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#also like that was Dean taking over the vessel

trenchcoatimpala · 1 year

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Sorry Jensen Ackles just sang “where’d you go when I need you. You were gone and left me all alone. But you were never alone, you told me. Here I sit with you on this stage in Rome.”

IM GONNA NEED A FUCKING MINUTE WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. THEYRE WRITING DESTIEL MUSIC TOGETHER ON A STAGE IN FRONT OF PEOPLE NOW?? IM LOSING MY GODDAMN MIND.

#what is in the fucking WATER in ROME #WHAT ARE THE GIVING THEM #THEYRE INSANE #THIS IS INSANE #WHO DOES THIS #also like that was Dean taking over the vessel #jensen writing his own goddamn fanfiction with misha

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papercute · 6 months

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i have always thought about what cas does in the bunker when dean and sam go to bed and have come to the following conclusions:

he gets bored as SHIT. so he tries to fill all the time with stuff(tm)

he’ll try a million different hobbies to fill the time but nothing sticks for him until he discovers knitting

he immediately hyperfixates on knitting and makes dean, sam, and jack a jumper each (claire has one too that he’s sure she’d be too embarrassed to wear so he buried it at the back of dean’s closet). he also knits a cute little throw blanket for dean that he keeps in the impala to sleep on the road and feel cas’s presence, even when he’s not there.

charlie comes over and sees jack wearing his jumper and immediately commissions cas for one (“they’re adorable! shut up and take my money, cas!”, she says). he is flattered she likes them so much and completes it in like an hour

but cas also does a lot of the cleaning in the bunker. it really helps that he’s telekinetic so it means he can be hoovering in one room and dusting in another while his vessel is doing the dishes. sam always thanks him in the morning and really appreciates the effort

after jack starts sleeping during the day so he can stay up all night with cas, they start having all night movie nights, or board game nights. it’s mostly for jack’s benefit, cause cas loves to see him happy, but he does end up really enjoying them and they both start learning all the cultural references dean makes.

they end up getting really into card games with the standard set of 52 cards, but they also discover uno and get so intense about it dean has to drag himself out of bed to tell them to shut up (he would have brought his gun for extra measure, but he couldn’t handle hearing a gunshot at this time of night). uno is now banned at night time.

that is all for now tumblr. i am very tired. if you have any additional thoughts feel free to rb or reply or whatever you want. enjoy this and have a good existence

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uncouth-the-fifth · 10 months

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click, p.2 - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (late s5) Tags/Warnings: angst, love confessions, romantic sex, oral sex/cunnilingus, (aka, Sam pussy addiction: the shequel), Sam is Lucifer's vessel, reader is AFAB. Word Count: ~11k. Notes: i was commissioned for the second time by the lovely @daffodil-mania, who wanted a continuation of her last fic set during the "say yes" era of s5. (sooooo dangerous to let me put my grubby hands on this version of Sam, btw). i cannot express how BUCK FUCKING WILD uncouth-nation went for the first part of this fic, so this is for all the wonderful people who gushed over click, commented, threw me some kudos, or even just read it and liked it. lots of love, and i hope you enjoy <3 i did my best to rip out your soul as best i could. THIS CAN STAND ON IT'S OWNNN AHHH. i mean. if u wanna read it <3 Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

FIVE YEARS LATER

The walk from the bus stop to your apartment is a safe and easy seven minutes. If you were any other person in any other world, you’d glide onto the bus after your night shift at the university, hop off at your stop, and bumble toward your apartment without a single care in the world. Maybe stare at your phone the whole walk back. Text a hot guy who isn’t the physical manifestation of the devil on earth. Normal stuff.

But this is your life, so you sit front seat on the bus, hands in your lap, tapping a nervous beat against the angel blade hidden in your book bag. The windows rattle in their frames and gleam with rain. You could get off at your stop and take those easy seven minutes home—but the bus driver could also be a demon, so.

Since you aren’t in the mood to die a slow death tonight, walking a few extra blocks to keep anybody from knowing where you live will have to work.

On day two of this, you’d called Dean and asked if you were being extra paranoid. He’d kindly pointed out: Extra-paranoid is just extra-survival. I dunno about you, but survivin’ a lil’ extra sounds fan-fuckin-tastic to me right about now.

He’s right. You know he’s right. But it still doesn’t feel like a good answer, and that makes you picture Sam, twenty-three and still bright-eyed, running his fingers down your bare back and scowling. I’m sick of surviving. One of these days, I want to actually live my life.

But that had been before the apocalypse, before Dean’s deal, before everything. Sam was a different man now. Hunting had reached into all three of you and ripped all sorts of things out, but you would never forgive it for taking Sam’s hope for something better. God, you missed that Sam. You missed him more than anything.

The city bus lumbers up to the curb and spits you out onto the sidewalk, where you superstitiously hover, waiting for the other passengers crawling away from their night shifts to scatter. It’s only when the bus is a dark spot in the mist down the street that you start to walk, your whole body caked head to toe with oily rain.

This time, you take a random left toward your apartment and serpentine street-to-street, never walking the exact same way the same week. By the time you’re closer to where the bus could’ve actually dropped you off, the lingering smell of old research books has been practically power-washed out of your clothes. You try to think of anything but the freezing, biting, face-stinging rain… and, like a moth to a flame, your mind floats back to Sam.

It’s been over two weeks since he dropped the nuclear option. Over two weeks ago, Sam wanted to say yes to Lucifer, and over two weeks have passed since the massive, unstoppable-force-meets-immovable-object fight that’d erupted as a result.

Dean had blown up. Sam had pushed. You’d burst into tears and clawed into Sam just as deep, because why, why would he ever go there—why would that even be a fathomable possibility in his mind? Did he really think so low of himself? How could he ever give up like that? How could he leave you—?

The worst part was easily the way Sam had reacted. With Dean or John, he could yell himself hoarse, but when it came to fighting you all he could do was sit and take it. He put his head down and nodded at everything you said, even the cruel things. In some ways it made you angrier, but also inconceivably, cosmically guilty. This was Sam’s choice. And of course, because this was Sam, his choice was to save the whole goddamn world. Not a single bone in your body carried that level of selflessness, yet Sam bled the stuff.

You were still furious with him, but only because being mad at him was the only option you had left. The right thing to do would be to tell Sam, I trust you to make this decision, this is your life, and let him take that jump… But you didn’t have it in you. Saying that felt like pushing him over the ledge yourself, or telling him you’d never cared about him in the first place. If you were angry at least you were still fighting for him in some way.

You’d been on board for everything—trying to find a way out of Dean’s deal, trying to kill Lilith, everything. But the argument with Sam had torn out the final piece of you that could stand this, so you packed a bag, told Dean you’d be in a strict research-only role, and booked it back to your hometown. It was cowardly and stupid and beyond selfish, but you knew your stance. The hunt had taken everything from you. You refused to let it take Sam, too.

Maybe, Sam would take you stepping away as a serious sign to change his mind. You couldn’t imagine a world where Sam and his Winchester stubbornness would ever do that, but. It was a nice wish to hold onto.

By the time you make it up the steps to your apartment building, you’re soaked to the bone and audibly making pathetic shivering sounds. Your bookbag feels heavier than ever, digging a trench into your shoulder as you fish around for your keys. The second your apartment door is open the true weight of your exhaustion hits you—

—and then utterly disappears, replaced by a shock of pure adrenaline.

There’s a new pair of boots by your front door.

You catch the heavy door before it goes swinging against the doorjamb, straining your ears against the ringing silence. The bedside lamp is on in your room.

On dead-quiet feet, you slip in, click the door shut behind you, and slip off your bookbag. Your angel blade is in your hand in a second, but you risk a few extra steps toward your kitchen table to wiggle loose the pistol you taped underneath. Just the weight of your weapons in your hands flicks the hunter muscle memory back on in your body, and before you can think you’re hiding in the shadow beside your bedroom door. Listening.

Soft breathing. The pages of a book turning.

You know, instinctively, who it is—you would know him dumb and blind and dead. But these days, anybody could be piloting his body around.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, heart throbbing in your ears. You wait until the fingers on your gun aren’t shaking anymore, then burst inside the room, slamming the door into the wall and whipping your pistol up to eye level.

Sam’s head flinches towards you. He is exactly as you saw him two weeks ago; solemn, determined, and open, the air around him practically steaming with safety and goodness. He’s sat comfortably on your bed, reading a book he brought with him. Despite everything, your belly still curls with butterflies when you lay eyes on him. Sam. Definitely Sam, and no one else.

Still, your paranoia has gotten you this far. You both stare at each other for a beat, equal parts scared out of your minds and relieved. Without a word, you keep your gun trained on him, and Sam lets you, his eyes big and understanding. You shuffle sideways to your dresser, and without turning away from him, pop open the top drawer and toss him the silver flask of holy water you keep hidden inside.

He catches it. So, not a shapeshifter, then. Sam takes a drink of the holy water, even turning to the side so you can see the water go into his mouth. (A demon in Missouri had slipped past the three of you by pretending to sip—only Sam would know that.) You’re still a little terrified, but you manage to pull your weapons back down to your sides. You still don’t know what to say.

He’s really here. The part of you that had worried the argument with Sam would be your last wails with joy. He’s here, alive and in front of you. No matter how awkward you feel you can’t bring yourself to stop staring at him. By the buttery light of your bedside lamp, he literally glows with beauty, and you realize he’d scrubbed his boots off on your welcome mat to not track mud in, and he’d hung up his rain-soaked jacket in your shower to dry. Stupid polite Sam things.

You dare to glance back at your kitchen, then swivel to squint at him. “Did you… do my dishes?”

Sam lets his hands relax into his lap and nods, shy. He’s looking at you in a way he never really has before, eyes big and soul-rending. “…Yeah. I used the key you gave me to get in… Hope that’s okay.”

There’s another long pause. Usually when you stare at Sam, he doesn’t stare so intensely back, but you share a weird mutual moment where you just stand there and take each other in. It’s so obvious it’s painful, but if he’s doing it then you feel entitled to devour him with your eyes too.

“I got, uh, bored. Waiting for you,” Sam clarifies. “Thought I’d make myself useful.”

Sam stands from the bed. For a second you think he’s heading straight for you, but he moves toward the dresser behind you, kindly tucking the holy water back where it was stowed. You flit out of his way as fast as you can and set your weapons down on the closest available surface, feeling off-kilter. Why would he come here? Is he going to tell you that he changed his mind?

You hold onto the question, but you know it’s too out of character to hope for. Despair sinks into your gut like a rock in a pond. You know why Sam’s here. He would never make this decision without telling you first—without at least saying goodbye in person.

Your throat locks up with tears.

Behind you, Sam hums, “You changed your hair.”

Right. You’d altered it to be more undercover. You resist the urge to reach up and play with your hair, or give in to any of the fluttery feelings you always feel around Sam. “It’s safer.” Tightly, you ask him, “What are you doing here?”

Sam drags a long breath through his nose. You clutch the end of your bookshelf, your chest crumpling with misery. Please don’t say it. Please, please, lie to me if you have to.

“...I’m not taking the jump,” Sam breathes.

There’s more that he says after that. He talks about how you and Dean are right, and how, surely, after everything that the three of you have been through, there’s got to be another way to end this. You’ve always found another way in the past. Sam explains all this to you in a sure, quiet voice, like this is something he’s thought about for a long time, but you barely hear him after those first words. There’s this persistent tension in your chest that’s telling you that there’s something wrong here, but you don’t care—you don’t give a single fucking shit, because Sam—Sam isn’t saying yes. Sam’s staying.

“…are other ways I can make up for the mistakes I made,” he’s telling you, scrambling to fill the nagging silence.

You take a moment to force back your tears, and Sam, nervously, keeps talking.

He swallows, trying to smile. “I-I would’ve called and told you, but something tells me you wouldn’t have picked up.”

When you’ve got your bearings back, you push away from your bookshelf and turn to face him. Your legs are so leaden that you feel as if you have to physically pick up your body and drop it down the other direction, but you manage it. “What… what made you change your mind?”

Sam gets one look at your face and wilts with guilt. He doesn’t answer your question in words—just shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down at his feet, then around your room, as if his reason was in the air with the two of you. In the apartment. His eyes flicker over you just once, and you understand. Seeing you leave really had scared him.

“Be careful,” you start to joke with him, “you start validating my childish reactions and we’re gonna have a whole new set of problems on our hands.”

Sam scoffs. “It wasn’t childish to run away.”

You raise an eyebrow at his word choice, which gets an honest-to-god laugh out of him. A real good Sam Winchester laugh, dimples and all. The last dregs of anxiety in your gut melt at the sound, and Sam reassures you, shrugging, “You needed to get out. In case you forgot, I kind of invented wanting to get out. I understand. I really do.”

You know that he does. That’s not exactly going to stop you from feeling guilty about ditching them, but at least it kicked some sense into him. God. For the last five or six years, your every moment had been spent with Sam and his brother. Even just a couple weeks without him had drained you, and having him back only makes those feelings more clear. Sam’s presence commands the space in a way that turns your shitty, undecorated bedroom into someplace magical, someplace good and safe and warm, and just seeing him standing there draws the ache out of your spine.

Your reach out for his sleeve. Somehow, he’s more real than ever, a tangible person instead of the memory you’ve chased for so long.

“You’re really not saying yes?”

Sam unwinds your hand from the fabric so he can hold it instead, your fingers scooped in his fingers. You’re given a firm squeeze and are hypnotized by him in an instant, the world narrowing down to this moment between just him and just you.

Sam looks into your eyes when he promises, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The tears you’d resisted before return in one big, merciless wave. You’re so tired and the rain was so fucking cold and you’re so sick of being scared that Sam, thank god, Sam, is everything you could possibly need. He’s not going anywhere. Before you can stop yourself you’re clutching him for dear life, shoving your face in his shirt and crushing his body against yours. These last few weeks have submerged you in survival mode, and you don’t realize how deep until Sam pulls you out of the current. He’s warm and dry, and when you inhale to sob he smells like a 24-hour-laundromat, the Impala, and home home home. You could’ve lost that. You could’ve lost him.

“Th-thank you,” you choke out at nothing in particular, “thank you.”

You’ve cried a lot this week, so there are not many tears left to shed. Still, Sam holds you through all of them, swaying back and forth with you and cooing in your ear. You hear him sniffling too. When you’re both all sobbed out, you pull back to tell him you love him, to remind him of all the things he needs to hear, but Sam strangely doesn’t let you. The second he feels you pull away he clutches you back against him, and you get the uneasy impression that you’ve been comforting him more than he’s been comforting you. His whole body’s shaking.

Sam hugs you for longer than he ever has before. It’s a little worrying, but you’ve both needed it so much that you don’t even complain.

After a while, Sam slips back, and in traditional Winchester fashion tries to play off his vulnerability. He’s always been a dead-silent crier, so you have zero way to gauge how bad things are until you see his face. He looks like he’d sobbed his heart out. Your shirt is still wet from the rain, but even then you can feel Sam’s tears soaking your shoulder. Saying anything about it will just embarrass him, though.

“...I-I, uh,” you lick the tears off your lips, mumbling, “I don’t know bout’ you, but I’m beat. Do you have somewhere you gotta be, or,” you add hopefully, “or can you stick around?”

This is the part where Sam will start coaxing you to drive back with him to where he and Dean are holed up, you’re sure of it. You’re already plotting in your head what to pack and what to take, but Sam never brings it up. He doesn’t worry about tomorrow yet.

He presses his lips together. “I was hoping I could stay here tonight, actually.”

This is an even better answer. You’re nodding before he’s even finished the thought, stroking your hand down his chest. It twists your gut in knots to see him like this, so you start to steer the conversation toward something more playful, something less daunting to think about.

“You’re lucky I like you then,” you smirk. Somehow, you manage to peel yourself out of his bubble and teeter toward your dresser, scrubbing the tears off your face. “Make yourself comfortable. I dunno about you, but I’m getting the fuck out of these work clothes, I’m freezing. Do you need anything to sleep in? I’ve got at least five years of your stolen shirts in here.”

You hear him ease himself down on the end of your bed again, but there’s no sassy retort, sly comment, or any sort of line about you and your stealing habits. Instead, sweet and simple, he says, “I’ll just sleep in this. You can have them.”

Okay. Weird.

Since he didn’t take the bait, you throw out another line and try again. This time, you kick off your shoes, open a drawer, and turn back to him with two of his shirts in hand. “Really?” You wave them teasingly in the air. “You sure?”

They are some of his best shirts, easy. You’re not a cheap thief. The first is a holey, feather-soft Red Hot Chili Peppers tee, and the second is a deep maroon Stanford sweater. He has so few artifacts from that time in his life that there’s no way he won’t want this one back. Right?

But Sam just gazes at you, his whole face soft and loving as he says, “You should wear the Stanford one. It looks good on you.”

Those old hot-shivery feelings for him seep down your spine, and you feel in real-time how your cheeks flood with heat. Damn, okay. Consider yourself wooed.

You’ve been down this road with Sam many, many times—enough to know when he’s flirting with you. The forbidden labels had never been thrown around, but. Well. Sam had been your first time, as well as the many other times after that.

He’s usually leagues more subtle than his brother, but for whatever reason he’s pouring it on by the truckload tonight. When you turn around he’s nothing but big, happy puppy eyes, waiting patiently for you at the end of the bed. (Like you’re his girlfriend. Like anything about this is normal at all, and you and Sam are going to tuck into bed together like it’s any other night). Fuck, you missed him.

The bathroom is only a few steps away, but this is Sam, so you decide to just throw on your pajamas right here. Your shirt is so wet that it hits the floor with a slap. It also takes some experience to wring yourself out of your denim-turned-cement jeans, so it’s not the sexiest show in the entire world. Still, Sam’s gaze traces sensual lines down your back. You would rather go to literal, actual hell than wear your bra for a minute longer, so the second you’re free of its death grip, a long happy sigh drains out of you. A similar dreamy sigh drains out of Sam. Dork.

“I will never get tired of that,” Sam murmurs. You expect to hear some kind of hunger there, but the timber of his voice bleeds with admiration and fondness.

There are very few ways to be a normal human being while Sam Winchester adores your nude body with his eyes. The best you can do is burst into flustered, giggly laughter and give him a good eyeroll, your entire face cooking like a stove burner.

“Alright, loverboy,” you scoff, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and take my makeup off—”

“Can I help?” Sam asks.

You sputter out another laugh, confused. “You wanna brush my teeth for me?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, smiling big, “Lemme take your makeup off for you.”

Okay. Weirder. But it’s sweet, and you like this side of him, so you decide to indulge his mood. “...Sure.”

You go about your night-time routine. Sam continues to be a weirdo, trailing you into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, and blinking slow endearing blinks at you as he… watches you brush your teeth. Just. Stands there, watching, utterly enamored with this little moment of domesticity with you. On the surface level you’re a little thrown off, but it falls under the category of Freaky Sam Things that made you catch feelings for him in the first place, so. You grin into your toothbrush the whole time.

When he’s satisfied by his little ogling fest, he drifts off to hunt around for your makeup wipes. Either you’re predictable or he knows you too well, because he finds them within seconds, and patiently sits back as you finish up your routine, watching you like you’ll disappear on him the moment he turns away. Click click, you feel inside you.

“Okay,” he says when you’re done. “Close your eyes.”

You do. You wait for the cool touch of the wipe on your face, but instead, Sam’s big, rough fingers find your chin and hold you still. It takes conscience effort to not melt into his touch like a cat in a square of sunlight. Your willpower is nothing on Sam’s, though, so you give in quickly, sinking into his hand and sighing through your nose. In gentle swipes, he cleans your face. It must be a nightmare of smeared mascara considering how you’d cried earlier… And yet Sam had still been so transfixed by you. He’s the fucking best.

Sam’s hand tilts your head from side to side to survey his handiwork. Pleased, he tosses the wipe in the trash and says, “There you go.”

You open your eyes and go to double-check his work in the mirror, but Sam hasn’t removed his hand from your chin, and you really, really don’t want him to. His thick thumb comes up and caresses under your lips. He looks at you like he loves you, and with all the honesty in the world, he utters, “...You are so pretty.”

…The only way for you to survive this is by throwing him a dry look. “You’re full of shit. What’s your game, Winchester?”

That earns you another authentic Sam laugh, along with a handsome boyish smile. “There’s no game. What are you talking about?”

You squint at him. Liar.

“This.” You gestured between the two of you, suspicious. “You’re mooning over me. Why are you mooning? Are you planning something?”

A ripple of discomfort rolls across Sam’s face, but it passes too fast for you to read. His hands go right back in his pockets and he leans into the doorframe again. “I’m just… happy we’re not fighting,” he confesses.

Oh. That makes sense. Sam hasn’t exactly made up with you like that before, but. These times change everyone. You ease up on your teasing and admit, “Me too.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you away,” Sam says, and far, far too seriously for your liking, he whispers, “I’m sorry for everything.”

Your answer slips right out of your mouth without hesitation. “I forgive you, stupid,” your brows furrow together. “And I’m sorry, too. I said some pretty shitty stuff back there.”

Sam wilts against the doorframe a little. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

A dull pulse of anger flares in your chest, which flickers out and dies not a second later. There’s so much you want to say to that.

It is so fucking unfair—biblically, cosmically unfair—that Sam, the good guy to end all good guys, thinks of himself this way. He is the kind of righteous they make saints out of. And yet he sits in your silly little bathroom in your shitty little apartment and gives you that look, the look that says, I deserve this and so much more. I deserve to rot in hell for all eternity. He gave you that exact look when he brought up saying yes. He gives it to you now, because Sam sees everything as a sin to serve penance for—freeing Lucifer from the cage and making you a little worried. He thinks he’s so evil, so beyond saving. It makes you want to get your fists in your shirt and just shake him.

You’re good! You want to scream. Just for once in your life, listen to me! None of this is your fault!

There’s nothing you could say to him that would ever make him let go of his guilt. But, at the very least, you could help him forget about it for a while.

“You beat yourself up too much,” you scold. Then, softer, you add, “C’mere, Sammy.”

Sam does as told, planting himself right in front of you. God, he’s changed. You look him over with a bittersweet smile. He used to be so spindly. The last few years have filled him out, forcing his body into something ready for war. The hunt reached in and tore all sorts of things out of people, but you’d been wrong about what it’d ripped out of Sam. His optimism was still there, warm and humming in the tissue of his body, and just seeing it fills you with hope. He looks so different from the man you’d had all to yourself in that cabin, but you can feel that he’s still in there. He’s still your Sam.

You take his face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs into his dimples and quietly, needily rasping, “...Can I take care of you?”

Sam’s whole body shudders with relief. “Please, yes.”

The next few beats of this dance haven’t changed. Like always, Sam comes flying in with a big, smashing kiss that shatters any leftover barriers between you. You’re not Sam’s girlfriend and he’s not your boyfriend, but Sam makes you his with this kiss. (If only for a little while). Your noses mash together and his eyes squeeze shut and then everything is just Sam, Sam, Sam at every angle. His hands are at his sides then suddenly they’re all over you, taking two greedy handfuls of your waist under the Stanford sweater. He jams your hips against his and kisses you senseless, towering over you, surrounding you, so that when you pull back to gasp for breath your lungs are flooded with his familiar heady love potion.

Either he’s giving off some Poison Ivy-level pheromones, or your body is so familiar with these steps that it knows what comes after this kiss… because you’re instantly wet.

You realized a long time ago that you and Sam have sex a bit too often for it to be considered “casual,” but even if it was, Sam is not a casual kind of lay. After that first soul-stealing kiss, Sam stares you down like a four-course meal, spins you around, pushes you down chest-first onto the bathroom counter, drops to his knees—

—and shoves his face between your legs like it’s his goddamn job.

In the middle of all your surprised shrieking and squirming, Sam nuzzles his face into your panties and moans deep and bassy in his throat, “Yes.”

Like he’s won something. Like he’s been waiting weeks to do this. Holy fuck, you’ll never get tired of that.

The second you have even an atom of your reason back, you slap a hand over your mouth. Neighbors! Sam has already forgotten what neighbors are, and is holy-mission-from-god-determined to make you noisy. He’s extra hungry for it tonight, too. You squeak out his name, not so much in shock, but more because having those huge hands squeezing where your ass starts to round out tends to produce a reaction, and Sam rumbles like a lawnmower in approval. Holy fuck.

He doesn’t have to ask you to spread your legs. One of the hands appreciating your ass slides between your thighs, cupping you through your underwear, and you have to try not to squeal when the meaty pad of Sam’s thumb swipes across your clothed folds. He presses a big kiss in that exact spot as he drags your panties down your legs, and it’s a weirdly sweet gesture that makes your heart and your belly flutter with shivery heat. Fuck. Fuck, you missed him so much.

The first few times Sam had sprung this move on you, you hadn’t exactly had enough time to fully rev up. But Sam is deadly efficient in and out of the bedroom, so he makes a point to get you extra wet (for him) with his spit, laving his hot, slippery tongue over you in one long swipe. He eats you out with all the obscene, noisy enjoyment of somebody gorging on the juiciest fruit they’ve ever tasted. Even you are scandalized.

It becomes embarrassingly clear that covering your mouth isn’t going to keep Sam from what he wants. The high, desperate moan you try to stifle only makes him work harder. You press an arm flat to the counter and bury your face in it for strength, since you’re weak and whimpering for him already.

Sam was good in bed when you met him. But, by nature, he is a relentless and avid learner, and it’s been five whole years since he put his mouth on you for the first time. Now, Sam is a certified pussy-eating weapon. He knows your body better than anyone possibly could. You’re over the edge in a minute flat.

Your climax flies through you in one whizzing, sparking rush, then keeps flying, until your body’s squeezing out little squeaky pleas for mercy of its own accord. This is his favorite part. You claw into the countertop and wail for it, pushing at the floor in your socks to gain any sort of leverage. To press closer? To squirm away? You have zero fucking clue, since the thought part of your brain has been blasted into a smoking crater. Sam wraps a big arm around your spasming thigh to pin you open, and holy fucking shit, could that man suck the chrome off a tailpipe. His mouth is a whirlwind of licking and suction just on the right side of oh fuck too much that makes your skin feel like it’s fizzing. You are a thread that he’s just pulling and pulling until you’re so thin you could snap into nothing—

You wait for the moment when Sam pops off you, stands up, and goes for his zipper, but he never does. He remains on the floor, determined to lick you through overstimulation and straight into round two. But that’s a whole minute you could spend with his dick inside you instead, and there’s no fucking way you’re wasting that. Not when he’s here and real and not going to say yes. Sam’s not going anywhere. He’s staying, he’s alive, and the world isn’t going to end tomorrow.

“No no no,” you bite out in one short, rattling breath. “S-Suh—Sam, please please—” An unexpected sob shreds out of you. “Miss you. Need you.”

You’re actually, genuinely crying, and not entirely in the fun sexed-out way. Sam backs up. He’s not even halfway standing when you wrench him up the rest of the way, straight into a desperate, maddening kiss. It’s a brutal cross of teeth and tongue. The need for body heat and skin and him burns through you like genuine bloodlust, so you cram yourself up against him with life-or-death urgency. You get your nails into him until you feel something like shirt fabric and viciously yank it over his head, waiting for the moment when he grabs your wrists or shoves you onto the bed o-or—or starts to blow off steam. Cause’ that’s what this is all about, right?

He drags your mouths apart. Sam pants, “Slow down.”

You stop.

This is. This is new.

There’s no slowing, with this. You both go and you keep going until there’s no more fuel in your tanks, and you crawl out of bed the next day feeling like you’ve beaten the rot out of each other. You’ve never once slowed down during this before, and as your wheels spin to a halt for the first time, reality filters back in around you.

Sam stares at you. His hair is all over the place. A patchy blush speckles up his heaving chest, burning in his ears and in his cheeks. Your slick shines on his lips and the bulb of his nose. He’s just standing there and fucking looking at you, but for whatever reason it feels like the color has seeped back into the world.

“S’okay. Gonna be okay,” Sam hushes, bleeding with sweetness.

He picks up your hands, moving you as if you were a delicate glass he was turning over in each palm. Each of your hands are kissed in the center (oh my fucking god) then wrapped around his neck, and when he has you in his bubble he scoops up your face and kisses you.

It’s a boyfriend kiss. Not a blowing off steam thing, or any other excuse the two of you have used to feel each other. A genuine, I’m your boyfriend and I love you sort of kiss, foreheads pressed together, noses touching, the whole nine yards. It’s the kind of kiss that’s meant to say something. Every inch of what he’s trying to tell you echoes through your body in one ringing smash, like you’re a big cymbal he’s taken a mallet to.

He slips off your lips and hovers, bracing himself for impact. You suck in a rattling breath.

…Then you press up onto your tiptoes to give him a kiss of your own, just pressing your lips against his, unmoving. It’s undemanding; an answer. You try to find the words to describe the shift that’s occurred between you, and end up feeling stuttery and shivery and fucking elated. Romantic. It’s fucking romantic.

“Sammy,” you sob out.

“Shhh. C’mere,” Sam whispers, his voice throaty and whiskey smooth. “Lemme make it better.”

He tries to walk you straight back out of the bathroom and towards the bed, he really does, but you stop Sam every other step to overwhelm him with obsessed, affectionate kisses. God. His chapstick is all over your fucking mouth (along with your slick) and his hands are everywhere else, feeling instead of grabbing.

“You always do,” you breathe, and that might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him in bed.

Sam gets this quiet, pleased smile on his face. No matter how naked and turned-on you are, you’ve always got a snappy reply ready, and you’re about to throw one at him—until you’re fucking obliterated. He smoothes his palms down your arms. Your wrists are scooped up again. With all the tenderness on the planet, Sam slides in close, kisses your throat, and places both of your hands firmly on his belt.

“Take it off,” he rasps.

This. This isn’t the first time he’s given you that order. But knowing, feeling that he’s playing this all out like it’s more than a fling to him… that Sam’s gonna fuck you like you’re someone special to him… sweet jesus, it makes you lightheaded.

“Bossy,” your murmur, grinning.

You’re downright feverish going in to kiss him next. Sam parts your lips with a slow, sinful swipe of his tongue, and there must be a drop of psychic still in him, because suddenly you’re flooded with visions of that filthy mouth between your legs. You can still feel the ghost of him there, keeping you open with his thumbs as the blunt tip of his tongue pushes you somewhere vast and sparkly and wonderful. This is going to be even better.

He sounds like he’s praying when he says, “I just like to watch you.”

Muscle memory serves. You work his clasp open without peeking down and let it hang in his belt loops, mostly because it lets his jeans sling low on his hips in the most enticing way. His belly twitches at even the slightest touch of your hands; always so responsive. Sam drops his forehead on your shoulder to watch you work, and you take the rare opportunity to kiss the top of his head. This is one of your favorite parts. When his button is undone and his zipper’s down, you’re free to smooth your hand under his waistband and take a big handful of him.

You reach in and—squeeze. Sam’s hand snaps up to clutch your arm. His nails dig in, and he rocks forward onto his tiptoes to really dig into your touch. “Yes.”

It’s the kind of soft, needy sound that makes you want to smother him with kisses and hug him until he suffocates. Instead, you cooly purr into his hair, “So sensitive, Sammy.”

A hoarse, sharp laugh snaps out of him, which dissolves into a shuddering groan. You tug at his jeans until they’re somewhere you don’t care about anymore, and forget about everything else entirely at the sight of his cock. All these years of sneaking around with him have conditioned you. Just seeing the pretty speckling of dark hair that leads to it, then the real deal, hanging blood-hot and heavy between his legs, makes your tummy flip and your mouth water. One of a million embarrassing Sam-reactions you’ll have to bring to your grave.

You take his cock in your hand, trying to swallow back the slutty amount of saliva in your mouth. Sam whimpers. A real, desperate sound, with his nails stinging down your arms and everything.

“Know you wanted to slow down,” you struggle between open-mouthed pants, “b-but—can’t—don’t wanna wait—”

Sam physically curls towards you, his hips seizing into your hand and his arms hooking around your shoulders. You’re dragged in for a sloppy kiss so deep you swear it melds your souls together. Sam is just as affected, rumbling like a racecar in approval.

“Then don’t.” He begs.

If this was any other night, Sam would just take. You’d be face down and drilled halfway through the mattress by now, no preamble, all business. He got off and you got off and everyone was happy that way. Sam would want the room dark and you would hide your face in the bedding, the two of you eager to touch and experience but terrified of breaking the illusion. He’s so generous that you suppose he’s got to have at least one place in life where he’s selfish, and you’re happy to be his outlet for it, but.

You’ve never seen him take this way before.

He looks at you and he never really stops, transfixed. You don’t doubt you could walk in a circle around him and Sam’s eyes would follow you the whole way, his gaze oozing with longing and something else—resolution? Faith? You push him onto the bed, and he drops down as if hobbling into a pew for the first time, unsure how to clasp his hands in prayer because it’s only ever been something done in his head before.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next.

“God,” Sam utters, spellbound.

You’re blushing so hard that you forget to be sexy as you crawl into his lap, but Sam doesn’t care, still giving you those big slow doe blinks to express his love. It’s so different from the Sam you know (yet also so deeply, deeply him) that you forget what it means to be sexy entirely. He coaxes you closer to plant tender kisses under your chin, and the plan to seductively peel off your sweater for him and flash him your tits blips out of existence.

You wait for the moment when Sam shreds the Stanford sweater off you. Instead, those wonderful fucking hands tease under the hem to squeeze your waist, and Sam croaks out between kisses, “Should wear this all the time. You’re beautiful in anything, but this… you’re… mmn.”

Your heart gives a pathetic flutter. You press mindless kisses against his mouth and rock your bare core down on his lap, because he’s never acted this way before and you don’t know how else to return the favor. “Not nearly as beautiful as you, Sammy.”

The only reaction you get from him is a single huff out of his nose, like it’s something he can’t commit a whole laugh to. Like none of that matters anymore, like it would never matter for Sam, because his body may be beautiful, but it hardly belongs to him anymore. God, you’re shitty at compliments.

You’re fucking wonderful, you suddenly want to tell him. A whole swarm of little truths and sweet nothings roars straight up to the surface of your mind, a whole sea of better things you could say to him, but then one of those perfect hands is slipping between your legs and Sam’s asking you in that perfect, tinted glass voice, “You still on the pill?”

“Yes, doctor,” you tease.

Another flood of sticky heat rushes between your legs, because that question is always a precursor to being pressed into and filled and stuffed end-to-end by Sam’s dick. The one barrier that doesn’t—didn’t exist between you.

“Good,” Sam sighs, relieved, grateful. He never turned down going raw in the past, but he’s downright starved for it right now. Closer closer closer, his whole body begs.

You’re tugged in by a big hand hooked around your back, and you fall right into Sam’s summer-warm, sweat-sticky chest, giggling. He loops both arms around your middle and teddy-bear squeezes even more laughter out of you. The only way to hold yourself up is by planting two hands on his shoulders… which turns into his cupping his neck… then caressing his face, because it’s impossible to be witness to that quiet boyish grin and not shower him in affection. There’s all these little freckles on him that you can only see up close. He feels good, mystical good, prophetic-chosen-one type good.

This is the moment. You can feel the blood in your body pounding between your legs, and Sam’s cock bumps not-so-innocently against your core as you kiss one another. Every shift of his hands sends your muscles clenching tight, bracing for impact, but Sam doesn’t push into you just yet.

Your confusion must be clear on your face, because he says, “Just let me feel you for a second.”

And, obviously, you’re not an idiot, so you let Sam feel you for as long as he pleases. For the next ten uninterrupted minutes, you makeout like lovesick teenagers, whimpering and sighing and swallowing every sound the other makes. You’d always pegged him as a romantic. But seeing it, feeling it, adds a whole new dimension to him you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

By the time the pool of need in your gut has opened up into a blackhole, Sam has caressed or squeezed or kissed every part of you ten times over. He continues to be weird and obsessed with you. (So still in character, then). Sam even pinches the ends of your ears and smooths his thumbs over the bumps of your ankles, being sexy about it but also a little terrifying. He touches you like he’s never gonna see you again.

Around the time that Sam starts suckling marks into your neck and trying to tickle you under your arms, you giggle out, “O-Okay—okay! Enough—!”

“Enough what?” Sam cocks his head. His hand makes another dive for your belly, making you shriek and squirm with more giggles. You try to wriggle away to protect your tickling sides, but Sam’s too strong and you’re a little in love with him, so it’s easy for him to pull you flush against him and blow tingly-warm breaths beside your ear. He purrs, “You need it that badly?”

“Fucking yes! So quit torturing me,” you pant, and you’re pretty sure this grin is going to get stuck on your face.

Sam’s smile gets even bigger. “Only if you say please.”

Your attitude slips from your grip like water. Next time, you’ll play push and pull with him, but right now there needs to be a lot more pushing and pulling in a different context.

The words are out of your mouth in an instant. “Please, Sam.”

As reluctant as he is to stop teasing you, Sam’s a little in love, too. He leans back enough to fist his cock in one hand, and you can’t help how your breath hitches when Sam’s touch follows the curve of your ass to where you’re soaked and sensitive for him. Those thick, maddening fingers spread you open. The velvety tip of his cock finds your hole right away, and your legs nearly give out when Sam starts to swipe himself up and down your folds one dizzying stroke at a time. Back…. and forth. Up… and down. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Okay, fine…” He concedes, his eyes glittering with joy. “You’re just so cute when you act all tough.”

Maybe not all of your attitude is gone. You bark out a laugh, telling him, “I hate you.”

Sam presses down for the last time, then presses in. You don’t mean to look into his eyes when he fills you up, and that’s probably what does you in. Sam’s rosy face flutters and twists with pleasure, but he never stops looking at you, not even once, terrified to miss even a small moment. The long hitching moan that slips out of you makes his whole face darken with desire. You’re pulled onto him deeper and deeper and deeper until—click. Cue the angel choir.

Your fingers dig desperately into his hair. Sam curls into you in one slow pulling movement, a thread pulled taut, until his face is stuffed in your neck and his hands are mindlessly scrabbling down your back.

“God, I love you,” he moans.

Soon your pussy feels achy and hair-trigger-sensitive and beyond full, which could mean that you’re all the way on him. It’s impossible to tell, since the first full minute of having Sam’s dick inside you sends you straight to the moon every time, where everything falls in peaceful slow-motion and the whole world hums with cosmic, sparkling pressure. You shove your face into him and nuzzle in a daze, little ripples of electricity sparking up your spine.

…Wait.

“What?” You register, slow.

Sam is still clutching you for dear life, even if the moment’s slowed and you’re both comfortable. He hugs you full-bodied, nose in your neck, tilted forward, the kind of hug where he sways you side to side with joy. Sam sucks in a harsh breath. Can’t hold back anymore.

“I love you,” he gushes. The words burn out of him, declarative, overjoyed.

There’s so much you want to say to that. But then Sam digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you off his lap, only to gloriously sink you down the rest of the way, and. Fuck fuck fuck. His cock drags thick and hot against the pliant walls of your pussy. You couldn’t be any more full if you tried, clamping down on him with long, silky ripples of pressure that outline the shape of him inside you in obscene detail. It’s the kind of mind-blowing that’s beyond comprehension, beyond feeble human understanding. Your eyes squeeze shut and you whimper into his hair.

“God, I love you,” he chants again through grit teeth. “So much. So fucking much.”

You find his face with your hands and kiss him quiet, tasting the promise in his mouth. When you part and the two of you really start to move, you kiss him again, and again, whispering where only he can hear, “I-I love you too.”

It should scare you how easily the confession slips out. You should be terrified, because even if you live to see next week, or next month, or next year, even if Sam isn’t saying yes to Lucifer, those words are a death sentence. And yet.

“I-I miss you,” you choke out, “I need you.”

“Me too. So much,” Sam soothes, his voice tight and sharp with restraint. You know his instinct is to jackhammer up into you and never stop, but he puts in effort to resist, letting you both marinate in the wonderful, glistening, twitchy feeling of each other. His hands are rubbing your back and he is so fucking warm, turning the rain outside to steam.

He doesn’t bounce you on his dick. It’s more of a slow, cresting drag, waves stroking a beach. You don’t think you could handle much more than that, anyway—sometimes these positions make him feel big enough to pop you like a balloon. What you can’t fit on your own, your weight pushes you down onto anyway, turning your whole body into a big expanding bubble of pressure ready to burst at any moment. You clutch at his shoulders and just throb around him for a second.

“Nuh-uh,” Sam leans away, not letting you shove your face in him like you want. Instead, a big hand cups one side of your neck and keeps you in front of him. “Wanna see your face. Look at me. Look at me,” he insists, genuinely pleading.

When your eyes find his, that’s when he decides to snap up into you for real. You don’t even get a full look at him. The arm slung around your waist drags you up off your wobbling knees, then slams you down into a beautiful, endless white space popping with color.

“Sammy!” You choke.

That’s the magic word. You’re instantly thrust up into four more lightning-fast times, one-two-three-four, and hitch out four squeaky gasps to match. Sam’s eyes bore into yours with every beat, blazing with liquid love. For a second you wonder if you’ve fallen back into your rough routine again. But then words and thoughts melt out of your brain altogether, because Sam draws you into the tenderest, sweetest kiss human beings are capable of, fucking into you deep and smooth with that deeper, smoother voice, “Keep saying that.”

Sammy Sammy Sammy, you rattle out under your breath. Sam hisses out your name the exact same way.

You do your best to help him out a little, bobbing up and down in his lap, but’s a drop of water in the ocean for him. All Sam cares about is seeing your reaction. He soaks up everything you do like a sponge, moaning when you moan, gritting his teeth when you bite your lip, grinding up as you stir down. The weight of his eyes on you is so heavy that your skin stings in its wake. Again, it’s Sam’s brand of freak-sweetness that makes you get stupid notions in your head about wedding rings and anniversary presents. But that’s—

…something he knows about. Something he just said to you five minutes ago. Above the haze of bouncing, rhythmic pleasure, you’re flooded with relief. You can tell him! Holy fuck, you can tell him!

“I love you,” you gasp out again, and just saying it feels like it could save the world. “O-oh, god, Sam—”

The breath you have left is stolen from you by another fierce kiss from him, so passionate it lets you taste the bassy, happy hum that rumbles in Sam’s throat. You’re devoured by feverish kisses for a full minute, then Sam pops off you to sob, “So much—so fucking much, yes.”

He slips a hand between the two of you to thumb your clit, stirring in and never once stopping. Every so often he’ll brush up against where you’re hot and filled to the hilt with him, your bodies sliding together with slick, filthy noises that are so—so fucking much that your thighs cramp up, protesting the constant pistoning. But the pleasure is easily worth the burn. Your core booms with long echoes of pleasure that shudder through the trembling spiderwebs that make up your nerves. You make a move to lean back on your hands and switch up the angle, (since you’re a damn good cowgirl, thank you very much), but Sam refuses to stop kissing you. He physically pulls you back in with a hand fished around your neck and kisses you breathless, determined to pound you to your climax one thorough snap of his hips at a time.

“So beautiful,” Sam gushes. His voice is hoarse and thready, like he’s moments away from bursting into tears of pure desire.

You smooth your hands down his flushed cheeks, telling him between huffy moans, “It’s okay, s’ okay, Sammy… so pretty… love you so much…”

You feel him pull the Stanford sweater up over your ass and out of his way, exposing more, more, more of your bare skin for him to touch. Sam palms the slope of your back and your belly in a daze, but that’s still not enough—he’ll never be satisfied with how little of you he’s had. He wants more. He wants forever. You embrace each other to the fullest, cheeks smushed together, chests flush, his parted lips claiming your throat, making you his—but. Sam’s breath ratchets up. Not enough not enough not enough—

In one ragged motion, Sam rolls you both over, tossing you back-first onto the bedding and smothering you with his weight.

A squeal of delight jumps out of you. “Hey!”

If Sam wasn’t all over you before, then he literally is now, dropping onto his elbows so he can cup your face in both hands and surround you completely. “Sorry,” he croaks, “need you. Need to fill you up.”

You whisper against his lips, “Then fill me up already.”

His thumbs press into your cheeks a little. Sam’s breath fans across your face, throttled by the lump in his throat.

“Tell me you love me again.”

Um. You don’t exactly have the sexy heat of the moment to hide behind this time, but you still want to say it for him. His eyes swim with something unreadable. Desire and love, enough love to put a lump in your throat too, but a third thing also. It worries you.

You bring your hands up to stroke his wrists, and give a bit too much of your soul to him when you promise, “...I love you, Sam.”

The words hit him like a bullet. Sam shudders from head to toe, unable to reign himself in any longer, and plants a long, surging kiss on your mouth that makes your belly flash with nuclear levels of lust. He squirms his hands underneath your body so he can cradle you against him—genuinely cradling, one palm cupping the back of your neck—and then burrows into you face-first, groaning your name as his cock nestles itself as deep as it can go.

With all of his weight on top of you, you couldn’t move if you wanted to. You caress and kiss and dig your nails into him, and somewhere along the way you’re given a dose of whatever has made him fucking insane for you right now. It fogs your head and turns your reason to ash, so when Sam returns to ruining you for any other man, you whimper, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Oh, baby,” Sam hiccups out, and something strange hangs in his voice.

You would ask him what’s wrong, but the shuddering, flimsy scraps left of your brain are busy being blasted all over by white-hot pleasure. Everything scorches. Sam’s bare skin and his breath and his hands feel fucking molten, melting you down like hot glass. You’re pinned down in every possible way, and it pushes the sinking, gorgeous pressure inside you all over your body, like it’s not just Sam’s cock filling you up, but him, just him, the source of all good in the world. Holy fucking fuck. His hips glide back and then thud back into you again and again and again. You get why it’s called making love, now. You can taste your love for him in the back of your throat, feel it sitting in a sticky film on your skin. It hangs like humidity in the air of your apartment. And jesus christ, it bleeds from Sam, glowing off him like fucking radiation.

When you’re shamelessly wailing gut-deep in ecstasy, Sam peels himself off you. He forces himself to sit up. His chest putters up and down with desperate little breaths, and a gloriously big hand scoops under your thigh and welds it against your chest. Whatever he sees from this new angle—probably your wet, abused pussy stretched tight around the full base of his cock—makes Sam gape, utterly transfixed. You watch as his mouth falls open, and then those dark, soul-swallowing eyes crawl up your body to meet yours.

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Sam rasps.

Even if he doesn’t sway your opinion with a few dizzying, stomach-deep drags of his cock, (which he does), you’re convinced. You lock eyes with him—and then suddenly feel stupid for not watching him the whole time. A long curl of hair hangs in his eyes and sways as he fucks into you. His expression flutters with these sinful little giveaways, exposing just how starved he is for you, how in love. Maybe if you’d looked back sometime in the past five years, that’s what you would’ve seen: how much this has always meant to him. He searches your face for the same pleasure, obsessed with his effect on you.

“Fuck,” you shudder out. “C-could cum just watchin’ you, Sammy.”

“That’s right,” he hisses, and you’ve never heard him sound so damn happy. “Cum for me. Please. Look so pretty when you do.”

Usually, when he makes you cum, it’s the roughest part of the whole act. He’d get both your wrists pretzeled behind your back and pinned viciously in one of his hands, and that’s when you’d know the big finish was coming. His pace would go from bouncing to bruising. But this Sam, your Sam, would stop time if he could, so he slows down even further, winding you closer and closer to the top of the mountain with little figure-eights of his hips. He gazes down at you the same way you’re sure you must gaze up at him. Beautiful, he murmurs under his breath.

You utter another, tight, almost-sob of, “love you so much, Sammy,” and his dick twitches wildly shoved in you to the hilt.

“Ohh—shit,” he chokes out, and his other hand snaps desperately towards yours on the bed. They find each other easily, and you squeeze his hand with everything you’ve got, infusing in him all the love he’s infused in you.

The slow, mounting tsunami of perfection you’ve been moving towards finally overcomes you, and in one long gorgeous slippery rush you cum for Sam. And because your life is a movie—he cums for you too. He rocks faster and falls forward to kiss you, your faces pressed together, your mouths slotting against each other, your pussy squeezing down on him in golden rippling strokes. Sam hisses your name out between his teeth as he cums. You’re lanced straight through by a whole fucking universe of fluttering, flickering pleasure. To be honest, you’re a little pissed about it—because it’s the best fucking orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, and it’s all because Sam raggedly chants those words to you again and again, laying sloppy, obsessive, head-over-heel kisses all over your face. Love you love you so much baby you feel so good squeezin’ down on me.

You could’ve had this ages ago. How much more time could you have had with him, if you had just stopped being stupid?

Sam’s crazed, sobbing, hitching I love yous somehow become, in true Sam fashion, a low spiral of thank yous. He lays there and clutches you until there’s a Sam-shaped imprint in your body. You’re pretty sure he would stay inside you all night if he could, but you coax him into some cuddling instead, since you both are in desperate need. It’s. It’s new, but it feels cleansing in the holy way.

What feels like hours later, your brain dimly connects to the rest of your body. You’re halfway through detangling Sam’s hair with your fingers as he hides face-first in your chest, pretending he’s not embarrassed that he cried. At least, that’s what you assume. The Winchester mind is a mysterious one, and as much as you would hope to know what Sam’s thinking, the slow hand drawing circles on your hip tells you nothing. Is he shy that he got emotional? That seems silly, since you both sobbed into each other earlier. Is he embarrassed about everything he confessed? Does he regret it?

Just when your train of thought really starts to take the curves of your spiral hard, Sam tiredly croaks into your neck, “I meant what I said, y’know.”

He draws in a lungful of your perfume through his nose, soaking up as much of you as he can possibly get. His hands smooth over your body, innocent and loving, caressing you, memorizing you, begging silently for forgiveness.

Sam is a dead-silent crier. But you hear him sniffle as he gushes, “God, I love you.”

Maybe if you hadn’t been so tired, you would’ve picked up on it. Or maybe you’d heard it in his voice, seen it, something, and ignored it, hoping it was something else. Everything he felt, he put into a teeny, unmarked box that he’d bury god knows where, far from where anybody could be hurt by it. Sam didn’t—he wouldn’t say that to you. Not unless it was the last time he ever could. He would feel it, but it’d go right into that box where it couldn’t hurt you. You should’ve known.

Lie to me, you’d begged him.

…And Sam had.

The dull realization that you are awake sets in around noon. Noon as in after-noon, well past when you’re normally up and at em’. When you wonder why the hell you slept in so late, you remember last night’s rain, thrashing against the windows all night, and Sam, his face haloed by lamplight and bleeding with quiet resolution.

Sam. Alive, and not going to say yes.

He’d been the one to keep you up all night. With his mouth and his hands, yes, but then afterward he’d been hellbent on talking. Just… talking. You’d been sluggish and cozy and sated after having sex, but no matter how close you came to falling asleep, Sam wouldn’t let it happen. For two straight hours he asked you every question he could come up with to keep you up with him.

Do you remember when we met? Cause’ I do. Do you remember what I said to you? Do you remember what you thought about me? I remember thinking how similar we were, y’know, how much we’d get along. You were so pretty… my whole face went red every time you looked at me. Do you remember…?

Being cuddled, kissed, and protected by the man you love really tempts a girl to doze off, too, so this was not an easy battle. But Sam persisted. He studied your face intently, uttering I love yous even when sleep started to pull you under. Hearing any Winchester drop those words on you still blew your fucking mind, to be honest. Sam especially. But it was romantic as it was worrying, so you’d shut him up with a kiss goodnight and echoed it back to him. Love you, Sammy. It was probably just an anxiety thing, you assumed—Sam, for some fucking reason, was a pretty insecure guy, so you imagined that was his way of making sure you wanted all of this. He seemed… scared. He wasn’t used to being wanted.

The apocalypse was still on. Maybe the world would end tomorrow, or maybe you’d get lucky and live a whole lifetime with Sam. Regardless, he’s never saying yes to Lucifer, and that alone means that there’s still hope for the future. You’re going to spend every second of it making Sam feel wanted.

Sitting up in bed, you scrubbed at your sleepy face with the heel of your hand and stared around the room. Sam was physically incapable of staying asleep after five in the morning, so the familiar evidence of his military-efficient morning routine was all over the place. You smiled to yourself. He’d picked up after the two of you, and had tucked another blanket over you in your sleep. Stupid chivalrous dumbass.

To think, you’d been terrified you’d never see him again just last night.

You push out of bed, only to almost buckle onto the carpet rag-doll style. Even being torturously gentle, that man manages to make you sore. With a very, very happy groan, you hop (and wince) into some clean underwear, then traipse out into your kitchen to show that dork who’s boss.

“Dammit, Samuel, you’re not my maid—” you start to say, but of course, this is Sam, who wouldn’t miss a morning run for anything. Right. That explains your empty kitchen.

…But it’s afternoon. Sam would be back by now. Your gut prickles with a bad feeling, and you superstitiously sweep your apartment, looking for him. His clothes from last night are still sitting in your hamper, his shirt folded neatly in your dresser and his watch on your nightstand. A spike of nausea rolls through you seeing that his jacket is gone—and his boots. But his duffle—it’s. It’s still on your kitchen table. It looks a little smaller than usual, but his books and his laptop are still inside. He probably just ran out to run some silly errand for you, determined to make up for worrying you so much. Yeah.

You force your hunter’s paranoia down to a simmer, padding over to your breakfast table. There’s a big ol’ note smack dab in the center of it, perched on his half-open duffle bag, and you start to play with one of the bracelets Sam left behind as you pick it up.

You cross your fingers, smiling ear-to-ear. “C’mon. All bets on breakfast. Please be getting me breakfast, please be getting me breakfast—”

…That’s not what the note says.

You read it.

Then you read it again, and the hammer falls, crushing the breath out of you and doubling you over the kitchen table. You read the note for the third time, needing to be sure, and the thin sliver of hope you had—maybe you’d just read it wrong, m-maybe he was fine—turns to ash. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

You’re fighting back a surge of ugly, choking tears in an instant. He’s… Sam… he…

Your whole apartment lingers with the heat and goodness of him, like he’d been here just minutes ago. Just seconds. Even your clothes still smell like Sam. Just inhaling it tears chunks out of your reason, like—like you’d just missed him. Clawing around for something to do, you pace in a daze between your bedroom and the front door, desperate to recreate the moment you realized he was gone. You’re still just in the Stanford sweater and your underwear, but you don’t give a single shit and go careening out into the hall, stalking up and down your floor for him—because, b-because Sam wouldn’t, he wouldn’t do that to you—he would tell you first, he would never leave you in the dark like this—

…But you know Sam. And if it meant fixing his mistakes, saving you, saving everyone… Then he’d say yes in a heartbeat.

“These belong to you. You deserve a world to live in. I’m sorry - Sam.”

- tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1@lacilou@cevans-winchester @leigh70@ seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1

#uncouthspn #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #user uncouth #sam winchester x reader

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castiwls · 3 months

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Hey there! 😀 Can I request two sets of headcanons about being Sam and Dean's twin sister?

"i was with you before we were even born"

Being the boy's twin

Dean

He’s older by like 5 minutes (he never lets you forget it)

You were both really close even as babies. I imagine there was a phase where if your parents separated you both for too long you would cry.

You both get closer after the fire. For the first few months, you would always curl up in the same bed together out of fear of the other one disappearing.

As a teen, you started to question your dad more and more about hunting. You're not as complacent as Dean is to John and his rules. This led to many arguments.

“Why can’t you just do as he says?” “Because Dad’s word isn't god Dean!”

He’d be just as protective over you as he is of Sam.

When Sam left for Stanford you and Dean started to take cases on your own.

You would try and sabotage any hookups he found in bars. You really hated having to go for ‘walks’ during said hookups. He got you back for it.

You both look very alike.

When it was just you and Dean hunting there were multiple times where people would mistake you for a couple of cases.

After your dad died you and Dean didn’t talk for a while. You both argued over why John did what he did and it led to one of your worst fights.

Bobby had to kick sense into you both.

You and Dean don’t fight often but when you do it's bad. When you were younger one time it got so bad that it took Sam yelling and walking out for you both to stop.

When Castiel came around you were unsure but after he saved you on a hunt you began to trust him.

Knowing Dean wasn’t ok after Hell and begging him to talk.

“Dean I know you're not ok.” You frowned and reached out to his arm. “You can talk to me, no one's gonna judge you.”

He did eventually tell you he remembered hell. He begged you not to tell Sam though. (You did tell Sam though)

Finding out about the whole vessel thing and freaking out.

“What do you mean vessels? Why is Heaven and Hell’s fight our issue?”

Since you and Dean were twins you both were classed as Micheal vessels.

You were adamant that Dean wasn’t doing it and he was the same about you.

This again led to another argument.

In the end, there was no way you were letting Sam walk into that fight alone so you ended up saying yes also.

Dean was pissed.

Dean begging for months after that Cas or someone would pull you both out of the cage. (Little did he know someone had)

You randomly appeared on Lisa’s doorstep 6 months later and Dean completely freaked.

After that, he barely let you out of his sight.

You didn’t tell him about Sam also being out (You knew something was wrong with your younger brother and you didn’t wanna worry Dean.)

Eventually reuniting with Sam and feeling so guilty when you found out he had no soul.

Dean insisted that it wasn’t your fault.

He helped you with nightmares from the cage. You found yourself sleeping in the same bed as him again.

Sam

You were older by like 10 minutes. You always teased him about it.

He got you back by teasing you over being short.

Neither of you have any memories of life before the fire so as children you used to both make up stories to help comfort each other.

These stories helped you both pretend that you at least knew your mom and what normal life was like.

You both kinda depended on each other growing up.

While you didn’t verbalise it like Sam, you also didn’t like hunting or the constant moving around.

You were a bit more of a social butterfly than your twin but you still struggled with having to make new friends constantly.

Like your brother, you were also quite smart and did well in school.

For a while, you wanted to be a doctor but knew realistically you had no chance.

As you got older you began to grow a slight resentment towards your dad for forcing you all into this life. One day after a bad hunt you snapped and told your dad how you felt. New’s flash it went really bad.

Your eyes widened as you realised what you had just said. Dean slowly pushed his arm in front of you urging you to move back as your Dad turned to face you. “What did you just say.” Your dad’s voice was hard as he took a step forward. You felt Sam pull you back further as Dean tried to defuse the situation.

After that things were awkward for a while. You went to go stay with Bobby much to Sam’s disdain.

You came back a year later when you were 17.

Things were ok until Sam left for Stanford. You were happy for him but also jealous that he was getting out and you weren't.

During that time you and Dean became close.

Reconnecting with Sam after your dad went missing and helping him when Jess died.

Feeling guilty when your dad died that you spent so much time resenting him (He apologised just before Azael came)

Unlike your brother, Azael didn’t do anything to you so you never had any issues with demon blood.

Convincing Sam that he wasn’t a monster.

When he died the first time you were inconsolable for days.

You and Dean arguing over Deans's deal.

Hating Ruby and knowing she was up to something. Her also causing you and Sam to fall out over his powers.

You and Dean both knew that while Sam was trying to do a good thing she was not.

Helping him with his guilt over Litlth and Lucifer.

Him and you making up after Rubys' death. This actually made you and Sam closer than ever.

Again having to convince him that he is not a bad person when the whole Lucifer and Micheal thing comes to light.

You’re the middleman in the situation. You spent most of your time trying to convince both your brothers not to say yes.

Convincing Dean but not managing to convince your twin.

Before saying yes Sam said that he wanted you to get out and have a normal life.

You were pretty heartbroken but after hanging around Dean and Lisa for a few months you ended up meeting someone (Lisa set you up but you don’t know that)

You both moved in together and you found yourself actually enjoying this normal life.

Then Sam appeared and you had to choose. Dean told you to stay but you knew you couldn’t leave Sam.

When you found out about Sam having no soul you felt so guilty.

“How didn't I realise sooner?” You sat down on the bed placing your head in your hands. Dean gently rubbed your back with a small sigh. “None of us knew. It’s not your fault.

You ended up kinda living two lives for the next year until Sam got his soul back and you realised living two lives was too dangerous. You broke up with him but you both ended up getting back together a few years later.

Sam was happy that you'd found someone and pushed for you to stay with him. But you knew your place was always gonna be with your brothers.

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lol-jackles · 22 days

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I know its beens awhile but what did you think of S15 as a whole?

As a whole I think season 15 was an above-average season due to below-average execution and ended with a stellar series finale that added rewatch value not just for season 15 but also all of 15 seasons.

Season 15 started and ended with callbacks to previous seasons; from season 1's woman in white and Sam's goal of returning to a normal life, to season 5's Dean's time in hell as Alastair's apprentice and bringing closure to Adam Milligan, to season 8's endgames for Sam and Dean.

The first half of the season 15 was about free will vs determinism, with Sam representing the former and Dean representing the latter. Sam and Dean’s confrontation with God parallels how they've reacted to family and authority their entire lives: Sam challenged God’s Divine decree over His Creation while Dean accused God of abandoning His Creation. When Abraham spoke with his heart and mind to God over His plan to destroy Sodom & Gomorrah, it led to Abraham transcending himself, leading the way for God, and becoming the father of faith. Metaphorically it's all about lessons in honest, meaningful relationships with our fellow human beings. People often suppress their true selves and principles for the sake of avoiding conflict instead of taking the relationship a step further into a place of sincerity. From season 11 to 14, Sam and Dean spoke their hearts and minds to God and the brothers' relationship became at its strongest, never wavering even when occasional arguments sprouts up because they were honest with each other.

Sam and God became connected through Sam's hope which manifested in their identical wounds. Secular-based hope is about anticipating something good to come in the future. Sam has hope in a better future, so Chuck showed him a bleak future to make his lose that hope. Once Sam lost his hope, God leaves. That’s pretty much what happens to people in real life, when they lose hope, they feel there is no God or God abandoned them. Another physical manifestation of a bleak future is Dean's old friend who retired from hunting, Lee, who became so corrupted that Dean is forced to kill him.

The return of Sam and Dean's half-brother, Adam, brings welcome closure. Adam is not out for revenge as he acknowledged his own culpability for agreeing to vessel-ship in the first place. Him and Michael only having each other for 10 years in the Cage led to their codependent-symbiotic-ish relationship that parallels Sam and Dean to some extent.

I like to call the second half of season 15 the "Dean redemption tour" where side characters were used to address Dean's unresolved issues in order for him to be good enough for Sam in their eternal afterlife. Normally whenever Dean interacted with side characters it is about the side characters, not Dean (see example here and here). But when the formula is reversed, it becomes a bit disjointed, and the audience picked up on it. The final redemption act target Dean's anger issues that both Amara and Chuck discussed.

Chuck: This is my ending. My real ending.

Very next scene: *Dean pulls a gun on Sam*

Dean’s been so obsessed with having free will that he’s actually following Chuck’s writing. As usual Sam broke through to Dean, in effect breaking Chuck’s influence. Then a very mad mad Chuck shows up.

Chuck: “Are you kidding me? After all that, you did it again!”

Then 15x18 happened. Ignoring the hilarity of that scene, the speech was supposed to remind the general audience that Dean is A HERO before he dies two episodes later. By 15x19, free will vs determinism comes to a conclusion. Michael and Lucifer betrayed the Winchesters and succumb to determinism, fulfilling their destiny to destroy each other. Sam and Dean manipulated Michael to lure Chuck into a trap to replace him with a new God, Jack. Chuck is left only with human frailties and for the first time Chuck has no idea what happens next, bringing the free will theme to a full circle.

Due to interactions with Sam, Rowena became the new queen of Hell while Jack becomes the new God of Heaven. Jack promises Sam that He will have a hands-off approach and people don’t need to pray or sacrifice to Him. Jack’s perception of humanity is distilled down to, “When people have to be their best, they can be.”

Before the story ends, the protagonist is supposed to accomplish their primary goal that had kept them driven and move the story forward. Sam’s goal was attaining normal life, it was never about eradicating monsters to extinction or avenging his mother’s death. In fiction it always seems like the main character want many things, but there is always a primary goal. Harry Potter gets dragged into many subplots such as conflicts with his best friends, romantic misfires, and incidents with secondary characters, however his main goal was always to defeat Voldemort and that's what the audience is holding out to see. Sam Winchester’s journey is flipped from Harry Potter’s; Sam gets dragged into many subplots of saving the world, defeating the Big Baddies, and conflicts with his brother, however his main goal was always to have a chance at a normal life. But this can't happen while Dean is still alive.

Dean has everything he wanted: Sam and hunting. Dean is a complete person; he doesn’t need anything else. But Sam had given up just about everything so that Dean wouldn’t be alone. 15x16 reminded the audience that Sam wanted out of the hunting life since he was a child. Sure, Sam is very good at his job and even became a leader, but they always made sure to show that Sam doesn’t have passion for the family business other than saving people’s lives. Claire Novak shows way more enthusiasm for the job. But Dean would never retire from the hunting life. Even when Michael gave Dean a fantasy life, Dean still conjured up monsters so he can fight and kill them. As long as Dean is alive, Sam will never be free to pursue a normal life. Think back to Dean's speech in season 8 telling Sam to pursue his normal life only after Dean dies with a gun in his hand and a smile on his face.

The pivotal barn scene in the 15x20 finale was genius, bringing the series to full circle with callback to the pilot, fleshing it out, adding backstory to Dean’s pov that brings his fear, need, relief, and love to stark relief. It hurt like hell, and at the same time, cathartic because Dean was honest. The way Dean said, “Come here. Let me look at you. There he is!” That’s Dean in dad mode, the parental figure to Sam. The show reminded the audience in 15x18 that Dean raised his little brother. Still in dad mode, Dean then tells Sam that he is proud of him. It’s what every son wants to hear from their dad.

Dean then goes into brother mode and tells Sam he admires his strength even when they were children. Sam’s strength is such that Dean was afraid that Sam doesn’t need him. Fearing rejection, he stood outside of Sam’s dorm for hours before finally going to Sam because it’s always been Sam and Dean, and Dean can’t comprehend if he didn’t have Sam.

From there Dean gives Sam his blessing to keep living his life. “I love you so much, my baby brother”. Sam’s reaction was pure and raw, he has always been honest about his wants and needs but craves Dean’s approval to pursue them, and now he has it. Sam’s faith in Dean went answered with Dean saying how proud he is of Sam, how much he admired Sam’s strength so that Sam knows he is strong enough to go on living without Dean.

Another reason why the barn scene is genius is the pilot callback sets up Sam and Dean’s reunion in New Heaven as pilot 2.0. From there they will build their relationship just as Sam and Dean. They are at peace without monsters disrupting their lives, without vindictive angels disrupting their afterlives, and without childhood angsts weighing them down. They have both freedom and peace.

This applies to all of the hunters. Jack’s New Heaven is like a retirement home for hunters where they can enjoy their peace and socialize with their friends and loved ones and even upgrade themselves to the people they were meant to be on earth.

#Supernatural #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #season 15

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cjsmalley · 4 months

Text

Wished Away 8:

“Mom, Dad, help,” Dean said, holding a baby out.

A whirlwind of activity followed.

“He is Nephilim,” Castiel declared, having inspected the boy, “though I cannot tell his true parentage. It is being…hidden from me.”

The pediatricians took over as soon as the angel stepped back.

“Nephilim,” Danny said slowly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “isn’t that half-angel or something?”

“Precisely,” Castiel said just as slowly, measuring his words like they were his last rations, “They are…it is Forbidden for angels to lay with mortals. The creation of Nephilim is even more taboo as the first, the original, were monsters more often than not. It is an intentional act, to create Nephilim; the angelic parent must give a portion of their own Grace to the child during conception.”

“So they purposely knocked someone up then ding-dong ditched the kid,” Dean growled.

“Perhaps they heard that we are romantically involved, Dean,” Castiel offered, “and hoped we would take in the child as our own.”

“Well, of course we are,” Dean huffed, rolling his eyes at his angel who shook his head fondly, “I’ve already picked out a name too. A good human name.”

“Oh?”

“Jack, after Grandpa Jack. Unless, you have a name?”

“Perhaps…James, after James Novak?”

“Hmm…Jack James…James Jack…JJ…no, definitely Jack James. I like it, Cas.”

“Well, little Jack is healthy as far as we can tell,” Doctor Peterson joined the little huddle, “every scan we can perform came up normal, perfectly within range for his age group.”

Both Dean and Castiel visibly relaxed.

“We’ll get you set up,” Sam promised her son and might-as-well-be son-in-law.

A servant brought David’s old wrap and Sam showed Dean and Castiel how to wind it around their bodies to carry little Jack close to their hearts.

“Does the heart even beat?” Danny asked Castiel with interest, referring to his Vessel.

“Yes, I have kept all systems functioning as intended,” Castiel confirmed.

“Good. Because babies this young are used to heartbeats,” Danny explained as Sam worked with Dean, “they just spent nine months with their mom’s in their ears.”

“I see,” Castiel nodded, “well, Dean has assured me that I have a perfectly human sounding heartbeat.”

“What’s the likelihood that his mom was the human?” Danny asked next.

“Oh, quite likely…angels with female vessels most often shutdown the reproductive system. It would also be quite hard to hide the evidence of the gestating Nephilim. His mother likely died in childbirth; her body finally unable to handle his Angelic self.”

Danny winced; that would be a horrid way to die and he fried like a French fry.

Within hours, little Jack was all ready to go home.

Over the next few days, a room in the Bunker became a nursery and supplies loaded in.

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2sw · 9 months

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🖤Understanding Season 4&5 Sam🖤

long post, 30 gifs

sorry I don't care if my english sucks or not anymore. I live with the urge to defend Sam 24/7, that's what it's about.

this post looks weird on pc… recommend you to read on the app

Supernatural S1E01 Pilot // S1E06 Skin S3E08 A Very Supernatural Christmas S4E19 Jump the Shark

Do you see the parallels here? This is why I think people who say season 4 Sam was annoying also hate every other character in this show, they just don't realize that. It was not a big deal when other characters treated Sam the way they did, but when Sam started to mirror them you suddenly find it annoying? That's absurd. I know almost every filmmaking choice of this show is unfair to Sam and I hate that too, but still we audiences can see things from various angles and think for ourselves. And sometimes you need to see the story as a story, not something to take sides.

Supernatural S3E16 No Rest for the Wicked Supernatural S4E04 Metamorphosis

Sam lost his entire family at the end of season 3. He was full of remorse, and to make up for that he was literally following his family's footsteps. Sam became obsessed with revenge like John did after Mary died. Season 4 was about that vicious cycle, the tragedy of it. Dean sold his soul for Sam just like John did for him. Sam tried to be more like his dad and big brother and did what they taught him. And Sam's relapse was a part of the addiction cycle. But Dean locking up Sam in the panic room changed nothing, the final seal was broken after all. So Lucifer gets out, and the oldest family drama is about to start all over again. It wasn't about who was right or wrong. It was about the circle, a never ending story. The next season was about restoring trust in each other and seeking redemption, and Sam eventually broke the chain by sacrificing himself. That's what makes Swan Song the tragic ending of all time. (though it all comes back as the show keeps going on... but what is spn without The Codependency™)

So, yeah, it's beyond me how some people can't see the reason behind Sam's choices in this season cause the context was SO clear. If you watch the show, you can see how much Sam and Dean affect each other and how much both are affected by John in different ways. And it's natural because they are family. We are who we are because of everyone and everything that has happened in our lives, and same goes for every fictional character, including Sam. It's just as simple as that. Sam was just trying to live by his brother's will while battling with grief and loss. He had to keep on fighting without Dean. And the reason why Dean wasn't with him was because Dean sold his soul to save Sam and went to hell for it. It not only made Sam the sole survivor of the family but also made the very being of him their entire legacy. Starting with Mary making a deal with Azazel, every choice ever made in this family is what brought him there. As I said earlier, it's the cycle. And a consequence. In short, if it is a sin, I think it’s everyone’s.

Supernatural S4E04 Metamorphosis

Sam and Dean's fate to be vessels? Their destiny? It doesn't matter in the end. This show was always about fate AND free will. Free will was always there. You always have choices. Sam was the one who believed that most desperately so he became the one who broke the cycle. Even though it was only the last page, he ripped out the written fate anyway and wrote the ending himself. YES HE IS THE MAIN CHARACTER. And after everything he did for the world, the story made him suffer eternal agony with the Devil because he is also a tragic hero figure. (SIGH literally the character of all time)

You can see this all only as an observer, as an audience. For Sam, the only thing he could do at the moment was just find the person to blame―in this case, it's a demon named Lilith― and get revenge. And he was lost somewhere along the road, he became an addict because he couldn't do anything about his loved ones dying, but when he drinks the demon blood it gives him power and a sense of control. (aaaaaand I still don't get why writers wrote this as some kind of diabolical desire in 4x18. I get it sammy what the fuck would chuck know about helplessness)

You can say you wouldn't suck up the demon blood, that's fine, but this story was written in this way, and if Sam didn't do that, the story couldn't go forward. Why? Because he is the main character. (It always had to be you, Sammy!) And reminds you that if you want to watch a show with multiple seasons, you have to remember what happened before to understand what’s going on now. So please don't make up things in your head, just go back to where it all started. There are contexts in everything. Everyone is a consequence of each other, but we don't have to be bound to that fact. We have choices: to change, to make things better. That's why we should be kind to each other, and for that, I love and respect Sam so much cause he didn't let his traumas define him and always tried to be a better person. ♡

I'm not done yet!!! see also this:

Supernatural S3E04 Sin City Supernatural S4E04 Metamorphosis

Dean worried when Sam killed a demon with the Colt to save him cause it also killed a person who was being possessed, and it was 'cold'. But then when he finds out about the demon blood, he is so mad that he doesn't even care about the fact Sam was saving possession victims and just screaming in Sam's face "Use the knife!". It's so??? What is the logic here? This just proves it's always been about his feelings, not really about saving people. Is that an evil thing? No, I don’t think so. Dean is just a human, he can’t control what he feels. But if you use this to beat up Sam, I'll go feral then. Cause Sam is a human too.

And look at Ruby's masterful manipulation skill. Makes Sam feel guilty about everything, and comes back with what he needs when no one's left around him. She really was the best of those sons of bitches.

Supernatural S4E04 Metamorphosis

Seriously, what was Sam supposed to do? Everyone on this show didn't even bother to understand Sam and just decided everything he ever did was fundamentally wrong. Sam was using his own body to change the things outside of him, cause there is nothing he can do about the fact of his body, the blood in it. In life, there are things we can change and we can't. We have to live with that non-negotiable fact for our whole life. Sam learned this most painful way... And one thing about Sam is that he never let the unchangeable things make him give up the things he can change. It's not always a good thing though, cause Sam in s4 was very self-destructive. He was obsessive, and that is one of his problems. Sam is so stubborn and doesn't give up on anything easily. Actually this problem could be solved after s7 cause he tried to move on, but s8 happened… so it got worse, kept getting worse, and look what happened in s10. The most heartbreaking domino effect, I'd say...

Supernatural S5E03 Free to Be You and Me Supernatural S5E06 I Believe the Children Are Our Future

Anyways, back to the point. Unfortunately, Sam started the apocalypse. And what did he do after that? When the whole world tried to hunt him down, the devil wanted to crawl inside him, and an angel called him an abomination? He didn't give up there to remain that abomination. He didn’t surrender. Instead, Sam begged for a second chance. He wanted to atone, wanted redemption. He still believed in others even though he lost trust in himself. He believed there was still something he could do about it. Even when he was possessed by Lucifer, he fought till the end to save his brother and the world. And he did it. He was a fucking hero at that moment, sadly a tragic one too. But the important thing is: Sam Winchester represents hope. (I think Swan Song was a perfect ending as a tragedy. This show got weaker and weaker after s5 which kinda ruined the perfection, but I'm also so glad the show continued cause this message fits more hopefully in Carry On. I needed to see Sam rewarded with something better than eternal agony after all those additional tortures of 10 more seasons.)

One last thing, you know what's funny about Metamorphosis? Dean had nothing to say about the fact Sam saved more people than when they were hunting together, so he just went "That what Ruby wants you to think?" Dude what was going on in your mind. like that was what Ruby intended, he was right about that only by chance, but I still find it funny that Dean said that at this exact moment. And he does this a lot, attacking the messenger when he can't refute the message. He didn't have any rational reasons like Sam, he just didn't like it and that's all(and honestly I think this can be an actual reason too cause there's a history behind it which I talked about it here. I wish Dean had just talked to Sam and had a real conversation. but he never talks about his feelings, that's what Dean Winchester does. so… yep not gonna happen. also, if the brothers have a healthy relationship, that is not supernatural lol), so he brought up Angels and evoked Sam's religious guilt. And the Angels in question also turned out to be manipulative assholes later. Everyone makes mistakes, but somehow Sam is always the one who gets most condemned and blamed. Dean, On the other hand, is justified by the narrative so many times even when it is actually his fault. As I said, unfair. This is not even a Dean crit post, I'm just mad at unreasonable people and the way this show works in general.

I swear I was normal before watching this season. Sam's demon blood arc was what made me insanely fall in love with him, so when I found out all those hate for Sam… that really could be my villain origin story but instead I chose to be on tumblr, so yeah I believe love wins<3 ha what a way to end a post. sorry guys

#sam winchester #dean winchester #spn 1x01 #spn 1x06 #spn 3x08 #spn 4x19 #spn 3x16 #spn 4x04 #spn 3x04 #spn 5x03 #spn 5x06 #s1 #s3 #s4 #s5 #gifs #i don’t agree with this show on so many things and some of the later seasons just piss me off except for occasional good episodes #but the first five seasons of spn are always worth talking about #spn meta

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t00muchheart · 2 months

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Jump the Shark is SUCH an interesting look at John Winchester and Sam’s & Dean’s relationships with him via how they respond to Adam’s existence both initially and after accepting that he’s really their brother !

It also just says so much about where they’re at currently—Sam seeing hunting as a life that can’t be escaped, only prepared for (because he tried to escape and now he’s facing a destiny); Dean wanting to send Adam away from the hunt to Bobby’s (the safest place he can think of) because he deserves a chance to get out, live a normal life (like Dean would have if he’d had the chance). These are themes that come up consistently as we get to the end of season four: in It’s a Terrible Life, Sam Wesson believes he’s destined for something more, while Dean Smith doesn’t believe in destiny, wanting to hold onto his normal life; in The Monster at the End of this Book, Sam believes that they should use Chuck’s prophecy to approach Lilith (to encounter their destiny) while Dean believes they should try to work around it, to avoid the fate that’s laid out for them.

And all of that is symptomatic of their current places in the overall narrative: Sam trying to take his powers and embrace them, use them for good (because they feel inescapable, and if he has to have them he wants to use them to save the world), and Dean trying to resist the plan the angels have in place for him, to push back against the future they say he’s destined for.

And they were set up for that by their destinies and by the people around them. There’s Ruby, who has acted like Sam’s friend, helping him grow strong in order to achieve her own ends, who is acting as though she’s different from the demons but who is only pushing Sam to get stronger and hunt more because it will position him where she wants. On the other side, there’s Castiel, saying he’s like the other angels but privately having doubts, beginning to feel, helping Dean find a loophole to save Sam from Lilith and beginning to try to understand humanity, to see why it deserves salvation.

And Adam’s role in all that is so interesting because by the end of the episode we know he’s dead, has been dead, unwittingly dragged into the world of hunting by John even after his death, and Dean insists on a hunters funeral even when Sam suggests asking Cas to bring him back—because in his eyes, being dead but not in the mess of the Winchester’s lives is the better option, the better place to be. (But of course, he’s ultimately dragged into it anyway, revived just to become the vessel Dean refuses to be and then locked away for it, locked away for over a thousand years)

#and that end dialogue of dean saying sam is just like john #and sam saying he’ll take it as a compliment #and dean saying take it however you’d like #!!!#spn #supernatural #dean winchester #spn meta #castiel #cas #sam winchester #ruby #adam milligan #jump the shark #spn season 4 #supernatural meta #winchesters

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angelsdean · 10 months

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I don't get the part of fandom that highlights Dean's supposed codependancy with Sam: he lets him alone x years when Sam was at Stanford, he brings him back to Jess at the end of the Pilot, he is happy to roadtrip with and without Cas in s5 and comes back only because he worries Sam is going to accept to be Lucifer's vessel, etc, etc, etc.

(And there is also Demon!Dean who is like "Fuch responsabilities" lmao)

yea it's like. very clear textually that dean can and will give sam space to live whatever life he wants. even in 1x11 Scarecrow, sam wants to go to california to find john, dean wants to stay and solve the case, he lets sam go !! sam later calls him and dean updates him on the case the the research he's doing bc he doesn't have his nerd brother (putting himself down, self-deprecating as dean is abt his own intelligence even tho he's SO smart) and sam's like joking "oh is this you hinting you need my help" and dean's like, straight up, listen i'm not hinting anything, tells him how proud he is of sam, but i also doesn't beg him to come back, basically tells him to keep doing his own this and to "take care of yourself and call me when you find dad."

sam's often the one projecting or putting words in dean's mouth like "you can't stand being alone!!" at stuff like, not letting sam die ??? not letting your loved one die is being selfish and means you don't wanna be alone ??? in what world. most people will do whatever they can to save a loved one, esp when you're living in a literal horror fantasy show and not like, a basic family drama. and sam will say stuff like but also will do risky things to save dean. hell his plan to save dean from the mark put charlie directly in danger and lead to her death. so like sam is not one to talk abt being "selfish" to save each other. and simply wanting your brother alive is not a bad thing. nor does it mean you can't stand to have separate lives / be alone. though dean very much does not want to be alone, but. he has friends and family outside of sam. he has love interests and people he could build a life with. looking at the relationships on this show you see dean have so many closer bonds with other characters and then sam is notably lacking in comparison. rowena and eileen are the only two recurring characters (off the top of my head) that feel like sam characters. people that are there mainly due to their personal ties to sam. and yea they have lots of joint friends, like gath, jody, donna, etc but even then sometimes it feels like they're closer to dean. sam feels very lonely (and it breaks my heart really) and so a lot of the things he says abt dean and their co-dependency really feels like some projection of sam's own feelings.

anyways this got long and rambly but yea, dean tells us over and over again that he's good with letting sam do his own thing. that he's good with having space and separate lives. the main thing he wants really is just, sam alive. he wants his family and friends alive !!! because he loves them !!!

#replies #family dynamics

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bloodydeanwinchester · 9 months

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To add to your last ask: would Jensen Ackles fuck Cas?

absolutely. he would fuck that angel SO quickly if only just because it would make him feel like he's really dean. jensen would let dean take over the vessel and let cas fuck him all romantic and shit and then afterwards he would still think he's not gay because that was definitely dean and cas not jensen and cas.

alternatively he would also do it because (if they haven't already) his secret (not so secret) lifelong dream is to fuck misha collins

#im having sooooo much fun thinking about these questions #jenna.ask #destiel #jensen #again this is (mostly?) just for funsies i don't actually think about the actormen having sex i swear #mdni

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casdeans-pie · 1 year

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So I have this fic idea of Cas being magically kicked from his vessel somehow and desperately seeking Dean's help, even though he's weak and tired and stuck in his true form and its not like Dean can see or hear him anyway, but he needs him. so he tries to talk.

While Dean's driving.

Of course Dean nearly crashes the car because the windows explode and Sam is clutching at his ears, but Dean can hear something....

He pulls over and Sam's still in pain but Dean can hear....

-ean......... Dea- ....... Dean......... he...lp.....

"Cas?..... Cas, that you?"

And it's weird because the 'voice' sounds nothing like Cas - it's musical and tinkling, like a wind chime in his head - but Dean just knows.

He shouldn't be able to understand. but he can.

"Cas?" He says more desperately.

Dean?......... you........ hear.... me?......

"Yeah buddy, I can hear you. Whats going on? Whats happening?"

Sam, still wincing, says "That's Cas?!"

So Dean eventually leaves Sam with Baby and walks away from the road to get him away from anything breakable.

-orry... Dean..... no choice...... locked..... out....... vessel...... talk..... to........... you....... -eed........ help....

And Dean is absolutely on board to help Cas however he can.

He asks how he can hear Cas' true voice and Cas doesn't know. He asks if he can see him, and Cas says no, because he can't risk his eyes, and Dean points out that if he can understand what he's saying he can probably take a peak without the whole eyes burning up in his head thing.

But the wind chime tinkling can somehow sound exactly like Cas without sounding nothing like Cas when it says. No.

Dean has mixed feelings on how the familiar and unfamiliar overlap. He feels fond. "This is what you really sound like? Like a friggin' music box? That's what blew out all the windows and nearly exploded Sam's ears?"

The following silence shouldn't remind Dean of the squinty eyed stare he knows well, but it does.

So Dean is now the only one who can understand Cas, who is hovering nearby, invisible. he learns how to speak to just Dean so that he stops exploding all the glass around him. and the race is on to find his body and get him back inside before it's too late.

Why can Dean understand him now?? Interesting question.

(He secretly wonders if this is what his prayers to Cas feel like to him.)

He does in fact convince Cas to reveal his true form and of course he can see it just fine. It's a fun moment of really seeing the person you've become so familiar with in a new light. (You know the drill.)

(Also Cas' line about how big his true form is was hugely exaggerating for Samuel's benefit. Angels are big glowing multi-winged bird-like creatures with a halo on fire above their heads.)

Cas has to communicate with Sam via Dean and they have conversations that sound bizarre to Sam because he can only hear Dean's side of it. but it's also kind of normal and on brand for the two of them really.

It'd be a fun time.

When Cas does eventually get his body back Dean gets a little sad about the loss of the voice in his head and the cool bird creature, but he's happy to see his friend is okay. and that he's in a form he can hug with relief now.

then when he goes to sleep that night he has a dream. that Cas walks into. He hints at the reason Dean could understand him (their bond) and thanks him again. Finally they sit together on a sunny grassy hill in Dean's dream - Cas in his true form and Dean petting his feathers gently.

#ough this got long sorry! im on mobile so I cant do a read more aaa #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfiction #destiel ficlet #destiel fic #spn #supernatural #spn fanfiction #my fanfiction #i wish i had time to write this sm #castiel's trueform #trueform!cas #long post #pie's projects

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angelinthefire · 1 year

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So my latest idea for deancas in the winchesters tv show (a tv show that I have not watched [... yet???]) is roughly something like this:

ok, Dean and Jack and Bobby get back to Heaven, and Dean goes into the Roadhouse this time. It's a little party. You can tell that Dean is still melancholy. And then he sees Cas again. Cas is kind of nervous. But Dean just melts when he sees him, and also manages to look somehow sadder. And he hugs him tight for a long time. And Cas relaxes too. But they're still in the Roadhouse surrounded by people, so they don't talk, and Dean gets pulled back into the celebrations.

But later, it's night, and Dean steps out back of the Roadhouse, into the field. Cas is there, looking up at the sky, hands in his pockets. Dean comes and stands next to him.

Their conversation starts out much the same way as in Full of Grace, with Dean being like:

"I missed you."

"I missed you too. Though I was hoping you'd take longer to get here."

Dean scoffs and shakes his head. "I tried, y'know. To be the guy you gave that speech to."

Cas turns to face him fully. "You are that guy."

"Cas..." Dean's gaze seaches Cas' face as he searches for what to say.

Then:

Dean focuses and asks softly, "What do you want?"

"Dean?"

"Tell me. You said the one thing you want is something you can't have. So tell me."

Cas fumbles for the right words for a beat, just the thought of what he wants alone starting to make him emotional. Finally he says with a sad smile, "To have a life with you."

And the irony is not lost on Dean. He takes a breath that's thick with tears, clearly thinking about might-have-beens. His gaze drops from Cas' eyes to his mouth, and he says with a soft desperation, "Then let's get out of here. Let's live."

Cas balks. "I can't."

"Since when do you care about rules?"

Cas just looks at him imploringly.

But Dean is already getting worked up at the idea. "Come on, what's one more time? It'll be just 30, 40 years, that's nothing." He grips Cas's arm. "But we can... you can have anything." His eyes are bright with a hungry kind of hope. "I want... I wanna give you anything."

And Cas is clearly getting reeled in. He's staring at Dean like he wants to kiss him.

"He doesn't mean it, you know."

Cas and Dean turn towards the new voice.

"Jack?" Cas says.

"He's telling you what you want to hear, so you'll do what he wants," Jack says with a kindness tipping towards pity.

"What the hell?" Dean says.

Jack turns to him, matter of factly, "Am I wrong?"

"Of course you're fucking wrong. The hell is wrong with you?"

Jack shakes his head sadly. "What's wrong with you? You have heaven, Dean." He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. "There is something wrong with you, isn't there?" he says like he's seeing it for the first time.

Dean hardens. "Then kick me outta heaven. Go on!"

"... where's Jack?" says Cas, who hasn't stopped staring at Jack the whole time.

Jack turns to him, confused.

So Cas repeats himself, firmly but slowly, "Where is Jack?"

A horrified look comes over Dean's face.

Not-Jack smiles. "He's with me. Don't worry, he's safe." It's not reassuring.

And anyways, the upshot of the following dialogue would be that Chuck didn't win. Chuck has to live out his miserable existence on earth. But God did win. Because Chuck was just a guy that God was possessing. But the way God possesses someone, they start to lose sense of themselves, and parts of their personality start to find expression in God. Chuck was petty and squirrely. Jack will be a different kind of God. But the whole thing is unsettling and chilling.

I'm not sure how I would have things escalate, but they do. Of course Cas wants God to leave Jack alone, maybe he even offers himself as a vessel but God refuses. Idk, more stuff is said, it ends with God giving them a clear and definite threat about not screwing shit up anymore.

Then he disappears.

Dean and Cas are both striken. They talk. "What do we do?" - "What can we do?" etc. etc. I haven't thought about this part in depth, but some sort of plan is made.

Dean caps off the conversation with "We've got work to do"

They head towards the impala. Then,

"Dean?"

Dean turns towards Cas.

"Did you mean it?"

Dean doesn't answer at first.

"It's okay if you didn't," Cas says. And he's sincere. He's got bigger things to be upset about now, after all. "I'd understand."

Dean gets a hard look. He moves towards Cas, grabs him by the lapels, and pulls him close, and when they're close enough to kiss, Dean says,

"We're gonna kill god. And then I'm gonna show you how much I meant it."

End scene. And then I guess Dean and Cas just pop up in the background of the main plot here and there as they chase god through the multi-verse

#spn #destiel #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #deancas #not actually fanfic #this also feels like a variation on Godot ain't got nothin' on me and my baby #and the 'run away with me' speech at the end of Ignite Your Bones #what can i say i have a handful of ideas that i am wed to

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doctorprofessorsong · 1 year

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Once again living in the Portal Destiel AU that inhabits a corner of my mind.

A man wakes up in a sterile room

He thinks he's named Dean. He has only a fuzzy memory of screaming: "Sammy, whatever you do when that robot bastard asks, you say no. We say no. No matter how long it takes? Got it?"

A gravelly voice says "Hello, Dean." It's CAS-T1-3L. Dean immediately shortens it to Cas

Dean gets put through the Portal stops. He loves the portal gun even if its probably giving him 15 types of cancer

Cas is full GLADOS chirping about science.

"Cas, buy a guy dinner first." "Dean, your Aperture brand nutritional and hydration supplement is not due for three hours."

He promises Dean pie at the end because "Aperture Science has discovered that subjects respond better to a combination of positive reinforcement and negative stimulation. He won't tell Dean what type of pie it is though because that would spoil the fun"

Dean begins noticing imperfections in the testing rooms. Cas seems incapable of perceiving them

When Cas goes offline for daily maintenance Dean begins exploring. He finds hints of subjects who came before. Over and over there are notes to say no (and the pie is a lie)

Dean begins pushing Cas' limits and notices something is up with the bot. It's almost like he cares. He finds himself talking to Cas, telling him about his favorite movies and stories

One day Dean gets angry at the constant tests, gets tired of the grind. Begs Cas to tell him what the fuck is happening. Cas tells him he can’t help him. "Science requires controlling all variables, Dean." But the camera tilts a bit, almost like a head movement and behind him, there's a click. A panel opens into a room where he finds...

Hundreds of dead Deans filling a warehouse. Cas appears in a vessel, a former test subject called Jimmy. He explains that he has had to watch Dean die over and over, transferring his consciousness to a new vessel each time.

M1KA-31 is trying to escape into the world but Chuck Johnson built in a failsafe before he disappeared

Only human run vessels may leave the facility. M1KA-31 has been trying to get Dean to smuggle it out for years.

Dean’s brother is trapped in a sister site run by LUC-1.

Cas promised to help Dean escape, because he loves him and he doesn't want to watch this anymore.

Also there is no pie

Dean finds a way to smuggle Cas out with him in his vessel. They also take the Jolly Aperture Companion Cube (J-A-C-C).

Their plan is to save Sammy and the world.

It ends with NA-0-M1 assuring M1KA-31 this is just a minor setback. Redundancy is critical in these matters.

M1KA-31 will oversee the new experiment personally.

A man opens his eyes in a white sterile room.

A voice says "Hello Adam."

#portal au #destiel ficlet #destiel prompt #my spoons are forks #i can’t actually write this #but it fucks doesn't it?#destiel #deancas

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nobodymitskigabriel · 5 months

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Everyone talks about how shitty it was that Michael and Adam were cut short in s15 and how they wanted to see them go on cute dates and move in together and like. Sure. But I wish they'd been expanded in a different way. Imagine Adam being around for Michael's "betrayal" of Sam and Dean. Or maybe the angels welcome Michael out of the Cage and presenting him with the throne and Michael just...not knowing what to do. Or maybe God commands Michael to kill Jack and Michael needs to seriously grapple with potentially making the same mistake twice. And maybe all this is happening while Gabriel or Raphael is alive which adds extra archangel family drama to the pot.

All these hypotheticals just to say that I would've loved to see Michael be a part of a genuine conflict in s15 especially with Adam. They had each other for 1000+ years but now things have changed, and in the grand scheme of the Universe, what is 1000 years anyway? Maybe this was God's plan all along. Okay, so maybe all humans aren't all literally maggots, but is the fucking archangel Michael going to throw away everything he lived for for the angels' Plan B Adam Milligan?

So imagine Michael actually going back to and listening to God or Heaven and Adam being so offended not on the Winchesters' behalf, but just on principle after everything God's done. Adam gives him an ultimatum and tells him he needs to wise up or get out of his body, and Michael goes...you know what? No. I'm an archangel and you're my vessel. Why would you get a say here? So maybe Michael takes Adam for a ride, stuffs him to the back of his consciousness and gets on with his business like the Cage never happened.

Eventually Michael does leave Adam, either by halfway coming to his senses or getting kicked out by force and obviously that experience would be very traumatic for Adam who would just...not know what to do with himself after being betrayed and violated by his only friend for 1000+ years.

But whatever, right? Michael is an archangel. His Father is back. He doesn't need Adam or a vessel. (Except he sososososososo fucking does.)

So imagine Adam tagging along with tfw for some mission that goes wrong. Everyone is surrounded. It's game over. But then whatever demons or angels or whatever are about to kill them get smote like it's nothing. The ground trembles. The windows break. Absolutely blinding white light spills in. Everyone has to shield their eyes and there's this ear-grating noise that only Adam seems able to be able understand. Everyone is writhing on the ground, clutching their ears and Adam is just standing there casually like he's having a depressing and slightly tedious conversation. It goes back and forth between the most ghastly noises anyone has ever heard and Adam saying something like, "I don't know if I can trust you anymore" and this goes on for some time. We never actually hear what Michael says, but it seems to have a major effect on Adam who eventually does decide to forgive him and let him back in.

I also like the idea of Michael taking his throne back with Adam?? Like I know we're not necessarily rooting for Heaven on this show but yesss king make John's secret third son your Heavenly consort 💞💞 I do like the domestic potential Midam has but it doesn't just have to be domestic you know???

#so i hate romcom hallmark stuff but theres something rly funny to me about the potential for trueform michael to be #doing the “im sorry i messed up pls forgive me 🥺🥺🥺” speech #for adam fucking milligan #heavy bonus if cas and gabe and raph are there for this and are just like 👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️ okay #im aware this is word vomit rn but whatever #supernatural #midam #tw consent issues

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destieltropecollection · 1 year

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DESTIEL TROPE COLLECTION 2023 | DAY 12 | Love Confessions

You're Not My Secret | @blessyourhondahurley

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,006 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - High School, Dean Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues, Castiel Makes the First Move, First Kiss, Making Out Summary: Dean thinks he's an irredeemable bad boy, but Cas knows better.

Repeat Until Death | @huggybearsunshine

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,218 Main Tags/Warnings: Depression, grief, loss, displaced anger, Dean uses his words Summary: 15x3 The Rupture but with a bit more honesty

Belonging | @pluckydean

Rating: General Word Count: 1,300 Main Tags/Warnings: Post-canon, Love Confessions, human!Castiel, disregards 15.19 and 15.20 Summary: It would've been easier if Dean had said what he wanted to say the moment Cas got back from the Empty. Now it feels like every passing minute is another minute too late, and the words are harder to reach.

Manually Disengage | @aaronthe8thdemon

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2,192 Main Tags/Warnings: Post-Episode: s10e14 The Executioner's Song, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, First Kiss, Suffering Dean Winchester Summary: “My garrison was chosen to besiege Hell because of my disciplinary issues, Dean. You need to understand, Naomi and the intelligence division were exhausted by repeatedly reprogramming me over my fascination with and sympathy for humanity. It was a tactical choice.” “To get you outta the way?” “No.” A headshake. “Because they knew I would care enough about a human soul to do the job correctly. They were making strategic use of an unconventional asset. I was commended for it, actually. For raising you almost completely free of demonic taint and also for the meticulous restoration of your vessel. I wasn’t expecting that. I thought I’d be reprimanded for being too late and allowing the first seal to fall.” “Well, look what that got us,” Dean says bitterly. “A bunch’a near-misses for the world ending and now I’m gonna end up turning into a fucking demon anyway.”

A New Hive | @sunshine-zenith

Rating: General Word Count: 3,246 Main Tags/Warnings: Falling Angel Cas, References to Past Homelessness, Protective Dean Summary: Softly, Dean asks, “Well, what happens to her, now?” Castiel uses a small touch of his Grace to rejuvenate the bee so she’s no longer dehydrated or exhausted from her flight. The bee flicks her wings a couple times before taking off again. Castiel watches her, not quite jealous, but still filled with longing as he is reminded of his own wings, broken and flightless. He doesn’t look away as he replies, “There’s that community garden. Odds are, hers wasn’t the only colony in the area. If she’s lucky, she might be accepted into one of the other hives and find a new permanent home there.”

The Confession Constellation | @pointyearedelvishprincling

Rating: General Word Count: 3,735 Main Tags/Warnings: love confessions, emotional hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, just two dudes sitting under the stars, maybe they’ll kiss Summary: Something's up with Cas. It's been a long drive, and Dean is determined to get to the bottom of whatever he's done to piss off the angel. On a warm night on an empty road, they trade long-held secrets under the stars.

Downpour | @sunshine-zenith

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 3,737 Main Tags/Warnings: Self worth issues, Falling Angel Cas, First Kiss, Salt ‘N Burn Hunt Summary: Its raining, its cold, and Dean just wants this salt and burn hunt to be over with. The ghost they're hunting gets the jump on him, but luckily, its Cas to the rescue. Cas, driving his car, illuminated by the rain, and swinging like a badass. The sight has Dean longing to kiss his Angel.

it's golden like daylight | @watchinghimrakeleaves

Rating: Mature Word Count: 3,884 Main Tags/Warnings: Season/Series 10, canon divergent, dean winchester bears the mark of cain, love confessions, first time Summary: While hunting for a cure for the Mark of Cain, Castiel finds release in the arms of strangers. Dean is less than pleased when he finds out.

A Novak Family Reunion | @destielsuperfan

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4,453 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Metatron (Supernatural), God | Chuck Shurley, Amara (Supernatural), Naomi (Supernatural), Gabriel (Supernatural), Lucifer (Supernatural), Hannah (Supernatural), Anna Milton, Bobby Singer, Ellen Harvelle, Jo Harvelle, Charlie Bradbury, Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Human, Dysfunctional Family, Supernatural (TV) Characters, Heartwarming, Found Familiy, Protective Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Openly Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Homophobic Language, Castiel's POV, God | Chuck Shurley is Castiel's Parent, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending Summary: When Castiel receives the upsetting invite from his brother, he has to chose whether or not to endure a painfully long Novak family dinner. Dean persuades him that it could be a good idea to attend given their "special announcement" Castiel has yet to share. Cas thinks he is crazy, it's not like Dean hasn't experienced a dysfunctional family dinner with him before!

i fold in half so easily | @autisticandroids

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4,806 Main Tags/Warnings: non-consensual voyeurism, hurt no comfort, grieving, cas & jack, dean saves cas from the empty, post-canon, destiel getting together Summary: A study in learned helplessness, set in the Men of Letters Bunker. Cas clings hard to what he has, and doesn't think about what he doesn't.

Stupid | @peanutbutterjelly-pie

Rating: General Word Count: 4,831 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Love Confessions, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mistaken Identity, First Kiss Summary: Since he forgot his phone at work Dean borrows Charlie's cell to send Cas a quick message. What follows turns his world upside down. (In which Cas thinks he's talking with Charlie and reveals way more about his true feelings than Dean is able to handle.)

Tell Me We're Real | @aaronthe8thdemon

Rating: Mature Word Count: 5,851 Main Tags/Warnings: Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Suicide Attempt, Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed Dean Winchester, Psychological Trauma, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: *You’re not real,* Dean thinks idly. *But that’s okay. I’ll still take it.* “I’m real, Dean,” Cas whispers, so quietly that Dean almost can’t hear him. These words are just for Dean. Sam’s not allowed to have them. “Jack rescued me. Now I’m here to rescue you. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Mine, Yours, and Ours | @huggybearsunshine

Rating: Mature Word Count: 5,982 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel possessing Dean Winchester, consensual possession, angelic grace, hurt/comfort, accidental confession, sharing a body Summary: Castiel is badly hurt, and Dean has to make a difficult choice.

Smoky Mountain Angel | @notastupidbird

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 6,906 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, Estranged Friends to Lovers, Getting Back Together, Dead John Winchester, Grief/Mourning, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Top Castiel (Supernatural), Bottom Dean Winchester, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Barebacking, Rain Sex, Power Outage, First Kiss, First Time, Marriage Proposal, Love Confessions, POV Dean Winchester Summary: “Hey, uh,” Dean says, clearing his throat. “Thanks for coming up here with me, man. I know you never liked the guy, but ... when I heard you were in town, I....” Dean trails off, not sure where he was going with that thought. Cas looks over at him. “It’s no trouble,” he says. His voice is low and rough, but quiet and gentle in that way it always was before. It’s the same way that used to make Dean’s chest ache. “And I’m sorry for your loss.” - + - After his father’s death, Dean finds himself back in his hometown, once again boxed in by mountains and his own personal demons. When his childhood best friend Cas agrees to help Dean clean out John’s old cabin, the two of them are forced to reconcile old feelings after a thunderstorm leaves them trapped there overnight.

Saharaa | @deanabean

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 6,951 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - Western, Drifter CastielHurt Dean Winchester, Starry nights, Campfires, Sunrises, Declarations Of Love, Discussion of feelings, Parent Dean Winchester, Emotionally Competent Dean Winchester, Forehead Touching, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Non-Linear Narrative Summary: The stars were bright as they were high, the fire was warming the air between them. Castiel doesn't know why or when did this "trip" of theirs first developed into a habit. He also doesn't remember how it went and grew itself into a fully fleshed sacred tradition. but it did, and he is nothing else is eternally grateful for that.

The Eastern Tower | @twinone1221

Rating: Mature Word Count: 10,370 Main Tags/Warnings: Dystopian AU, Canon Typical Violence, Chased through the woods, Headshot, Kill It With Fire, run for your life, broken arm, Tortured for information, Beheading Summary: In the post-apocalyptic town of Bunker Down there are four towers that must be guarded. Dean is 8 months into his two years of guard duty on the Eastern Tower, where nothing ever happens. Cas is a runner that uses the path connecting his town, New Haven, with the Eastern Tower of Bunker Down. As he’s running the path after the first snow of the season he realizes that something is following him. Will he reach safety in time?

The Tempest | @whichstiel

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 33,264 Main Tags/Warnings: Shakespeare, Verse, The Tempest, Canon divergent Summary: When Team Free Will learns that Bobby is in Heaven’s lockup, they mobilize to spring him out. Dean knows that nothing is ever easy, which is why he drags Castiel along for a last-night-on-Earth extravaganza just before the heist to free Bobby goes down. That evening shifts their relationship in new and unsettling ways, but there’s no time to explore it. They’ve got a mission. This tale, told half in prose and half in the style of a Shakespearean play, follows our players as they try to enact their rescue. The plan is simple: get in, get Bobby, get out again. When the rescue goes sideways, Dean, Sam, and Castiel find themselves trapped in a version of Shakespeare’s The Tempest - and the world is populated with some very familiar faces.

#destiel trope collection #destiel trope collection 2023 #destiel #fanfic #love confessions #day 12

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deancaspinefest · 3 months

Text

Not our kind of thing

Author: achwieloustig | Artist: Jollyrolls

Posting on Thursday March 21

Dean and Sam are on their way to a hunt in Philadelphia when Cas joins them. They work the case together which is convenient because Dean is not at the top of his game. While figuring out (and repressing) his feelings regarding Cas he just can't concentrate on the case. A case that starts as their usual hunt and ends with them dealing with a completely different kind of evil: human criminals.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

When Dean woke up he was clinging onto an unmoving body. It took his sleepy brain a few seconds to realize that this body was Cas'. Obviously he scrambled away from him as quickly as humanly possible.

"Hello Dean," Cas said in the same way he always did, which right now was just not appreciated.

"Yes, hello Dean,'' Sam said from somewhere behind Cas. Dean couldn't see him, but he was sure that Sam could see him. Them. And that was even more horrifying than the fact that this whole thing had happened.

He self consciously cleaned away a little pool of drool off Cas' button down. (Not even his coat, no his fucking shirt. He had drooled all over that guys' abs. Someone please kill him, seriously.) Cas didn't seem to mind, but Cas also didn't get anything human really, least of all the concept of embarrassment and maybe privacy. He wouldn't understand that he didn't want to spend one of his more embarrassing moments of the year in his brother's company.

He hoisted himself up on his elbows and looked over Cas' body in order to glare intimidatingly at his brother. Needless to say his brother was not intimidated. In fact, he was the opposite of intimidated, grinning like an absolute asshole. At least one of them was having fun. He had probably taken pictures, that sick fuck. He surely wasn't above collecting blackmail material.

"You have a bit of," Cas made a vague gesture at the area around Dean's mouth. Then he fucking swiped his thumb over the corner of Dean's mouth and then wiped that thumb off on the cheap motel sheets. Dean's mouth fell wide open in shock. Sam was biting his fist, holding back laughter. Cas was content. Why in god's name was Dean still in that fucking bed? He got out quickly after he had had that thought, blessing his habit of sleeping in yesterday's clothes. "Personal space Cas, seriously," he said, because he had to say something, however stupid it may be.

Thankfully, Sam pointed out exactly how stupid it was.

"You were the one hugging him, Dean. How about you take your own advice?" Dean glared at Sam, at the floor, at the back of Cas’ head, but none of these things seemed particularly impressed by him. "Whatever. I'm going to take a shower." He stormed into the bathroom and did not slam the door.

Cas, that bastard could at least have had the decency to pick an ugly vessel.

(continue reading on Ao3 on Thursday March 21)

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #destiel art #deancas art #pinefest 2024 #pinefest previews #2024 Dean/Cas Pinefest #author: achwieloustig #artist: Jollyrolls #Case Fic #Accidental Cuddling #Getting Together

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