m doing to both of you,” you gasped, still bouncing helplessly on Dean’s cock. Dean laughed against your shoulder and thrust hard enough to cut your next breath into a sharp cry.

Sam tapped the heavy head of his cock against your tongue, smearing precum over your lips while your hand pumped him from base to tip. “Then look at what you’re doing to me,” he said, guiding your gaze downward to the flushed length twitching in your fist. You licked the precum from his slit before taking him back into your mouth, drawing a curse from him as your lips closed tightly around the head.

Dean’s fingers returned to your clit and rubbed faster, making your pussy squeeze around him so hard that his hips stuttered. “Easy,” Dean warned breathlessly, though he sounded like he was speaking to himself more than you. You deliberately clenched again, earning a strained groan and a sharp bite against your shoulder. “Trying to make me cum before your boyfriend up there?” Dean asked, his tone teasing despite how close he clearly was.

Sam’s eyes darkened at the word, but his expression softened when you reached up and squeezed his cock possessively. “They’re both yours,” Sam murmured, thrusting back into your mouth while Dean answered, “Damn right we are.”

The renewed claim sent a fierce wave of arousal through you, and Dean felt fresh wetness spill around his thrusting cock. His fingers circled your clit relentlessly, occasionally pressing directly against it until your body jerked and your nails dug into Sam’s thigh. Sam kept fucking your mouth while you stroked the portion you couldn’t take, twisting your wrist around the slick shaft each time he pulled back.

Your breathing became ragged through your nose, broken by wet choking sounds whenever he pressed farther down your throat. “You’re close again,” Sam observed, recognizing the frantic trembling running through your body. Dean slowed his thrusts into deep, grinding movements, keeping his cock buried while he rubbed your clit with firm strokes.

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” Dean whispered, his lips brushing your ear as his fingers tightened around your waist. “Cum on my cock while you suck Sammy off.” Your pussy spasmed immediately at the command, the first hard contraction dragging a hoarse groan from Dean’s chest.

Your second orgasm built more slowly than the first, gathering beneath Dean’s fingers until every part of you felt stretched tight and unbearably sensitive. Dean kept grinding his cock into you, rubbing deep against your inner walls while his fingertips worked your clit without mercy. Sam pulled out of your mouth so he could hear you, wrapping one hand around his cock as he watched your face crumple with pleasure.

You cried out when the orgasm broke, your head falling back against Dean’s shoulder while your pussy clenched rhythmically around him. Your thighs shook violently, and your breasts bounced from the involuntary movements as Dean continued thrusting through every pulse. “Fuck, that’s it,” Dean groaned, holding you down on his cock while your wetness soaked his lap.

Sam stroked himself faster in front of you, his fist gliding over the slick length while he watched you tremble. Dean’s fingers slowed over your clit only when your whimpers turned breathless and overstimulated. He kissed your flushed cheek and murmured, “You’re gonna make it real hard for us to keep holding back.”

You reached for Sam before the last tremors had faded, wrapping your hand around his cock and guiding him back toward your mouth. Sam groaned at your eagerness, sliding the head between your lips while Dean resumed slow, powerful thrusts beneath you.

“Want my cum?” Sam asked, his voice hoarse as he gathered your hair into his fist again. You nodded around him and sucked greedily, stroking the base while your tongue worked beneath the sensitive head. Sam’s hips jerked forward, his restraint slipping as your mouth tightened around him and Dean’s thrusts rocked you against his body. Dean watched your cheeks hollow around Sam’s cock, his own breathing becoming harsh as your oversensitive pussy continued gripping him.

“Give it to her,” Dean urged, squeezing your bouncing breast as he fucked upward. Sam’s cock pulsed heavily on your tongue, his hand holding your head still while his body tensed in front of you. Your eyes stayed fixed on his as you took him deeper, silently begging him to finally stop holding back.

You knew from the way Sam’s cock pulsed against your tongue and the way Dean’s thrusts had started losing their rhythm that neither of them had much control left. Sam’s fist tightened in your hair, his hips jerking forward as another bead of precum spread across your tongue, while Dean groaned against your neck and buried himself deep inside your trembling pussy.

The thought of either of them finishing where they were made your stomach twist with need, but another image had already taken hold of you. You pulled your mouth off Sam’s cock with a wet gasp, strings of saliva clinging briefly between your swollen lips and his flushed head. “Wait,” you pleaded, making both men freeze despite how close they were.

Dean’s arm tightened around your waist as he fought to keep himself still, his cock throbbing hard inside you while Sam wrapped a desperate hand around his shaft. “What is it, sweetheart?” Dean asked, his voice wrecked and strained as though every second of restraint physically hurt. You looked between them, breathing hard, your cheeks hot and your lips glistening. “I want both of you to cum on my face.”

Sam’s eyes darkened immediately, and Dean made a sound behind you that was half laugh and half groan. “Jesus Christ,” Dean muttered, pressing his forehead against your shoulder while your pussy clenched instinctively around him. Sam’s hand began moving slowly over his cock, but he watched you carefully as though he needed to hear you say it again before he let himself believe it. “You’re sure?” he asked, his thumb dragging across the slick head as he stroked himself.

“I’m sure,” you said, turning your face toward him and licking your swollen lips. Dean eased you off his cock with visible reluctance, holding your hips securely while you climbed from his lap and lowered yourself onto the floor. You settled between them on your knees, naked and flushed, with your thighs still wet and your breasts rising quickly with every breath.

Dean stood beside Sam without touching him, both brothers facing you as they wrapped their hands around their aching cocks. “Look at you,” Dean said, staring down at you with hungry disbelief. “On your knees, asking us to cover that pretty face.”

You tilted your chin upward and opened your mouth, letting your tongue slide out as both men began stroking themselves faster. Dean’s fist moved firmly from base to tip, smearing your wetness and saliva over his cock while his free hand cupped your cheek. Sam’s strokes were slower at first, his grip twisting around the swollen head before dragging tightly down the full length of his shaft.

Their breathing filled the room, rough groans and broken curses overlapping as they watched you wait beneath them. “Stick your tongue out farther,” Sam instructed, his voice low and unsteady, and you obeyed immediately. Dean’s thumb stroked beneath your eye while his hips pushed helplessly into his fist, his cock twitching harder every time your gaze moved between them.

“You want all of it?” Dean asked, his voice breaking when you nodded eagerly. “Yes,” you breathed, leaving your mouth open as your tongue rested against your lower lip. Sam groaned at the sight and stroked faster, his stomach tightening visibly as he reached the edge.

Dean came first with a harsh curse, his cock jerking in his hand as the first thick spurt of cum struck your cheek. Another landed across your nose and upper lip, warm ropes streaking over your skin while he continued pumping himself through every pulse. You kept your mouth open, catching part of the next spurt on your tongue before swallowing it with a soft, satisfied moan. The sight pushed Sam over immediately, his jaw clenching as his cock throbbed violently in his fist.

His cum splashed across your other cheek and chin, some of it landing directly on your outstretched tongue as he groaned your name. You closed your lips around the warm taste and swallowed, then opened your mouth again while Sam milked the final drops from his cock. Their cum covered your face in thick streaks, glistening beneath the bunker lights as you looked up at them with swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

Dean stared down at you like the sight had stolen the last coherent thought from his head, while Sam’s hand drifted gently into your hair despite the hunger still burning in his eyes. You dragged your tongue across your upper lip, collecting what you could reach before swallowing again, and Dean groaned, “Sweetheart, you’re gonna fucking kill us.”

For several seconds, nobody spoke. Dean’s breathing was still uneven as he reached down and brushed his thumb carefully beneath your eye, his ruined grin softening into something warmer when you leaned into his touch. Sam crouched beside you with a towel he had grabbed from the back of the couch, his movements gentle as he began cleaning your flushed face.

“You okay?” he asked, studying you with the same serious attention he gave every injury, despite the obvious satisfaction lingering in his expression. You nodded, still trying to steady your breathing while Dean muttered, “Pretty sure she’s more than okay, Sammy.” Sam gave him a look that should have been annoyed, but the faint curve of his mouth betrayed him.

You laughed softly between them, exhausted and overwhelmed in the best way, and the sound seemed to ease the last of the tension from both brothers. Dean offered you his hand, helping you stand before drawing you carefully against his chest. Sam moved in beside you, one broad palm settling reassuringly at your back.

“You two really held all of that in for months?” you asked, glancing between them as Dean found a blanket and wrapped it loosely around your shoulders. “In our defence, communication isn’t exactly the Winchester family business,” Dean replied. Sam snorted as he sat beside you on the couch, leaving enough room for you to choose where you wanted to settle.

You chose the space between them, curling against Dean’s side while resting your legs across Sam’s lap. The decision made both men look quietly pleased, though Dean was far worse at hiding it. Sam’s hand moved slowly along your calf beneath the blanket, soothing rather than demanding anything more.

“We still need to talk,” he reminded you gently. Dean groaned and tipped his head back against the cushions. “Of course you’d schedule the relationship meeting immediately after.” You nudged Dean with your elbow and told him, “He’s right,” which earned you an offended stare.

The conversation came in pieces, softened by lingering touches and tired laughter. You agreed that jealousy wasn’t forbidden, only cruelty and silence, and that nobody would be expected to hide what they needed. Sam insisted that each relationship had to be allowed to develop naturally instead of becoming part of some competition Dean could keep score of.

Dean complained about the accusation before immediately asking whether kissing counted as a point, proving Sam’s argument for him. You promised neither of them would be treated like a consolation prize, because what you felt for each brother was different but equally real. That answer silenced Dean completely, his expression turning vulnerable before he hid it against your hair.

Sam squeezed your leg and looked down for a moment, swallowing around whatever emotion had caught in his throat. “We’re going to screw this up sometimes,” he admitted. “Probably spectacularly,” Dean added. You smiled and rested one hand over each of theirs. “Then we fix it together.”

Later, Dean carried you toward the hallway despite your insistence that you could walk perfectly well. Sam followed with your abandoned clothes and the sort of amused expression that suggested he knew arguing with Dean would only make him more stubborn. “You’re both ridiculous,” you murmured, looping your arms around Dean’s neck.

“Yeah, but apparently you’re into that,” Dean said, kissing your temple. Sam opened your bedroom door and pulled back the covers while Dean lowered you carefully onto the mattress. Neither brother assumed he should stay, and the sudden uncertainty on their faces made your chest tighten with affection. You reached for both of them before either could retreat.

“Stay,” you said simply. Dean climbed in on one side while Sam settled on the other, their bodies curved protectively around yours without touching each other. As the bunker grew quiet again, you realised you had spent months fearing that wanting both brothers would leave you with neither, only to fall asleep safely held between them.

[ferigrievous]

attractive things they do . ⋆˚࿔

⤷ ft. the winchester brothers + castiel :: masterlist ; reqs open

⟢ dean winchester

if you fall asleep in the car he will honest to god take a longer detour that has smoother roads he does not fucking care

gets jealous, but not in an overbearing way. he'll make himself part of the conversation instead of dragging you away. an arm over your shoulders. a hand on your back. ‘what're we talking about?’

eye contact. way too much of it. you didnt quite get the concept of ‘eye fucking’ until you met dean.

puts his hand behind the passenger seat while backing up……………….. 

fixes things around you/that belong to you before you even realize theyre broken

physical touch is his default love language. hand on your knee while driving. bumping shoulders. nudging you with his foot under the table.

absentmindedly drums his fingers against your knee to the beat of a song.

instinctively reaches an arm across your chest if he brakes suddenly.

in another universe where dean went to highschool, he would’ve absolutely been that guy to do crazy embarrassing promposals

alwayssss rolls up his sleeves bro

lets you steal food of his plate

remembers which songs you skip and skips them before you do

walks half a step behind you in crowded places so he can keep an eye on you. 

always saves you the last bite if he knows it's your favorite

automatically grabs the grocery bags that look heavier. doesnt matter if youre stronger than him, or if you’re bigger than him.

likes buying you dumb little gas station gifts. plastic dinosaurs. novelty sunglasses. your favorite candy. 

⟢ sam winchester

puts his hand on the doorframe so you don't hit your head getting into the car.  

remembers little errands you mentioned and does them while he's already out. 

reaches things off the top shelf without making a joke about it, and will do it regardless of how tall you are

slows his pace to match you without realizing it

always offers you the better/comfortable option of seating

also automatically gives you the side of the booth instead of the chair

but if its a two-sided booth, he’ll sit next to you

researches things just because you mentioned being interested in them. 

quietly takes things off your plate without making a big deal out of it if he notices you not eating something, even if its a food he absolutely despises

if you have long hair, he always keeps an extra hair tie on him

gets jealous, but internalizes it first, and spends an hour wondering if he’s being irrational. 

will brush your hair out of your face or adjust your collar while you’re talking, without breaking eye contact

stays up with you if you can’t sleep, and will ask if you want to do something, go out, or if you’d rather just lay together quietly

compliments things that you chose, not just things you cant control

will do chores you hate doing for you, like laundry or dishes

⟢ castiel novak

watches you with absolute complete attention while you’re talking and will pointedly ignore anyone else that talks to him, even if they started talking first

straightens your necklace if the clasp turned around. 

learns your weaknesses and incorporates himself without you needing to ask. if you struggle with brushing your teeth, he'll place the toothbrush on the sink with the toothpaste already on it.

will argue with people over your preferences even if its miniscule  (ex. someone sits on your side of the car or uses your favourite mug)

waits for you without complaint before going anywhere, if you’re tying your shoe or if you’re going back inside to change your shirt

stands incredibly close to you and doesnt understand the concept of a personal bubble. attatched at the hip, because he realizes that he's allowed to

asks before holding your hand the first few times, then forgets to ask because now it just feels right and normal

tends to your things if he notices theyre out of place, like untangling your earbuds or putting your shoes back on the rack.

watches your footing if the ground is uneven and keeps his hand on your back 'just in case.'

stares at your face while you're talking because he likes watching expressions change, tilting his hedad like a dog.

will do things that make him uncomfortable if it makes you happy without question. sees it as his duty as your partner.

sees you in everything and thinks its a sign from heaven. thinks dean is quite odd when he tells him thats just how being in love feels

actually enjoys doing mundane thing with you, even things that other people would find boring, like cleaning up after baking

his version of flirting is solving your problems before you notice them

he does compliment you, but he thinks that its odd that humans considers such as flirting. he thinks its just matter-of-fact

stays until he knows you got inside safely

[loversarchivess]

₊⊹⁀➴ summary : "are you stealing my jacket again?" "borrowing." "...you borrowed the last three.” 🍒💫 dean winchester x itgirl!gf

warnings : none tbh, fluff!, lowercase intended, no use of y/n, sexual innuendos, use of baby, not really proofread

a/n : just a really quick blurb (that took a week lmfao). please send in requests!!

"how long does it take a girl to get ready?" Dean sighs frustratedly, rubbing a hand over his eyes. sitting in the backseat, Sam chuckles as he looks out the window over to the motel. the Winchester brothers have been sitting inside Dean's impala, waiting for his girl to finish getting ready for the past thirty minutes.

"Dean, you know her." Sam tries to reason. "it always takes her a while to get ready." while Sam had been a little more patient than his older brother, he was beginning to feel the rumble in his stomach growing more persistent. they were supposed to get dinner fourty five minutes ago.

"i know that, Sam." Dean stresses, turning off the engine of his Baby. "wait here." he says over his shoulder. not awaiting a response, Dean pops the door open and steps out leaving Sam and his grumbling stomach in silence.

as Dean steps through the doorway of the motel room, he nearly gets trampled over by his own girl as you rush across the bedroom.

"sorry, baby!" you exclaims as you grab a lipstick from your bag. "i'm almost done, i swear!" you knew how irritable Dean could get when it came to the amount of time it took for you to get ready. which was a long time.

"you're gonna be the death of me, woman." Dean mumbles with a shake of his head. his tone is on the borderline of annoyed yet that doesn't stop his wandering eyes from raking up and down your figure, admiring the way your jeans stretch over your ass as you bend over to dig through a duffle bag. god he couldn't wait to just absolutely ruin you later-

"are you stealing my jacket again?" Dean questions, his brows furrowed as he watched you hold up one of his leather jackets.

"borrowing." you reply casually, slipping both arms through his borrowed jacket. you smile to yourself in satisfaction as you're enveloped in the warmth of Dean's jacket, smelling just like his cologne.

"...you 'borrowed' the last three." Dean deadpans, giving you a look as he crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. he didn't know whether to bury you alive or bury your head into the sheets. tough decision for a guy like Dean.

"and i'll borrow three more tomorrow if i'd like!" you retort, grabbing your bag off the bed. "now I'm ready."

approaching the doorway, you stop in front of Dean. "don't be so grumpy, Deanie." you say, squeezing his cheeks together with your hand and giving him a pitiful frown. "we're getting pieee!" you sing, smiling as he grumbles and rolls his eyes at you.

leaning in, you press a kiss against his lips. as you pull away, his lips chase after you. his hands fly to grip onto your hips. "i'm not done with you." Dean says lowly, a hand cupping your jaw as he pulls you into a searing kiss. his other hand is planted firmly on your hip, as though you were going to disappear if he let go. your hands are fisted into the front of his shirt, pulling him in closer. Dean bites your bottom lip, causing you to gasp into his mouth. this allows him to slip his tongue in, tangling with yours. Dean's hands slip from your face down to your ass, giving your flesh a firm squeeze. you whimper against his lips, emitting a low groan from him.

that's when you both hear it. the insistent honking of a car horn. as you both break apart, looking around, Sam ducks his head out of the impala's window screaming, "can you guys maybe not suck each other's faces off right now?" his smile was tight lipped.

"sorry Sammy." you sheepishly apologize, pulling away from Dean and making your way over to the car. Dean shuts the motel door after himself before chasing after you.

"yeah, sorry Sammy." Dean repeats with a wink. Dean opens the passenger door for you as you duck your head, beginning to get in. however, you weren't quick enough because Dean's palm happens to make contact with your backside with a loud smack!

"Dean!" both you and Sam shout at the same time.

[elleoel]

Snow day. one shot

Summary: It’s snowing, Dean loves the snow. Dean also loves having any excuse to have his hands on you and be close to you, so he drags you out on a walk, what could go wrong? His walk ends up in sharing a shower, and loving on you all night.

Genre: fluff, crack, light nsfw, relationship humour, one sex joke, established relationship, dean x f reader.

AN: does anyone wanna be on a taglist? I also enabled asks, so if anyone has any suggestions.. feel free!

“De, i’m seriously gonna slip and fall!”

A hunt in winter had steered you and the Winchesters down to Utah. It was early December, that meant cold weather, grey skies, and-Deans favourite- snow, and Christmas moods all around.

Dean, to people who didn’t really know him, could come across as this big, intimidating, dangerous guy. The perfect hunter, the guy that anything smart enough tried to avoid, someone to be wary of. That wasn’t the Dean you knew. Sure you knew that side of him, but that was such a small side of him. Like a thin outer shell of a sweet candy.

He was still just like a big kid. He carried the childishness he never got to show as a child around with him every day, you loved that side of him. That was the real Deal, not the hardass hunter he’d been moulded into.

Dean loved Christmas, he hadn’t had a real Christmas for so long after his mother’s death so as he got older and reconnected with Sam he started to try and get it going again. He loved the crappy movies, he loved the high energy, the idea of presents? Freakin awesome— oh, and the food.

Dean loved the food.

You’d never been a huge fan of Christmas or anything that came with it, the snow especially, but Christmas with Dean was different.

Christmas with Dean was him constantly having hands on you to keep warm, it was him making you try all of his favourite foods that only came out around christmas time, and it was Dean trying to inconspicuously figure out what you’d want as a gift.

It was also Dean dragging you out of the motel after shoving his thick jacket at you, leaving Sam at the motel actually working on the case, and taking you for a walk in the snow.

The cold, slippery, snow.

You’d been slipping and sliding across the path for 10 minutes already, clinging onto Dean everytime you felt your foot slip from underneath you. He was warm despite only being in a shirt and flannel-insisting that you’d need the jacket more than him- and he was laughing his ass off everytime he heard you yelp and felt your hands latch onto him for stability.

He’d brought you out of the motel room for a few simple reasons, he wanted to get some alone time with you, he’d been looking forward to getting out into the snow since it’d started, and he wanted a reason to have his hands all over you when you were cold and seeking warmth. He was a simple man with simple reasons, really.

“Christ, you gotta relax baby!” He laughed when you skidded and grabbed onto him again, his eyes crinkled and gleaming with a rare kind of happiness he didn’t feel very often. With you he felt like just a normal guy, you took that heavy weight of the entire world off of his shoulders without even realising it.

“I’m not gonna letcha fall, i’m a gentleman, remember?”

He’d been teasing you with that little grin on his face ever since you’d stepped out into the snow and lost all balance, like bambi on ice, and you knew he was finding it extremely amusing. You were pretty sure he’d taken you down a ridiculously snow filled path on purpose, but two could play at that game.

A little, wicked smirk formed across your cold lips as you saw a huge pile of snow upcoming on the side of the path. Perfect for your little idea. You kept him totally distracted as you both walked closer to it, distracting him in the best way you knew. Your cold hand sliding under his shirt and across his skin, it always worked, and this time was no different.

As soon as you were both right next to it, you stuck your foot out in front of him and gave him a light push.

“Shit!- Damnit!-“

He landed right in the pile of snow with a sharp, surprised yell, and you burst out laughing. He looked like a sad puppy, looking up at you with those bright green eyes like you’d just betrayed him in the worst way possible. His hair was covered in snow, his clothes soaked through, and his ass planted right in the middle of the built up pile. He looked adorable, and hilarious.

You laughed so hard that it was hard to get a breath in, your red, trembling hands coming up to cover your face in hopes that if you couldn’t see him you’d stop laughing but that didn’t work. Seeing you laugh like that wiped the betrayal right off of his face, it melted into something adoring and almost awestruck.

Dean loved your laugh- your real, genuine, unfiltered laugh. He loved the way your shoulders would shake, how you’d always lower your head and try to control yourself, and just the sound of it. It was one of his favourite things, and what he loved even more was being the reason for it. It made him feel all fuzzy and warm the same way a blanket would, even if it was laughing at him rather than with him.

Despite that, he couldn’t let it go on an uneven score. Your laughing had completely distracted you, and you hadn’t noticed him reaching for you until his hands were around your hips and you were being pulled down with him landing right into the cold, cushioned snow.

You landed straddling him, staring down at him with an expression that was a mix between baffled and still extremely amused. The weather might have been freezing, but the way he was looking at you made you feel warmer than a fire could.

“That was unfair, baby.” He complained with a grin, tightening his grasp on your hips before rolling you over.

Fully shoving you into the snow like you had to him.

You laughed and swatted at him, the cold, wet snow seeping into the back of you but you didn’t care, too busy play fighting with your boyfriend in the snow.

You weren’t a match for him when he already had the upper hand, so you reached your hand to the side and grabbed a handful of soft snow, smushing it into his face with a laugh. The cold stung your fingers but that didn’t matter.

Dean spluttered as he had snow shoved into his face, grasping your wrist and pulling it away. He had water dripping from his nose and snow clinging to his lashes, but that grin on his face didn’t falter at all.

“Dean! okay!” You laughed, surrendering and accepting the fact that you’d lost after a minute of trying to wrestle him off, “You win, just- get off! You’re heavy!”

He snorted but made no move to get off of you, if anything he put more of his weight on you to be an ass. You’d started it.

“Nah, i mean, i’m pretty comfy right here.”

“Cmonn!” You groaned through laughter, dropping your head back into the soft snow underneath you. “Anyone that comes past is gonna think you’re riding me.”

He just snickered and his eyes dropped down to your lips like he really couldn’t help himself. He was seriously appreciating the sight of you all sprawled out underneath him with a smile on your face, he’d take a photo if he had a camera and he’d keep it forever.

You opened your mouth to say something about him staring but he cut the words off before any sound even started, he leant down and he kissed you.

Your lips were cold against each others but your mingled breaths were warm, your arms snaked around the back of his neck pulling him down closer and his, ridiculously cold, hand slid up your shirt making you jolt and hit his shoulder, laughing against his lips.

By the time you both got back to the motel, you were looking like a pair of wet dogs. Deans hair was wet and spiky, sticking to his forehead, your hands were red and stiff, but you both still had huge smiles on your faces. Sam had gotten his own motel room this time, he was sick of hearing Deans mushy, half asleep murmurs to you when he was trying to sleep, so you had the room to yourselves.

“You cold baby?” He muttered with a mischievous grin as he ran his hands up and down your sides, a very familiar look on his face.

“A warm shower sounds real good right about now..”

You knew what he was hinting at, and you’d been about to do the same thing.

“Are you trying to get in the shower with me, casanova?”

“What? I’m bein’, uh, green. Saving water, saving the earth and all that.” He muttered, his eyes glued to your lips again.

“Please?”

You could never say no to him when he said please, and he knew it, you saw the victorious twinkle in his eyes as you gave in and dragged him into the bathroom, giving him exactly what he wanted. If he hadn’t been trying to keep his cool, he would’ve fist bumped the air.

Dean closed the door behind you both and crowded you against the counter after turning the shower on to let the water warm and the room steam up, his eyes going to yours for permission before his hands pulled your shirt over your head after he got it.

He was careful taking your clothes off despite his playful demeanour, his hands slow and gentle giving you an out at any time if you wanted it. When you were fully unclothed he did his best not to stare as he shed his own, but he was failing miserably which made you laugh again. His eyes were on you like a moth to the flame just like they always were, clothes on or not. It wasn’t your body he was staring at though, it was your face. The smile on your lips, the slight redness in your cheeks and your nose from the cold, the shine on your skin from the dampness of the snow.

Once fully undressed he didn’t waste any more time and he pulled you under the hot water with him, making sure you got the most of it.

“You got my favourite jeans wet.” He grumbled, looking down at you with an expression that was painfully fond as he tilted your head back to let the water warm you from head to toe.

“You were asking for it.”

He chucked and ducked his head down, placing lingering, open mouthed kisses down your neck, your collarbone, and down your shoulder. He may not say the word love very often, but he showed it every second of every day.

“You’re lucky i like you, shoulda buried you in the snow.” He mumbled as he lifted his head and grabbed the cheap motel shampoo, squeezing some into his hand. You saw the corner of his mouth twitch up in a suppressed laugh at the sound the half empty bottle made before his hands were in your hair. Slow, attentive, and loving as he massaged the shampoo into your hair, revelling in the soft smile on your face that was a result of him and only him.

You pulled him down into a kiss again and he groaned into it, his hands slipping down to your waist to pull you closer. The water hit you both, making everything slippery and feel much more intimate.

“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.” He whispered into your mouth, his lips never leaving yours for longer than they needed to as the water washed the soap out of your hair. He was almost painfully hard, but the moment felt too.. sweet to ruin by doing anything about it, so he just kissed you like it was the only thing he knew how to do.

The rest of the shower was exactly like that- his hands all over you and yours all over him, long drawn out kisses, the room steaming up so much that the door was hardly visible.

When you both got out you didn’t bother drying your hair or getting dressed into anything more than underwear, just eager to share a bed together and stay warm throughout the cold night. You were tangled in the sheets together, you lay on your stomach partly on his chest, him looking down his nose at you as you spoke. One of his arms was around your waist, his other hand twisting the end of a strand of your hair around his fingers.

You were talking, about the case and the weird things you guys were looking into, he was nodding along silently, listening while taking in your face in the dim lighting. He could look at you forever and never want to chance the scenery, he was always finding something new. A freckle he hadn’t noticed before, a new expression, a chance in how your hair fell across your face.

“Dean?” Your voice broke him out of his trance, you had a little curious smile on your face now. “Did you hear anything i just said?”

“Yeah, yea baby course i did.” He muttered with a grin, no, he really hadn’t.

“You were talkin’ about.. yknow, the thing.”

“Oh, the thing? I was talking about the thing.”

“Yeah!” He doubled down, a smile growing on his face, “Yknow.. that thing, the thing you were talkin’ about.”

A groan left you and you rolled your eyes at him, he hadn’t been listening at all. Not that it mattered much, you had only really been talking just to keep him awake and present with you.

“Yep, i was just talking about how you screamed like a girl when i shoved you.”

“Yea, that- wh- hey. Hey! The hell i did!”

You playfully bickered for a few minutes, Dean trying to protect his manly dignity and you having the time of your life dismissing it, it was easy between the two of you. It was always easy, like it was just meant to happen.

The night ended the way they usually did, a makeout where neither of you remembered who started it and neither cared either, Dean ending up above you with his mouth near your ear, whispering things he only ever wanted to be telling you. How beautiful you were, how much he loved having you with him, how he’d do anything for you. With you holding onto him, laughing and gasping quietly at the intense but lighthearted mood that’d settled over. The two of you falling asleep as close as possible, Dean holding you close in a way that made you think he thought if he didn’t you’d be snatched away, and everything but eachother fading out as sleep took over.

[musubi05]

Look. I was over myself while reading that team free will where Cas didn't save us. We (yes we) need an ABSOLUTE PART TWO. because you write it the BEST. I ain't joking I am giggling whenever I'm reading ur stories because I love them. I hope u had an amazing trip and rest well. Have an lovely day as yourself!

╰┈➤ Crashing Down

Part 1 Part 2 Team Free Will x winchester!sister reader Summary: You got kidnapped so you called that one person you thought would come immediately. Did that person- angel come? No and it ruined everything. Maybe it was time to forgive after two long months. Warnings: torture/angst/betrayal/yelling Notes: I was actually dying laughing while reading this request. Y'all are so funny, I can't. I had the best trip ever to end the summer. I had no idea if you guys were looking for a happy ending to this story or not buuuutt I decided to give it to y'all.

The scars on your arms have faded to thin silver lines, barely visible unless you know where to look. You trace one absently as you sit in the bunker's kitchen, nursing your third cup of coffee and pretending to read case files. It's become a habit—this unconscious mapping of healed wounds—and you're not sure when it started or why you can't seem to stop.

Dean thinks you're punishing yourself. Sam thinks you're processing trauma. You think you're just tired of pretending everything is fine when it's not.

Two months of careful politeness. Two months of civil conversation and shared meals where everyone talks around the elephant in the room. Two months of Castiel trying so hard to prove he cares that it almost hurts to watch.

He brings you tea every morning now—chamomile with honey, the way you like it. He researches cases for you without being asked. He hovers at a respectful distance during hunts, close enough to help but far enough away that you don't feel trapped. He never tries to heal you anymore, not even small cuts and bruises that would be so easy to fix with a touch.

The other day, he spent six hours in a library in Detroit, tracking down an obscure text about banshee lore because you'd mentioned needing it for a case. When he returned, windswept and slightly dusty, he'd simply placed the book on your desk with a small note: "Thought this might help. -C"

You'd stared at that note for twenty minutes, trying to figure out what you felt. Gratitude, maybe. Or frustration. Or something more complicated that you weren't ready to name.

The thing is, you want to forgive him. The anger that burned so bright two months ago has settled into something duller, more manageable. Exhaustion, maybe. It's hard to stay furious when someone is trying so desperately to make amends, when they look like a kicked puppy every time you enter a room.

But forgiveness feels like betrayal—of yourself, of the girl who screamed his name until her voice gave out. How do you forgive someone for not caring enough to save you? How do you trust someone who has to consciously remember that you matter?

"You're thinking too loud," Dean says, sliding into the seat across from you. "I can hear your brain from the garage."

"Sorry." You don't look up from the case file you're not actually reading. "I'll try to think quieter."

"Smart ass." But there's fondness in his voice. "What's eating you?"

You consider lying, deflecting with humor the way you've been doing for weeks. Instead, you find yourself telling the truth.

"I think I want to forgive him."

Dean doesn't need to ask who you mean. "But?"

"But I don't know how. And I don't know if I should." You finally look up, meeting his green eyes. "What if I forgive him and then something happens again? What if next time—"

"Hey." Dean reaches across the table, covering your hand with his. "There's not gonna be a next time."

"You don't know that."

"Yeah, I do." His voice is firm, certain. "Because Cas learned his lesson. Trust me, he's not making that mistake again."

"How can you be sure?"

Dean is quiet for a long moment, considering his words carefully. "Because I've never seen him hate himself more than he does right now. And I've seen Cas go through some pretty heavy guilt trips."

You think about that—about the way Castiel's shoulders have permanently curved inward, like he's trying to make himself smaller. About the careful way he moves around you, like you're made of glass. About the desperate hope in his eyes every time you don't immediately leave a room when he enters.

"He asked me yesterday if I thought you'd ever forgive him," Dean continues. "First time he's brought it up directly."

"What did you tell him?"

"That it wasn't up to me." Dean squeezes your hand. "But if you want my opinion? I think you've both suffered enough. And I think he'd rather cut off his own wings than hurt you again."

Before you can respond, Sam appears in the doorway, laptop tucked under his arm and that particular expression on his face that means he's found something interesting.

"We've got a case," he announces. "Possible angel activity in Colorado. Witnesses report a man in a trench coat performing 'miracles'—healing the sick, bringing dying plants back to life, that sort of thing."

You and Dean exchange glances. "Gabriel?" you ask.

"That's what I'm thinking. The descriptions match, and Colorado's where we last tracked him." Sam sets his laptop on the table, turning it so you can see the screen. "Small town called Cedar Ridge. Population about three thousand, so if it is Gabriel, he's not exactly keeping a low profile."

"Could be a trap," Dean points out. "Demons might still be looking for him."

"Maybe. But if it is Gabriel and he's out in the open like this..." Sam shrugs. "He might need help considering he never just heals people out of the kindness in his heart."

The irony isn't lost on you—Gabriel, the archangel who'd helped your family countless times, who'd died for them and somehow returned, who'd been hiding for months because demons wanted to use you to find him. The same Gabriel whose location you'd protected even under torture, even when staying silent meant screaming for an angel who wouldn't come.

"I'll get Cas," Dean says, starting to stand.

"No." The word comes out sharper than you intended, and both brothers look at you in surprise. "I mean... let me. Let me talk to him."

Dean's eyebrows raise slightly, but he settles back into his chair. "You sure?"

Are you sure? You're not sure of anything anymore. But maybe that's the point. Maybe forgiveness isn't about being sure. Maybe it's about taking a leap of faith, even when you don't know where you'll land.

"Yeah," you say, standing and smoothing down your shirt. "It's time."

You find Castiel in the library, surrounded by books about angel lore and divine grace. He's been researching obsessively lately—not for cases, but for himself. Trying to understand his own nature, his connection to prayer, the mechanics of how he hears and responds to calls for help. As if understanding the technical aspects might somehow undo what happened.

He looks up when you enter, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. It's the first time in two months that you've sought him out deliberately, and you can see the surprise and hope warring in his expression.

"We have a case," you say, your voice carefully neutral. "Possible Gabriel sighting in Colorado."

Castiel straightens, instantly alert. "Gabriel? Are you certain?"

"Not certain, but likely. Someone matching his description has been performing public miracles in a small town called Cedar Ridge." You hesitate, then take a step closer. "We think he might need help."

"Of course. I'll prepare to leave immediately." Castiel starts to rise, then stops, uncertainty flickering across his features. "That is... do you want me to come? I understand if you'd prefer I remain here while you and your brothers—"

"Cas." You cut him off gently, and the use of his nickname—the first time you've said it in two months—makes him go very still. "I want you to come."

Something shifts in his expression, hope blooming cautiously in his blue eyes. "You do?"

"I do." You take another step closer, close enough now that you can see the faint stubble on his jaw, the tired lines around his eyes. He looks like he hasn't been sleeping, which is ridiculous because angels don't need sleep. But somehow, Castiel has always been more human than he cares to admit.

"There's something else," you continue, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Something we need to talk about. But not here. Not now. After the case, when we get back..."

"Yes," he says immediately, eagerly. "Yes, we can talk about whatever you need to discuss."

You study his face—the desperate hope there, the careful way he's holding himself like he's afraid sudden movement might spook you. Two months ago, you would have seen manipulation in that expression. Now, you just see exhaustion. A tired angel who's been carrying guilt like a stone in his chest, who's been trying so hard to earn forgiveness that he's forgotten how to simply exist.

"Cas?" Your voice is softer now, gentler.

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For the tea, and the books, and... all of it. I know you've been trying, and I want you to know that I see it."

For a moment, you think he might cry. His eyes shine with something that looks suspiciously like tears, and when he speaks, his voice is rough with emotion.

"I would do anything to undo what happened. To be the angel you needed me to be."

"I know," you say simply. "And maybe that's enough."

It's not forgiveness, not yet. But it's something. A crack in the wall you've built between you, a possibility of something more. And for now, that feels like enough.

"Come on," you say, turning toward the door. "Let's go save an archangel."

As you walk away, you hear Castiel's footsteps behind you—not the careful, distant following of the last two months, but the confident stride of someone who knows their place in the formation. Someone who belongs.

It's a small thing, but somehow, it feels like everything.

Later, in the Impala:

You're in the backseat with Castiel for the first time since the warehouse. Not by design, exactly—Sam called shotgun before you could claim it—but not entirely by accident either. There's enough space between you that you're not touching, but you're close enough to catch the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something uniquely him.

"So what's the plan when we get there?" Dean asks, glancing in the rearview mirror. "Walk up and knock on Gabriel's door? Assuming we can find him."

"Gabriel's not exactly subtle when he wants to be found," you point out. "If he's performing public miracles, he wants someone to notice. The question is whether he wants us specifically, or if he's trying to draw out someone else."

"The demons who were looking for him are dead," Castiel says. "You made sure of that when you refused to give them his location."

There's something in his voice—gratitude, maybe, or respect. Recognition of the sacrifice you made, the pain you endured to protect someone else. It's the first time he's directly acknowledged what happened in the warehouse, and the words settle something anxious in your chest.

"Gabriel's family," you say simply. "You protect family."

In your peripheral vision, you see Castiel turn to look at you, but you keep your gaze fixed on the passing landscape outside the window.

"Yes," he says quietly. "You do."

The rest of the drive passes in comfortable silence, broken only by Dean's occasional commentary about other drivers and Sam's periodic updates on the case. It's normal, familiar—the four of you heading toward danger together, each lost in their own thoughts but united in purpose.

It feels like coming home.

Cedar Ridge, Colorado - That Evening:

Gabriel is exactly where you expected to find him—holding court in the town's only diner, surrounded by locals eager to hear about his latest "miracle." He's wearing the same face he always does, sandy hair and mischievous eyes, but something about him seems different. More settled, maybe. Less frantic.

"Well, well," he grins when he spots your group in the doorway. "If it isn't the Winchester family reunion. And Castiel! Looking appropriately brooding, I see."

"Gabriel." Castiel's voice is carefully neutral. "We need to talk."

"Oh, do we now?" Gabriel's grin widens, but his eyes are sharp, assessing. "What about? My sudden career change to small-town faith healer? My complete abandonment of stealth and self-preservation? Or maybe..." His gaze shifts to you, and his expression grows more serious. "Maybe you want to talk about why little Winchester here looks like she's been through hell."

The diner falls silent, locals suddenly very interested in their coffee cups. You feel heat rise in your cheeks, aware of the scars on your arms hidden beneath your jacket sleeves.

"Outside," Dean says firmly. "Now."

Gabriel shrugs, tossing a twenty on the table. "Fair enough. But I'm buying everyone pie first. Can't have a Winchester family meeting without pie."

Twenty minutes later, you're gathered around a picnic table behind the diner, the smell of apple pie mixing with the mountain air. Gabriel's demeanor has shifted from performative cheer to something more genuine, more concerned.

"So," he says, cutting straight to the point in a way that's very un-Gabriel-like. "Someone want to tell me why my favorite little Winchester looks like she's been wrestling with demons? Literally, by the smell of it."

"How did you—" you start, but Gabriel waves a hand.

"Archangel senses, kiddo. Plus, you're sitting like someone who's been hurt recently, and Castiel over there looks like he's been flagellating himself for months. Doesn't take a genius to put two and two together."

You glance at Castiel, who's staring at his untouched pie like it holds the secrets of the universe.

"They were looking for you," you say finally. "Demons. They grabbed me, tried to make me tell them where you were hiding."

Gabriel's expression darkens. "And?"

"And I didn't tell them. Obviously." You take a bite of pie, chewing slowly. "But it took Dean and Sam eighteen hours to find me."

"Eighteen hours." Gabriel's voice is deadly quiet. "And where exactly was our feathered friend during those eighteen hours?"

The silence stretches uncomfortably. Castiel still hasn't looked up from his pie.

"Drunk," Dean says bluntly. "Having an existential crisis in a dive bar in Missouri."

Gabriel's head turns slowly toward Castiel, and for a moment, you see the archangel beneath the trickster facade—ancient, powerful, and absolutely furious.

"Drunk," Gabriel repeats, his voice carrying harmonics that make the table vibrate slightly. "You were drunk while she was being tortured. For information about me."

"Gabriel—" Castiel finally looks up, his face pale.

"No." Gabriel holds up a hand. "Just... no. Don't try to explain or justify or whatever it is you're planning to do. Because there is no explanation that makes this okay."

He turns to you, his expression softening. "I'm sorry, kiddo. I'm so damn sorry. If I had known—"

"You couldn't have known," you interrupt. "You were hiding, like you were supposed to be. This isn't your fault."

"Isn't it?" Gabriel's laugh is bitter. "They were looking for me. They hurt you because of me."

"They hurt me because they're demons and that's what demons do. You didn't make that choice for them."

Gabriel stares at you for a long moment, something like wonder in his expression. "How are you not furious? How are you sitting here, eating pie and being reasonable, when everyone around you failed to protect you?"

It's a good question. Two months ago, you would have been furious. Two months ago, you were furious. But sitting here now, watching Castiel struggle with guilt that's eating him alive, watching Gabriel blame himself for something he couldn't control...

"Because being angry doesn't change what happened," you say slowly, working through the thought as you speak. "And because the people who failed to protect me are the same people who've saved my life a dozen times over. One mistake doesn't erase all of that."

You glance at Castiel, who's looking at you with something like awe.

"Besides," you continue, "being angry is exhausting. And I'm tired of being tired."

Gabriel studies you with those ancient eyes, seeing more than he usually lets on. "You're forgiving him."

It's not a question.

"I'm trying to," you admit. "I think... I think maybe it's time."

Later that night, motel room:

The case, such as it was, resolved quickly once Gabriel explained himself. He hadn't been trying to draw out demons or hunters—he'd simply been helping people because he could, because after everything that had happened, doing good felt like the only way to balance the scales.

"I spent so long running from responsibility," he'd explained over dinner. "Running from Heaven, from my family, from myself. But watching you refuse to give me up, even under torture... it made me realize that some things are worth taking a stand for."

Now you're sitting on one of the motel room's twin beds, having sent Dean and Sam to get ice and snacks—a transparent excuse to give you and Castiel privacy, but one you're grateful for nonetheless.

Castiel sits on the other bed, hands clasped in his lap, looking like he's facing execution.

"I've been thinking about what you said," you begin, your voice quiet in the small room. "About prayers being unclear unless they're from Dean."

Castiel winces. "That wasn't... I didn't mean to imply—"

"No, let me finish." You hold up a hand. "I've been thinking about it, and I think you were lying. Not to me—to yourself."

He looks up, confusion flickering across his features.

"I think you hear all prayers equally," you continue. "I think the difference isn't in the clarity of the signal. I think the difference is in how much you care about the person praying."

"That's not—"

"Isn't it?" You lean forward slightly. "When Dean prays, you drop everything because you love him. When I pray... when I prayed... you had to make a conscious choice about whether I was worth your attention."

Castiel looks stricken. "You are worth my attention. You're worth everything."

"Then why didn't you come?"

The question hangs between you, the same question that's been haunting both of you for two months. Castiel closes his eyes, his hands clenching into fists.

"Because I was afraid," he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Afraid of what?"

"Of caring too much." He opens his eyes, meeting your gaze. "Of having another person I couldn't bear to lose. Dean is... Dean is different. My relationship with him is complicated, tied up in destiny and cosmic purpose and things I don't fully understand. But you..."

He trails off, struggling for words.

"You were supposed to be simple," he continues. "Dean's little sister. Someone I cared about because he cared about you. But then you grew up, and you became... you became important to me in your own right. And that terrified me."

You stare at him, pieces clicking together in your mind. "So when I prayed..."

"When you prayed, I heard you clearly. Every word. Every plea. And I wanted to come to you so desperately that it scared me into paralysis. I told myself your prayers were unclear because acknowledging how clear they were meant acknowledging how much you meant to me."

The confession settles between you like a living thing. You can see the truth of it in his eyes, the self-loathing and regret and desperate hope all tangled together.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," you say finally.

Castiel's face crumples. "I know. I know it is. I know there's no excuse—"

"No, Cas." You stand up, crossing the small space between the beds. "It's stupid because you thought caring about me was something to be afraid of."

You sit down beside him on his bed, close enough that your knees are touching.

"Do you know what I thought about while they were hurting me?" you ask. "I thought about all the times you'd healed my injuries. All the times you'd listened to me complain about cases or school or boys. All the times you'd brought me books you thought I'd like, or sat with me when I couldn't sleep after nightmares."

Castiel is staring at you like you're speaking in tongues.

"I thought about how safe I felt when you were around," you continue. "How you never talked down to me or treated me like I was fragile just because I was the youngest. I thought about how you saw me—really saw me—not just as Dean's little sister or Sam's baby sister, but as myself."

"You did?"

"Of course I did. Because somewhere along the way, without me really noticing, you became one of the most important people in my life. And I think... I think maybe I became important to you too, and that scared you because it wasn't part of the plan."

Castiel nods slowly. "Angels aren't supposed to form individual attachments. We're supposed to love humanity as a whole, not specific humans."

"But you do love specific humans. You love Dean. You love Sam. And maybe..." You take a breath, gathering courage. "Maybe you love me too."

"I do." The words come out in a rush, like he's been holding them back for months. "I love you so much it feels like drowning sometimes. And that night, when I heard you calling for me, I wanted to come to you more than I've ever wanted anything. But I was so afraid of what that meant, of what it said about me and my nature and my purpose..."

"So you chose fear over love."

"Yes." He looks down at his hands. "And you paid the price for my cowardice."

You're quiet for a moment, processing everything he's told you. It doesn't excuse what happened—nothing could excuse eighteen hours of unanswered prayers. But it explains it in a way that makes sense, in a way that feels true.

"I forgive you," you say finally.

Castiel's head snaps up, eyes wide with shock. "You... what?"

"I forgive you." The words feel strange on your tongue, but also right. Like something falling into place. "I forgive you for being afraid. I forgive you for choosing poorly. I forgive you for being an angel who's still learning how to be human."

"I don't deserve—"

"Forgiveness isn't about deserving it, Cas. It's about choosing to let go of the hurt so it doesn't poison everything else." You reach out, covering his hands with yours. "I'm tired of being angry. I'm tired of missing you. And I'm tired of both of us walking around like ghosts because we can't figure out how to get past this."

Castiel stares down at your joined hands like he can't quite believe they're real.

"I will never let you down like that again," he says fiercely. "I swear to you, on my grace, on everything I am—if you call for me, I will come. No matter what else is happening, no matter how afraid I am, I will come."

"I believe you." And surprisingly, you do. "But Cas?"

"Yes?"

"Next time you're having an existential crisis about loving people, maybe try talking to someone instead of drinking yourself into oblivion. We're pretty good listeners, you know."

That startles a laugh out of him—the first genuine laugh you've heard from him in months.

"I'll remember that," he says, and then more seriously: "Thank you. For forgiving me. For giving me another chance. I know I don't deserve it."

"You're family," you say simply. "And family forgives each other. Eventually."

You lean forward and wrap your arms around him, feeling him go rigid with surprise before melting into the embrace. He holds you carefully, like you might break, and you can feel some of the tension that's been living in your shoulders for months finally start to ease.

"I missed you," you whisper against his shoulder.

"I missed you too," he whispers back. "More than you know."

You stay like that for a long moment, two damaged souls finding their way back to each other. It's not perfect—there are still scars, still trust that needs to be rebuilt. But it's a beginning.

And sometimes, a beginning is enough.

When Dean and Sam return with enough junk food to feed a small army, they find you and Castiel sitting side by side on the bed, sharing a bag of chips and arguing about the historical accuracy of a documentary playing on the motel's ancient TV.

"Everything okay?" Sam asks carefully.

You look at Castiel, seeing the hope and relief and gratitude in his eyes, and smile.

"Yeah," you say. "Everything's okay."

And for the first time in two months, you actually mean it.

[doveysalt]

THAT INDESCRIBABLE FEELING // dean winchester

summary: an unstoppable force (your hormones) meets an immovable object (your love of movies). word count: 1.3k tags: cinephile!gn!reader (amab AND afab friendly); anal; pet names for reader (sweetheart, baby); crack fic but it’s sweet. a/n: this is so painfully self indulgent i might as well have put my own name on it. put your clothes back on we’re having a robert redford marathon.

Booking two rooms might be pricey, but your sanity depends upon it. 

You and Sam and Dean have been in close proximity for a month straight without a break, and it’s beginning to grate on everybody’s nerves. Theirs, because nobody can handle being with their sibling for that long and not go crazy; yours, because you’re itching for some sorely missed alone time with Dean. When you and the boys skip into the next town, cranky and complaining to each other the whole way, you declare it: two rooms, or else one of you might actually try to kill someone.

For once, the brothers don’t argue. 

Sam heads off to a room of his own, and Dean’s shoulders visibly relax when he gets you alone. He must have the same idea as you, because as soon as you close and lock the motel door behind you, his hands find your hips, tugging you closer. 

“God, I missed you,” he mumbles, full lips landing on your neck. He mouths at your skin, kissing below your ear while he hooks his thumbs through your belt loops to drag you to bed. 

“Easy there, tiger,” you muse, pausing when the back of his knees bump against the edge of the mattress. “Let me unwrap the packaging first.”

Dean groans, stealing a chaste kiss from your lips, but he’s grinning anyway. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry up, though, sweetheart. I’m not sure I can handle a striptease tonight. Might just have to tear into you like a gas station honey bun.”

A snort spills out of you as you’re taking your shirt off. He’s such a dork. 

Dean mirrors you, undressing from top to bottom — jacket gone, then his shirt, then his hands falling to your belt. He kisses you again, working the leather loose while your hands greedily feel up his sides. You’ve missed touching him like this; you take handfuls of him, feeling the softness of his muscles, caressing his waistline. With a needy hum, Dean kisses you harder, pushing his hips into your hand, silently pleading with you to free him of his jeans. You oblige. 

With your clothes discarded in haphazard piles on the motel floor, Dean makes to sit against the headboard with you perched in his lap. You make out while he circles a finger around your rim, spreading you open with one big hand while the other smears a glob of his spit around your hole. A desperate sound leaves you, and Dean gently begins to pump one finger inside you while his other hand leaves your ass long enough to reach for the remote. 

“Gotta cover up the noise,” he explains, noticing your raised eyebrow. “M’gonna screw you into next week, baby.”

You clench around his finger, lightly rolling your hips back to meet his. “We have to work on your one-liners,” you joke, overflowing with want in spite of your loving judgment. 

“Shut up,” he mutters, kissing you again while he blindly flicks the TV on. Bluish light washes over the room, illuminating one side of Dean’s face and bathing the rest in shadow. The volume is loud enough that Sam can more than likely hear it in his room, but low enough that it doesn’t fully register in your ears. When Dean nudges his hard, leaking cock against your rear, that becomes your only focus. 

For a little while, at least. 

Dean is thrusting into you from below, gently directing your rolling hips. His eyes are shut, head leaning against the headboard as he fucks you slow. It feels good, but — you’re not sure why your mind is straying now — a familiar voice is speaking on the TV. Your movements slow without you realizing it as you try to pinpoint who you’re hearing; Dean isn’t paying attention to what’s happening, at first, not until your hips crawl to a stop while he does all the work.

Dean — pent up, trying to get off (no thanks to you) — finally groans, frustratedly squeezing your hips.

“Are you tired or somethin’?” he asks, cracking his eyes open to find you staring at the television screen. He blinks, startled and somewhat blinded by the light of the screen. “What the hell are you—?”

“The Sting is on, babe.”

Your words come out so casually that it throws Dean for a loop. He blinks, still rock hard and buried in your ass. 

“Like… with Robert Redford and Paul Newman?” he clarifies, going entirely still.

“Yeah,” you confirm, craning your neck to watch. It looks uncomfortable — it’s definitely uncomfortable. When you face Dean again, rubbing the tensed muscles, your expression shifts from interest to sheepishness. “…Sorry, sorry. I’m ruining the mood. Keep going.”

Dean shoots you a puzzled expression, brows pinched. “It's a little hard to do that when you’re looking at other men.” His voice is surprisingly playful; you thought he’d be more annoyed by your distractedness. It’s reassuring enough that you feel comfortable cracking a joke.

“But it’s Redford and Newman,” you stress. “You can’t blame me for that. You like ‘em, too.”

He snorts, shifting suddenly to lay your back down on the bed. You yelp in surprise, legs flying up in the air. Dean catches them, tossing them over his shoulders with his cock still buried inside you. 

“Nah, you’re right,” Dean muses, hauling your hips up for a better angle. “Get a good look, then.”

Your head hangs off the foot of the mattress while Dean returns to fucking you, but this time, you’re free to watch the handsome con men plotting on the screen. Now Dean is watching the film right along with you, distractedly rolling his hips, stopping a few times, remembering what he’s doing, then forgetting all over again. It’s a silly, vicious cycle. You find yourself laughing, eyes pulled from the upside-down image of Paul Newman playing poker to land on Dean’s squinted gaze on the screen. 

“Are you getting a good look?” you tease, finding his forearm, wrapping your fingers around it, and giving him a light squeeze. 

Dean’s eyes flee the television to see you smiling below him, deeply entertained to know he’s equally as invested in watching the movie despite himself. He gets shy all of a sudden, rolling his pretty eyes and pinching your hip to make you jolt. 

“Hush,” he grumbles. Then, after a beat, he soothes the spot he just pinched. “Want me to turn it off?”

The immediate glare of disgust and outrage on your face is nearly enough to shrink him into a raisin. “Do you want to die?” you ask pointedly. 

“...Guess not,” he snorts, leaning down to kiss your forehead. His cock pushes deeper inside you when he does it, sending a pleasant shudder up your spine. “Want me to stop?”

“No,” you huff, rubbing his arm. “I know you know how to multitask. Figure it out.”

His grin stretches a mile wide, and he rolls into you with a tempting thrust. “Have I ever told you you’re hot when you’re actin’ bossy?”

You glow with mirth, wriggling beneath him as you try (and fail) to maintain a humble expression. “Flip me over so I can actually watch.”

“Yes, Captain,” he salutes, already sliding out to help lay you on your stomach, placing a pillow under your hips to lift you up for him. It looks like you’re prepping for a pornagraphic massage when he spreads you open, slipping inside you again. Dean holds himself up by his elbows, kissing the back of your shoulders. He’s lazier this time, watching The Sting with you while he grinds forward, leisurely sliding in and out. 

“Do you love me?” 

His question is low and sweet in your ear. You turn your head just enough to brush your lips against his cheekbone. “Don’t be silly. ‘Course I do, baby.”

Dean smiles, eyes gleaming in the bluish light. “More than Redford?”

“Know your limits.”

> masterlist. > main.

tag list . . . @ravenhood2792 @midnightblossomss @angelicentity98 @whhtlle @leena-bee

[yourbitchwriter]

You fucked with the Wrong Winchester

dean winchester x sister reader

sam winchester x sister reader

Summary: A routine hunt in a quiet town should’ve been easy. While working the case undercover, the youngest Winchester finds herself dealing with unwanted attention from a stranger who refuses to take the hint. What starts as an uncomfortable encounter quickly escalates, forcing Dean and Sam to step in. Protective instincts, overprotective big brothers, and a reminder that the scariest people aren’t always the monsters they’re hunting.

Warnings: Harassment/physical harm, hurt/comfort

Authors note: Open to any request

Dean killed the engine of the Impala just outside a weathered roadside bar, the neon OPEN sign buzzing against the dark Virginia sky.

“So,” you said, glancing between your brothers. “What’s the plan?”

Sam looked down at the case file in his lap. “Three disappearances. Every victim was last seen here before they vanished. Sheriff says no surveillance cameras, no witnesses willing to talk.”

Dean sighed.

“Which means we get to play detective.”

He climbed out of the car, and you followed, stretching after the four-hour drive.

The bar looked exactly like every other small-town bar you’d ever investigated—old pickup trucks in the parking lot, country music leaking through the walls, and enough cigarette smoke drifting out every time the door opened to make Dean wrinkle his nose.

“I still don’t like this,” Dean muttered.

You smiled.

“You never like undercover jobs.”

“I don’t like this undercover job.”

Sam shut the passenger door.

“Dean.”

“I’m serious.”

Dean turned to you.

“You’re staying with one of us.”

You folded your arms.

“I’m twenty.”

“And?”

“I’ve been hunting since I was a kid.”

“And?”

“I can handle talking to strangers.”

Dean didn’t even blink.

“I know you can.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Dean hesitated for a moment.

Finally, he shrugged.

“I’ve got a bad feeling.”

Sam looked at him.

“You’ve had a bad feeling since breakfast.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s not helping your argument.”

Dean ignored him.

He looked back at you.

“If anybody makes you uncomfortable—even a little—you walk away.”

“I know.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I, I may be a girl, but that doesn’t mean I can’t handle myself, you know how you raised me.”

You reached over and lightly nudged his shoulder.

“I’ll be okay.”

Dean didn’t smile.

“Humor me.”

You sighed dramatically.

“Fine, if somebody makes me uncomfortable, I come get one of you.”

Dean nodded once.

“Good.”

Sam smiled.

“There.”

“Everyone happy?”

Dean looked at him.

“No.”

The bar was louder than it looked from outside. Music played from an old jukebox in the corner while people crowded around pool tables and booths. Dean took a seat at the counter, chatting with the bartender between sips of beer. Sam claimed a booth near the back with a notebook and a coffee, looking every bit like an exhausted grad student.

You wandered between tables, asking casual questions whenever the opportunity came up.For nearly half an hour, nothing. Nobody had seen anything, nobody remembered the missing people. Every lead ended with a shrug.

You let out a quiet sigh and slid onto an empty barstool to order a soda.

“Long day?”

You turned toward the voice.

A man a few seats away smiled politely.

“Something like that.”

“You passing through?”

“Yeah.”

He introduced himself, and for a few minutes the conversation stayed harmless. He asked where you were from, whether you liked the town, how long you’d be staying.

You answered politely, hoping he might accidentally mention something useful. Across the room, Dean glanced over.

“You watching them?” he asked quietly.

Sam didn’t even look up from his notebook.

“I know that tone.”

“They’ve been talking to that guy for a few minutes.”

“They’re working the case Dean” Sam said in an annoyed tone.

Dean took another drink.

“I know.”

Still, he kept watching.

Back at the bar, you smiled politely.

“Well, I should probably get back to my family.”

The man tilted his head.

“Family?”

“My brothers.”

He glanced around the room.

“I don’t see them.”

“They’re here.”

He chuckled.

“They letting you do all the work?”

You laughed softly.

“Pretty much.”

Dean noticed something change, your smile. It was still there. But it wasn’t real anymore, he’d seen that smile a thousand times. It was the one you wore when you were trying not to make a scene.

He set his glass down.

“Sam.”

Sam followed Dean’s gaze.

“What?”

“They’ve tried to end that conversation twice.”

Sam finally looked up.

“…Yeah, I see it.”

At the bar, you stood.

“Well… it was nice meeting you.”

You took a step toward the aisle.

The man shifted just enough to block your path.

Not dramatically.

Just enough that you had to stop.

You forced another polite smile.

“Excuse me.”

He kept talking as though he hadn’t heard you.

You tried again.

“I need to get back to my brothers.”

“They can wait another minute.”

A knot formed in your stomach.

“I’m actually meeting them now.”

You stepped to the side.

So did he.

Your smile disappeared.

Across the room, Dean was already on his feet.

Sam noticed immediately.

“Dean.”

“They’re uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sam said obviously trying to keep his cool and let you handle the situation.

Dean was already walking.

You tried once more to move around him.

“I really need to go.”

Instead of moving, the man reached out and caught your wrist.

It wasn’t painful.

But it stopped you.

Your breath caught.

“Please let go,” you said, your voice calm but firm.

For a moment, he didn’t.

Then a voice cut through the noise of the bar.

“Take your hand off my sister.”

The entire room seemed to go quiet.

Dean stopped only a few feet away, his expression unreadable.

Sam was right behind him, already moving to your side.

Dean’s eyes stayed fixed on the man’s hand.

“I said…” His voice was low and controlled. “Let. Her. Go.”

The man looked between the three of you.

Whatever confidence he’d had a moment ago disappeared.

He released your wrist.

The second he did, Sam gently guided you behind him.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, though your heart was racing.

Dean didn’t miss the slight tremble in your hand.

His jaw tightened.

“You already had your answer,” Dean said evenly. “She tried to leave. She asked you to let go. That should’ve been enough.”

The bartender spoke before the man could.

“I heard her.”

Several heads around the room nodded.

Realizing the attention was now on him, the man muttered under his breath and headed for the door. Dean watched until it closed behind him. Only then did he turn around.

The anger disappeared from his face the instant he looked at you.

“Hey.”

You tried to answer.

Instead, your voice caught.

Sam rested a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay.”

Dean stepped closer, his voice gentle now.

“You did exactly what you were supposed to do.”

“I just…” You looked down at your hands. “I didn’t want to cause a scene.”

Dean shook his head immediately.

“You didn’t.”

“The only person responsible for that scene was him.”

You swallowed hard.

“I thought maybe I was overreacting.”

Dean looked at you like the idea hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“Kid… if your instincts tell you something’s wrong, you trust them.”

Sam nodded.

“And if you need us?”

A small smile finally tugged at your lips.

“I come get my brothers.”

Dean smiled for the first time that night.

“Damn right.”

He draped his leather jacket over your shoulders before nodding toward the exit.

“C’mon.”

“The hunt can wait.”

“Family comes first.”

[demonishcreature]

Sam Winchester x Reader

Warning: This is a pure crack after the first picture

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Sam seeing you for the first time and instantly falling in love

Sam trying to rizz you up, so you would go on a date with him

Sam driving to your home to pick you up

Sam seeing you without clothes for the first time

Sam waking you up to tell you, that he threw up

Sam trying to convince you to go to bed with him

Sam when he turns into a moose once in a blue moon

Sam when you steal his fries

Sam when he tries to cook for you, but ends up blowing up a fridge

Sam scared shitless when you say something about pegging

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

I am genuinely so sorry for this post XD

Here is part about Dean *:･ﾟ✧