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bunk12bear · 2 years

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Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn't've

Fandom(s): Supernatural and Stranger Things

Character(s): Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Eddie Munson

Pairing(s): None

Words: 3700

Description: 13-year-old Dean Winchester accidentally comes across the debut album of up-and-coming metal band Corroded Coffin while avoiding being caught shoplifting food for him and Sam. On a whim he steals the cassette and quickly becomes obsessed not understanding why he's so drawn the the band's handsome and charismatic frontman Eddie Munson

or teenage Dean Winchester develops a huge crush on Rockstar Eddie Monson despite not realizing that he's bi yet.

Trigger warnings: allusions to child abuse, brief instance of homophobia

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I posted about this crossover idea earlier and said I wouldn't write it. I have been proven to be a liar this isn't necessarily the final product because still looking for a beta reader but I'm posting it here in the meantime.

I'm aware that the song in the title is pop punk rather than metal but fun fact The Buzzcocks' Pete Shelly was openly bisexual and wrote this song after falling in love with his male roommate.

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1992

Dean's stomach growled loudly, dad had been gone for 3 days and they were already out of food. He had managed to convince the lady behind the front desk to give them a couple of the single serving cereal bowls they had for sale but that's all she would give him without money.

Not for the first time he wished that dad would have them staying in hotels with continental breakfast. If he brought his backpack, he could probably sneak enough food to feed them for the rest of the day but every time he asked, he got the same response "Come on now Dean, that's expensive. What, do you think I'm made of money?"

Sammy signed from one of the dingy beds and put his book down on the scratched up little table between them, right next to the lamp with its cracked shade. Dean felt a twinge of guilt rising in his stomach. His little brother must have read it 100 times and it showed. The cover was practically falling off and it had faded the places where Sam's fingertips rested when he had it open. He should really think about getting Sam some new books. Maybe somebody would give him a few bucks for mowing their lawn or something.

"Dean?" Sammy asked, jolting him from his thoughts "When do you think Dad's going to get back? I'm hungry."

"I don't know Sammy," he replied, glancing at the door.

Sammy flopped onto the bed staring at the cracked ceiling tiles, "What if something happened to him this time? What if he dies and we have to go to foster care? Dad said they'd separate us in foster care."

"You don't gotta worry about that, Dad's fine he's a good hunter he's not going to be taken down by a wendigo” Dean reassures him.

"Okay, it's just it was supposed to be a quick hunt, that's why he only left us with 2 days’ worth of food."

"I know Sam, listen if he's not back in 2 hours I'm going to go find us some food. I wouldn't let you starve, okay?"

Sam sighed heavily, grabbing his book again "I know dean." he replied and began skimming the pages.

— — —

The two hours passed with little fanfare and dad still wasn't back.

Dean got up, carefully putting the hunting notes dad had left him neatly stacked on the desk.

"I'm going to get us food Sammy." He yelled over to his brother who was occupied with one of the few other worn books he was able to cart from place to place with them.

Dean put his shoes on and slung his backpack over his shoulder, grabbing a baseball cap last minute if he needed to hide his face from security cameras.

Stepping out into the baking heat of the Arizona summer, he scanned the perimeter to make sure no one was paying attention and set out searching.

He slipped carefully into a convenience store walking casually to avoid notice, repeating a pattern of grabbing several snacks and walking around as if he was still browsing before slipping them into his backpack hoping to avoid detection. When his bag was sufficiently full, he returned a few snacks he'd grabbed as decoys to their spots as he headed out the door.

He headed back towards the hotel, peering in windows and checking out pretty girls, trying his best to look like just another teenage boy out on a walk over summer break. Suddenly he saw a set of blue and red flashing lights out of the corner of his eye.

His stomach dropped; dad would kill him if he got arrested for shoplifting. He grabbed the handle of the closet door and slipped inside.

It was a record shop, that much he knew. The tiny shop was packed with cassette plays and rows and rows of record bins. The air was tinged with a musty scent Dean couldn't quite identify, weed Maybe and the lights were set weirdly low.

Buying himself time, he stashed away his backpack under one of the tables and began to thumb through the records. There were genres and subgenres he never even heard of before. To be honest, he’d never really explored music beyond what dad liked. It's not like Dad would have bought him cassettes anyway.

He continued pretending to search for a record, occasionally pulling one out and pretending to study it, not really paying attention to what he was doing until he got to the metal section. He grabbed a random record intending to continue his usual routine when he flipped it over and stopped dead in his tracks.

It was a fairly standard band picture, Four men in their mid-twenties sitting on a couch holding their instruments or something related clad in leather and denim and metal. That was not what caught Dean's attention.

The frontman, Eddie Munson according to the record, sat leaned back against the couch, an electric guitar held carefully in his lap. His body language and facial expression displayed a casual confidence that Dean could only fake.

Dean's heart rate picked up and his mouth went dry. He was unable to tear his eyes away from the image and he couldn't understand why.

Was he…jealous? The man was good looking, Dean supposed, with big brown doe eyes, full lips, clear pale skin and long dark curly rocker hair. He was the kind of guy that girls his age would swoon over, and he could see why, you know objectively speaking.

He put the record back in a rush trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks and the odd fluttering in his stomach.

He resumed his earlier activity trying to cut through the fog that had formed in his brain. His thoughts continued to return to the album, to Eddie Munson specifically. An image floated into his consciousness, that black leather jacket hugging Munson's shoulders like it was made for him. "I should get a leather jacket,'' Dean thought, "Girls like leather jackets," The fluttering in his stomach continued

His heart continued to pound in his ears as he reached the end of the table and grabbed his backpack. He was still thinking about the record when the cassette version caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He grabbed the tape and flipped it over, sure enough it bears the same band photo as the album. Despite the smaller size of the image Dean's eyes again fixate on Eddie Munson.

He glanced around the store; most people were absorbed in their own browsing and the only employee was a board looking teenage girl who seems more invested in the clock than her job.

He stuffed the tape into his bag.

The police are gone when he gets outside so he begins to walk back towards the motel stomach still churning as if he's hiding some big life-altering secret and not a shoplifted cassette tape.

Sam was distracted when he came back to the motel, absorbed in an episode of Darkwing Duck. Before getting his brother's attention Dean grabed the tape out of his bag and quickly wrapped it in a pair of socks depositing it back into the drawer where he'd been keeping his clothes.

He laid the food out on the table. It isn't much, mostly processed as the room didn't even have a mini fridge but it'll do. They can make this last a couple days and he's done his best to ensure that Sam will be eating something from all of the food groups.

His mind continued to cassette hidden in his socks all afternoon and evening ending with him staring up at the ceiling with an odd tension in his shoulders and jaw till he finally fell asleep.

— — —

Dad didn't arrive back at the hotel until late the next afternoon. Turns out he had thought there was a lead in the case of mom's death, and he had gotten caught up in it for several days. At least he apologized about it this time.

John offered to help the boys pack to make up for leaving them alone for longer than expected and Dean's stomach plummeted. John could not discover the tape. As a rule, he didn't like any music madefrom bands founded after 1980 and would complain if Sam or Dean tried listening to more modern music on the radio. He also would not have liked the fact that Dean was shoplifting even though he had only started to do so in the first place to feed himself and Sam when he disappeared on them for days.

"You can help Sammy, I'll be okay doing it myself" Dean had said, doing his best to seem mature and put together.

With dad's focus now on Sam, Dean grabbed the pair of socks with the cassette in them and shoved them very firmly into a corner of his bag. He finished packing, grabbing his bag and making sure to smile and offer to help Dad with his. Dad smiles, pats him on the shoulder and compliments him about how helpful he is. As they drive away from the motel Dean realizes he has nothing to play the tape with without his father knowing.

— — —

Dean only brooches the topic when he knows his dad is in a good mood. It's several days later and they're headed off to Bobby's, apparently the lead from the Hunts turned out to be more promising than he had thought.

They were all sitting at a Wendy's Sam and Dean dipping their fries in the frosty that Dad had decided to buy for them something he usually didn't do claiming it “unnecessary"

"Um Dad" he said barely above a whisper.

"What is it Dean?" John replied.

"I Was thinking maybe we could get a used Walkman or somewhere books on tape would probably be good to keep Sammy's brain up to shape over the summer and you could still listen to your music in the car."

Dean braces himself for the worst.

"You know that Idea ain't half bad" John responded "On the way to Bobby's we can and see if we can find some sort of consignment shop. I'll ask the cashier if there's anything close."

"Thank you so much."

John didn't respond having returned back to reading through his hunting notes.

— — —

The Walkman is heavily scratched and at least 5 years out of date it'll play cassette tapes fine and that's all Dean cares about. The man at the secondhand store was kind enough to give a discount on a few books on tape when they explained why they're buying it.

Sammy stared out the window listening to an audio version of Hatchet by Gary Paulsen. Dad had smiled when Sam picked it " a good choice" he had said "it'll teach you to be tough"

Dean for his part plays The Alphabet game do you know what that is or am I going to have to explain that in the author's note and taps his fingers to the Zeppelin dad is playing.

A billboard flies by as he's searching for the letter P amongst the signs of the side of the road

Homosexuality is a SIN

Leviticus 18:22

It shakes Dean to his core, and he can't figure out why.

— — —

It's well past dark when they get to Bobby's and Sam is already asleep. Dean slipped the headphones off his ears and gently stowed the Walkman away in his bag.

Once he made sure Sam was comfortably sleeping in one of the upstairs bedrooms, he ducked into another one locking the door behind him.

Several agonizing moments passed as Dean stands back against the door bag in hand. He slept slowly down to the floor and it's practically vibrating as he reached into his bag, grabbed the cassette tape and pulled the socks off of it. His hands are trembling too much to get through the cellophane around it, so he tears at it with his teeth then quickly flips the cassette into place.

He places the Walkman on the bed as he changes into his pajamas and slips under the covers. After a moment of hesitation, he slips the headphones on, and presses play.

The music was good, very good it was certainly not dad's thing, but Dean can here be some of the references from things that are. Munson had a good voice and was obviously a gifted guitar player. The lyrics were full of fantasy references Dean didn't quite understand and fantastical situations that lead him to wonder if perhaps Eddie also grew up as a hunter. The thought makes the fluttering in his stomach and the burning in his cheeks return.

At one point the music slows, and Munson's voice goes all husky for what's obviously a love song. Dean rewinds to the beginning of the song three times, (to better understand the lyrics of course).

When the album ends, Dean is left lying in the bed staring up at the ceiling with the headphones still covering his ears. He should sleep. He's exhausted but some persistent nagging feeling is gripping the scruff of his neck, extending its tightening fingers to his jaw. Do you understand what I'm getting at? I'm speaking from my own experience with anxiety but I'm not sure if it came across right Sleep does eventually find him and, in the morning, he stuffs the tape back into his socks and deposits the bundle back in his back.

— — —

It's been 2 months and Dean still can't stop thinking about Eddie Munson. He's listened to the album several times again on late nights with Sam asleep and dad on a hunt and every time it makes him more and more curious about the band particularly its frontman.

There was a record store near the middle school he has been attending and every day as he passed by it to go pick Sam up from the elementary school, he swore he'd go in one day.

The owner catches him loitering outside one day and asks him what he's doing. He's an older guy who looks a bit like Harrison Ford if he were into metal. Dean can feel his cheeks going pink Under the man's gaze. He panics and nearly runs away but instead takes a deep breath and asks about the band.

The Man's eyes light up "Corroded Coffin? They're pretty good, aren't they? They're not Judas Priest or anything but I'm looking forward to seeing what their future holds. " He says, clasping a friendly hand on Dean's shoulder. The contact makes Dean's heartbeat rapidly in his chest.

"Um uh Yeah" he manages his to stammer out "I've always only ever really listen to my dad's music so I picked it so I could see what other kinds of music I might like" a snarky voice in the back of his head that tells him that that is decidedly not reason he took the tape but then again the shop owner didn't need to know that.

"I'm always happy to support people expanding their tastes. You know I have some music magazines that I'm done with. I was just going to throw them out, but you can have them if you want. One of them has an interview with the front man of Corroded coffin, Eddie something or other I forget his name".

Dean's heart leapt in his chest, "Munson," he corrected, quickly cheeks burning and eyes flitting to the side “His name's Eddie Munson." The man shot him a knowing look.

"So do you want the magazines?" he asked

Dean squared his shoulders giving a curt nod "Yes sir!"

The shop owner raised an eyebrow but told Dean to wait there while he went to get the magazines and slipped back into the store.

He emerged a few minutes later with a small stack of magazines in hand "Here you go kid, enjoy" he says in places the stack in Dean's hands.

"Thank you, sir," Dean respondef. " I should get going now though. I need to pick my brother up from the elementary school"

"Goodbye kid good luck in your musical journey" the older man responds waving to Dean as he turns to leave and walks away.

— — —

Luckily for Dean, dad was away on a hunting trip that night giving him time to read the article one Sam has gone to bed.

The article hails Munson as "September 1992's newcomer of the month" and features a full-page collage of different photos of him. If Dean spends 10 minutes just staring at the photos, then well nobody must know that. He folds the magazine hiding the pictures from sight and begins to read.

Interview with September 1992 Newcomer of the Month-Eddie Munson

By Vanessa Guerrero

Eddie Munson (26) the lead guitarist / vocalist and Main composer lyricist of the up-and-coming band Corroded Coffin sits down in my office grinning at me with the boyish, slightly nerdy charm he's become known for.

Me: So, Mr. Muson, you've already gotten some pretty good buzz on your debut album. How does that feel?

Munson: Absolutely fantastic, 6 years ago I was barely crawling my way to passing my third go around of my senior year of high school and now I have a charting album and I'm being interviewed for a magazine, kind of crazy you know.

Me: I can imagine. I understand that you write most of the music. Can you talk about some of your influences?

Munson: Oh yeah, I was inspired a lot by the classics you know, Metallica and Black Sabbath in particular, Ozzy Osbourne is like my all-time musical hero. There's also a good deal of non-metal influence like Guthrie and Phil Ochs.

Me: Guthrie, as in Woody Guthrie?

Munson: Yeah, my uncle was a proud union man. He introduced me to a bunch of that kind of music when I was a kid. Painted my first acoustic to reference him. This machine slays dragons, a riff on his famous guitar you know

Me: Why dragons?

Munson: It's a reference to Dungeons & Dragons, it's probably the biggest non-musical non-political influence on my songs.

Me: I'm assuming you play it then.

Munson: Not only do I play but I also DM he presses his hand against his chest dramatically. You are looking at the founder of Hawkins High School's very own Dungeons & Dragons Club.

Me: You founded a Dungeons & Dragons Club in your high school?

Munson: Oh yeah, the rest of the band was in it actually. It was never very big, but I met some really great people through it including a couple of younger kids I still keep in contact with. They became like the little siblings I never had.

Me: That sounds lovely.

Munson: It was. Not everyone saw us that way though. Probably didn't help that we called ourselves "the hellfire club". You can imagine how well that went down in a small town in Indiana.

Me: I'm sorry to hear that Mr. Munson.

Munson: Thank you but call me Eddie, Mr. Munson's my uncle.

Me: The same uncle who introduced you to Guthrie? Munson nodsYou really seem to look up to him.

Munson: Yeah, I do, I owe him a lot. My old man wasn't a great guy. He never really wanted a kid. You know he pauses biting at his bottom lip for a second instead of teaching me to ride a bike or fish like a normal dad he taught to pick locks and hotwire cars. He had a real mean streak when he was drunk, cut off all my hair in a rage when I was in the 8th grade. That's when my Uncle Wayne took me in. Dad got busted for grand theft auto soon after that and I haven't seen him since.

Me: Wow I'm so sorry to hear that.

Munson: Yeah it sucks but Uncle Wayne's the best. I offered to buy him a big house with the earnings from this album but he refused. It's just not his style. I fixed him up with a nice double wide trailer instead.

Me: That's incredibly sweet of you. I bet he's really proud. Munson blushes and hides behind his long dark hair

Munson: I sure hope so, I owe him everything.

Me: Unfortunately, it looks like we've run out of time. It was lovely talking to you.

Munson: Oh, the pleasure is all mine. I must say you did a wonderful job. I hope we can get together to do this again sometime. He leans in, lowering his voice slightly. If anyone on your team would like to learn more about Dungeons & Dragons, I'd love to help. The more the merrier I always say he flashes a grin and winks.

Corroded coffin's debut album Girl With a Buzzcut premiered last May to rave reviews. It stayed in the Rock and Alternative charts for 6 weeks peaking at number 3. The band consists of Eddie Munson on lead guitar and vocals, Gareth Hughes on drums, Jeff Hall on Rhythm guitar and Rick Moore on bass.

By the time Dean reached the end of the article he felt a bit like a girl with a crush. Munson is funny, relatable, and charming. He’s everything Dean wants to be when he grows up. He's not sure why Eddie talking about struggling in school and having a beloved uncle made him so giddy. He supposed it was just nice to have something in common with a rockstar. Dean does feel a pang of guilt for relating to the bit about his father, dad's just trying his best and Dean really should be more grateful.

He puts the magazines back in his bag then curls up in the covers and falls asleep.

Author's note: the guitar that says this machine slays dragons is actually from a behind the scenes look at Eddie's room. For those who don't know it is in fact a reference to folk music hero Woody Guthrie who had a guitar with the phrase "this machine kills fascists" painted on it.

#stranger things #eddie munson #bisexual dean winchester #bi dean #dean winchester #rockstar eddie munson #supernatural #john winchesters a+ parenting #Dean Winchester has a bisexual Awakening #young dean #young Dean Winchester #eddie munson lives #crossover #Dean Winchester needs a hug #early 90s setting #teenage Dean Winchester #Spotify

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hollybell51 · 1 year

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Gentleman

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Sam Winchester x AFAB!fem!Reader

Supernatural (2005), s03e02 “bloodlust”

Word count: 4.6K

Summary: you and Sam don't exactly see eye to eye with Dean's new friend, so you return to the motel by yourselves. Things... escalate.

Content: smutty smut smut! Shameless, loving, gentle porn with a bit of a plot. Tooth rotting sappiness and fluff. Bit of hurt/comfort, bit of angst. Reader is just so in love with Sam (I am too dw). Sam is down horrendously bad for the reader (I'm horrendously down bad for him. I cannot emphasise this enough). Use of (Y/N), but not too much. Hickeys, making out, extremely light switchiness (barely noticeable, just healthily flexible dynamics), blowjobs, handjobs, fingering, safe sex, vaginal sex. Hugs all round (someone needed to give these boys one), Dean and the reader get along, Dean has like one soft moment, there's quite a bit of reminiscing and stuff. Gordon's vibes are Off. As above, set during season 2 episode 3.

Notes: HAPPY NEW YEAR MY LOVES! I'm (kinda) back, and my summaries have not gotten any better! Started watching Supernatural and got brainrot. Got lots of stuff planned but probably won't actually write it (sorry). The things I would let these two men do to me is insane like actually insane besties I am not ok. Anyways enjoy the by-product of my suffering, consider this a peace offering as I worm my way into the Supernatural fandom.

Also I have been working sporadically on some requests so if you made one chances are I've seen it and I have started it, but also I have Things in my Life right now that are very Stressful so yeah that's fun but yknow it is what it is, thanks everyone for being so supportive and patient with me xx

To say you were uncomfortable would have been an understatement. It wasn’t just how easily Gordon was talking about what had happened, or the too-bright light in his eyes as he recounted it, or Dean’s ease with the whole thing. It had been a freaking execution! And sure, the guy was a vampire, but the way the saw had just chewed right through his neck, the kicking of his legs as he’d died, the blood spraying over Dean’s face… yeah. As Sam had put it, decapitations weren’t really your idea of a good time. And it certainly wasn’t something you felt like laughing about over drinks.

You could see Sam’s leg bouncing slightly, his face blank as he stared at the beer he was nursing. Your own stomach twisted with unease. Chances were, if he was on edge, so were you. The emotional interplay wasn’t new, and in fact, Dean gave you endless shit about it. “I don’t know what’s up with you,” he’d say. “I just gotta thank God I don’t develop some freaky emotional feedback loop with every girl I bang.”

Now, Sam glanced at you, raising an eyebrow. You screwed up your nose. Not enough to be too noticeable, but enough to let him know you thought something was a bit off too. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

“What’s up with you two?” Dean asked, frowning at your practically untouched beer.

You shrugged. Sam shrugged.

Dean rolled his eyes, taking a mouthful of his drink before turning to his new friend. “I swear,” he said, “they read each others' minds. He’s grumpy, she’s grumpy. She’s happy, he’s happy. I reckon if she stubbed her toe, he’d be limping.”

Gordon barked a laugh, raising his eyebrows. “That so?”

“Dean, come off it,” you sighed.

He shook his head, smiling. “Lighten up, both of you.”

You opened your mouth to say something about how you didn’t think lightening up was really appropriate given the circumstances, but the scraping of Sam’s chair cut you off.

“I’m not gonna bring you guys down,” he said. “I’m just gonna go back to the motel.”

“Yeah,” you agreed as he glanced at you, “I’m a bit tired.”

Dean frowned. “You sure?”

You nodded, standing.

“Ok,” he shrugged. “Seeya.”

“Seeya,” you smiled tightly, then passed him your unfinished beer. “You want this?”

“You’re not taking it?”

You shook your head. “Not in a beer sort of mood.”

He gave you a searching look, then shrugged again and took the drink. “Sure.”

“Thanks, Gordon.” You nodded to the other hunter. As much as you felt off about him, you didn’t need to be rude.

He inclined his head back to you. “My pleasure.”

Sam’s hand settled on your back as you joined him by the door, and you cast a final glance back at the two men remaining at the table.

“Sammy!” Dean called, the car keys jingling in his hand as he tossed them to his brother. “Remind me to beat that buzzkill outta you later, alright?”

Sam caught them with ease, Gordon’s enquiry of “something I said?” chasing you out the door. Hell yeah, it was something he said. It was everything he said.

“Jesus,” you grumbled, shivering in the cold air.

Sam snorted, absently shrugging off his jacket and handing it to you. Equally thoughtlessly, you put it on. It had become something of a routine. Sam didn’t exactly get too cold very often, but you did. He was many things, and “gentleman” was pretty high on the list by you reckoning.

“I don’t know about all of this,” he said, feet crunching on the gravel as he headed towards the car. “Something’s…”

“Off, yeah.” You swung into the passenger seat, arms crossed firmly over your chest.

“I can’t quite–” The engine cut him off for a moment, but he didn’t finish the sentence anyway. It didn’t matter.

“I know, it’s a brain itch.”

Sam sighed, shaking his head. “Tell me about it. Seatbelt,” he added as the car rolled out of the parking lot, another habit between the two of you. You could have sworn you’d have been dead years ago if you hadn’t had someone reminding you to use the damn things, a fact that both Winchester brothers were not afraid to attempt to drill into you. They hadn’t had much success.

You hummed as you clicked the strap across your body, shrinking further down into the seat. You were feeling better now that you weren’t sitting across from Gordon, now that it was just you and Sam. You loved Dean, of course you did, but Sam was just so easy to be around. The two of you clicked, simple as that, and you adored it.

“I’m gonna call Ellen,” Sam said decisively, frowning at the road. “Maybe she knows him.”

You nodded. “Mhm, good idea.”

You were still humming – the melody from something that had been playing on the drive that day, you thought – as you entered the motel room, gulping down a glass of water before jumping onto the kitchen counter. Your heels made a dull thud, thud, thud, on the cupboards as you swung them, the zipper of Sam’s jacket swishing over the cheap vinyl. You watched him take a seat on the bed and dial Ellen.

You listened idly to his side of the conversation, eventually sliding off the counter top and coming to sit behind him on the bed. You rested your head on his shoulder, sighing. It had been an oddly long day.

“But I thought you said he was a good hunter,” he was frowning.

You thought you heard her say “Hannibal Lecter”, and frowned too. Shit, was Gordon some kind of serial killer? You hoped not.

Sam’s back was warm under your cheek, but his shoulders were tense. The last few weeks hadn’t been easy. You hadn’t known John Winchester well, but the time you’d spent with him had been… Well, it hadn’t been nice exactly, but you could see the love he had for his sons. You couldn’t imagine going through what Sam had, almost losing his brother and then really losing his father in the space of a week. You thought he was handling everything reasonably well, all things considered.

There’d been one moment, just a few days ago, when you’d thought he might crack. Dean had been out like a light in the back of the car, and you’d reached around to snap a photo of him squished up against the window. You’d laughed at it – he looked ridiculous. When you’d glanced up to show Sam, he was staring straight at the road, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

“Alright?” you’d asked, and he’d nodded.

You’d frowned. “Want me to drive for a bit?”

This time, a head shake.

He wasn’t alright, you could see that clear as day. “Sam, pull over,” you said softly.

He’d swung the car off the road so abruptly you’d jerked against your seatbelt, simply sitting with his foot on the brake and both hands on the steering wheel.

You’d reached over and put the car in park, switching off the ignition. “Come on,” you’d said, “out.”

He’d leant against the side of the car, arms crossed, staring out into the field you were driving past.

“Interesting grass?” you’d asked, bumping your shoulder against his.

He hadn’t smiled exactly, but his mouth had definitely twitched up a bit at the corner. You’d consider that a win.

“Seriously,” you’d prodded. “What’s up?”

“I don’t…” He’d trailed off, picking at a loose thread on his shirt. “I can’t…”

You’d frowned as he’d shaken his head, looking anywhere but you. You’d told yourself something like this was gonna happen eventually, prepped the whole “I’m here no matter what” speech a thousand times, but now you didn’t really know what to do. The only thing you could think of was to put your hand on his back, rubbing slow, soothing circles like your kindergarten teacher used to do when you were upset.

Sam’s voice was choked when he finally spoke. “I can’t lose you.”

Four words, but you were convinced your heart had shattered right there.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said, stepping to face him. You took his hands in yours, uncrossing his arms.

“How can you–?”

You cut him off, shaking your head as you raised his hands to your face and kissed his knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere,” you repeated. “Nowhere you can’t follow.”

He’d just nodded, pulling you into a tight hug. You breathed deeply, the strong smell of the most recent laundromat’s detergent all around you, your fingers bunched in the back of Sam’s shirt.

“I’ve got your back,” you whispered. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” he murmured into your hair, “I’ve got yours, too.”

“Good.” You’d pulled away, smiling as you stretched up to kiss him. It was soft and chaste, but that was all either of you needed.

Then Dean had woken up and shouted at you to save your “romantic moments” for when you weren’t supposed to be driving. You’d grumbled that he was just jealous, which he’d vehemently denied amongst a lot of vomit noises. But later, as you’d waited for Sam to get back with lunch, he’d put his arm around your shoulders and pulled you close to his side.

“I’m glad he’s got you,” he’d said. “Real glad.”

“You’ve got me too,” you’d smiled. “Always.”

He’d just stared at you for a moment, his arm still around you, before he’d cleared his throat and stepped back. “Thanks,” he’d muttered. “‘ppreciate it.”

Now, with the same softness, you let your hand slide up Sam’s back and across his shoulders, then down his side. You brushed over his chest, down to his stomach, then back up to settle over his heart. You always forgot how big he was until you tried to get your arms around him, then it was like hugging a mountain. You loved it.

He cleared his throat.

You smiled, placing a soft kiss where his hair brushed the back of his neck, using your free hand to sweep it away.

“Ok, yeah,” Sam said to Ellen. He sighed as your lips trailed higher, up under his ear.

“Mhm, we will.” His fingers curled in the bed covers as you sucked ever so gently at the spot you’d found, the one you knew drove him insane.

“Yep, alright. Thanks, Ellen.” A forceful swallow as you rubbed slow patterns across his front, nothing but the thin material of his shirt separating your hand from his skin.

“Ok. Bye.”

You smiled as the phone beeped, then was thrown to the bed. You eased your hand under his shirt, shivering as your fingers met the warm expanse of his torso. You could touch him like this forever, if you were given the chance.

“What’re you doing?” he breathed, tilting his head back, baring his throat.

“Kissing you,” you whispered as you moved down the muscle of his neck, “touching you,” as your hand ran gently over his pectoral, thumb grazing his nipple.

“Mm, do I get to kiss you too?”

You smiled. “If you ask nicely, yeah.”

“Please?”

“Hm?”

He sighed. “(Y/N), come on.”

“Nope,” you laughed softly. “Ask nicely.”

You felt his chest heave under your hand, and you pressed your mouth to his neck again.

“Pretty please,” he murmured.

You pretended to be considering this for a moment, dragging it out. Truth be told, you wanted him to kiss you just as much as he wanted to, but God it was fun teasing a bit. Especially like this, when it was you draped over his back, hinting at giving him hickeys, touching wherever you pleased.

“Go ahead,” you replied.

Before you could even draw another breath he’d turned and brought his hand up to cup your face, pressing his lips against yours. You let him lick into your mouth, his tongue sliding languidly alongside your own, the faint taste of beer still clinging to him. It was all so soft and gentle and full of care, everything you adored about him.

He shifted back on the bed, turning to face you. Your hands were still under his shirt, arm still stretched across his body as he pushed against you.

“I love this on you,” he murmured as his hands found the opening of his jacket, pushing it back over your shoulders.

You smiled. “You want me to take it off?”

“And this.” He plucked at the t-shirt you wore underneath, already coaxing it upwards.

“Alright,” you laughed, batting his hands away. “Patience is a virtue.”

“Whoever said that clearly never met you.”

You looked away, hoping to hide the pink you could feel flooding your cheeks. However many times you did this, Sam never failed to get you flustered. You could sense his eyes on you as you stripped yourself of your shirt and his jacket, the intensity of his gaze sending shivers down your spine.

He started to shuffle back further onto the bed, one hand settling on your waist as he leant down to kiss along your jaw. You sighed, your mind halfway made up to just let him keep going like that. But no.

“Uh-uh,” you said, pushing him gently off you.

“What do you–? Oh.”

You smiled as you slid off the bed, kneeling between his legs. You ran your hand up his thigh, deftly undoing his belt and fly. Heck, you’d had practice. “Can I?”

“Yes,” he nodded quickly. “God, yes.”

You rolled your eyes, gesturing to his pants. “Well you gotta help me out a bit, yeah?”

“Sorry,” he grinned, shedding them in one smooth motion.

“And those.” You pointed at his underwear.

“Yes, your highness.”

“Damn right,” you muttered as you kissed your way up his thigh, nipping gently at the skin of his hip. He smelled of the soap from last night’s motel room, faint but still there, a little sweat from the night’s earlier action. You could taste it where your tongue touched him, and man was it good.

His voice was breathy when he asked, “You gonna keep teasing me forever?”

“Maybe.” You watched as goosebumps appeared where your breath tickled him, smiling to yourself.

“Is that what’s got you smiling like that?”

You sat back on your heels, arms resting on his knees as you looked up at him. He was so gorgeous, the shitty neon lighting of the room glancing off his hair in a kind of halo. You thought your next words through very carefully.

“No,” you said slowly. “I’m thinking about how your cock’s gonna feel in my mouth. How you’re gonna say my name when I’ve got you so deep down my throat I’m almost gagging. I bet you won’t be able to keep your hands off me, I’ll make you feel so good.”

Sam’s mouth fell open, his hands twitching where they rested on the duvet.

“What do you think?”

He swallowed. “I think I’m not even gonna take you up on that bet, I think you’re right.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok then.” You smiled, leaning forward and taking his dick in your hands. It was hard and warm to the touch, already leaking precum. You licked down, then up again, swirling your tongue around the head.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Please, (Y/N).”

“You want me to suck it?”

“Yes. Please.”

You shrugged. “Since you asked so nicely.” You sank your mouth down onto him, your hands working what wouldn’t fit. Sam’s thighs tensed, and you moved. You could have stayed like that forever, you thought, just holding him in your mouth. You had half a mind to ask about that, actually.

Sam moaned, his fingers twisting in the covers as you pulled your head back, then forward again, sucking and licking along his length. You’d wanted to take your time at first, tease him and see how long it took for him to be fisting your hair and moving your head for you. But now, breathing in the smell of him, feeling the weight and the heat of him, you were losing your composure.

“Oh my God,” he whispered as you increased your speed, your hand moving in tandem with your mouth. His dick was slick with your spit and only getting messier, something you might have been embarrassed about in the past. Now it turned you on.

You moaned, the vibrations jolting Sam’s hips despite his best efforts. You gave a tiny huff of laughter out your nose, lowering your head even further until the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat.

“(Y/N),” he panted. “Shit, (Y/N).”

“Hm?” You glanced up at him, your eyes watering slightly. He made a sound you’d thought only existed in pornos – before you met him, that was – as his hand finally flew to your hair, his fingers carding through it. He was trying so hard to be gentle, and you loved him for it.

“You look so hot like that,” he whispered. “How’re you so fucking hot?”

You smiled, your enthusiasm doubling. You vividly remembered a conversation you’d had with Sam and Dean in the car once, where Dean had proclaimed that “there are blowjobs, and then there are blowjobs.” Sam had turned and looked at you, raising an eyebrow. Dean had yelled at you both and told you to get a room. What you were doing right now was definitely a blowjob, and you were loving every second of it.

“I’m gonna cum,” Sam was panting, “(Y/N) oh my God I’m gonna cum.”

His fingers tightened in your hair, his head thrown back and his cock twitching in your mouth. You went all in, sucking and licking and jerking with everything you had in you.

Yes, you thought as you swallowed everything he gave you, basking in his muttered curses and groans like they were water and you were a wilted houseplant. This was heaven, right here. Every time you watched him come undone, you were completely convinced it couldn’t get any better than this. And without fail, the next time it did.

He was still panting as you licked him clean, as gently as you could. His hand had settled on your shoulder, large fingers caressing your skin so tenderly it made you want to cry.

“You ok?” you asked, sitting back. You patted his knee, watching his face carefully. He was flushed, a light sheen of sweat sticking some of his hair to his forehead. You hadn’t really paid much attention at the time, but now you wished you’d made him take off his shirt too. You loved watching his chest heave as he tried to catch his breath.

“Ok?” he echoed, opening his eyes. He grinned. “I’m more than ok.”

You smiled back, licking your lips. “Good.”

“Come up here,” he said, patting his leg. “And take off your pants.”

“Magic word?”

“Please.” Then, on second thoughts, “pretty please.”

You laughed, but got up and shed your jeans anyway. You slid onto his lap, straddling his thigh and wrapping your arms around his neck. He kissed you softly, holding you close against him. The material of his shirt tickled your skin, very noticeably baring you from the silken warmth of his skin.

“Off,” you said against his lips, plucking at the garment.

“Off,” he repeated, tracing the line of your underwear.

Almost perfectly in sync, the two of you shed the offending clothing.

“I love this,” he whispered as he reached behind you, deftly unfastening your bra and pulling it away from you. He set it aside carefully, almost reverently, then bent his head and fastened his mouth to your breast. “Hey,” he said after a moment, frowning.

You frowned too. “What’s wrong?”

His finger traced a delicate circle over your other breast, tapping at a spot just above your nipple. “What’s this?”

You squinted at the area, then laughed. The faded yellowish bruise wasn’t all that visible, but of course Sam would find it.

“What is it?”

“It’s a hickey. From you. From last time.”

His face cleared. “Shit, didn’t realise it’d last that long. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you smiled. “Makes me think of you whenever I see it.”

“Maybe I should give you more, then.”

Your grin widened. “Please.”

“Mm?”

You rolled your eyes. “Pretty please.”

“Ok.” He bent once more, sucking a matching spot into your unmarked breast. Then he added another one beside it, and a third right in the middle of your sternum.

“No more low cut tops, I guess,” you sighed, stifling a moan as he moved downwards with another.

“Shame,” he murmured into your skin, “I love those low cut tops.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’d be insane not to.”

You laughed, then gasped as he ran his hand up your thigh.

“Relax,” he said.

“I’m relaxed, I’m so relaxed.”

“Your heartbeat says you’re lying.”

“That’s for you,” you told him, meeting his eyes. “That’s what you do to me.”

“And this?” His finger darted between your legs, sliding easily with how wet you were.

“Yeah,” you gasped, “all for you.”

He cursed softly, then lowered you gently onto the bed. He propped himself half over you, half beside you, his hand stroking down over your stomach, your hips, around your pelvis.

“Please,” you moaned. “Sam, please.”

“Please what?”

“Touch me. Please,” you added as an afterthought.

“Nice manners,” he noted, rubbing achingly slow circles over your clit.

You gripped his arm, fingers digging into the muscle as he bent and resumed his assault on your breasts.

“You take such good care of me,” he continued, his voice muffled slightly by your soft flesh. “You always take such good care of me.”

“Cause I love you,” you whispered.

“Mhm, you gonna let me take care of you too?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Of course.”

“Good.”

You whined at the loss of his fingers on your clit, then bit your lip to quiet what would have been a loud moan as he slipped the finger inside you. The heel of his hand ground against your sensitive bundle of nerves, his finger putting just the right pressure in just the right places. You’d be a mess in no time, and you both knew it.

“Fuck, Sam,” you panted, your back arching as you chased the feeling.

“Hm?” His chest was warm where it pressed against your side, the muscles of his arm rippling subtly under the skin where your fingers dug into him. His free hand stroked your shoulder, his mouth busy littering your chest with hickeys. You could feel him growing hard again against your thigh.

“Fuck me?” you half asked, half offered.

He grunted softly at your words, nodding. “Got a condom?”

“Mhm, yeah, sure. One sec.” You reached over to your jeans, rummaging in the pockets until you struck gold. Or foil, you supposed. You watched as Sam tore it open and slid it on, as easily as if he was tying shoelaces. He’d gotten stupidly fast at putting the things on, courtesy of the whole “Dean could get back any minute so let’s just be as fast as we can” element you so often found yourselves dealing with. You weren’t complaining.

“Ready?” he asked, positioning himself between your legs. You rocked your hips gently, feeling his hardness pressed against your dripping centre.

He nodded, then softly slid inside you. You both gasped at the feeling, the familiar stretch and the warmth of it. It was like he was made for you, the way he fit.

“Fuck,” you whispered, your fingers twisting in the duvet.

“Alright?” he asked, and you nodded.

“Move,” you urged him. He did, slow and gentle. The light was doing that thing with his hair again, and you wanted nothing more than to run your fingers through it. Brush it off his forehead, kiss him there, smooth the faint worry line that seemed to be present more and more frequently. You’d do anything to make it disappear forever.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, leaning forward to deliver more kisses to your chest. You were gonna have a whole forest of hickeys when you were done.

“You feel good,” you replied. Your breath was coming short, a light sheen of sweat gathering over your skin even though you weren’t the one doing all the work.

“Touch yourself,” he encouraged you, “I want you to cum while I’m fucking you.”

“Shit, ok,” you replied, reaching down and running a finger in tiny circles over your clit. You loved how easily you could give and take control with him, how quickly and smoothly you could switch roles when you wanted to. It wasn’t just in bed, either, and you adored it. You adored him.

Your own hand combined with the steady thrusting of his dick was perfect. You weren’t going to last long, and judging by Sam’s shuddering breaths and muttered curses, your name sprinkled throughout, neither was he.

“(Y/N), fuck,” he moaned, his abdominal muscles twitching and tensing.

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasped as you felt the tightness coiling inside you, more, more, more– “Holy fuck, I’m gonna–” You released with a frantic cry of his name, your spine arching and your legs locking around his hips. You felt yourself contract around his dick, the stuttering of his strokes as he too reached his climax.

He slowed eventually, coming to a stop as the tremors receded from your body and your brain returned to your head. You were spent, content to lie there with his warm, comforting weight on top of you until the world stopped turning.

He rolled off you, peeling off the condom and tying it neatly before tossing it to the floor to be disposed of later. You turned to face him, your head resting on his bicep, his other arm draped over your side. His hand stroked your back, soft and loving.

You smiled as you reached up, sweeping the hair from his face. “You good?” you murmured, cupping his cheek gently.

He nodded, leaning forward to kiss you softly. You reciprocated, then stretched up and placed a kiss on his forehead.

“How about you?” he asked.

“I’m great.” Then you sighed, your thumb stroking tiny arcs across the curve of his cheekbone. “You’re so beautiful,” you whispered.

“Look at you,” he answered. “You’re so beautiful.”

You closed the few inches of space between you, pressing your lips to his. “I really do love you,” you said as you pulled away. “So much.”

He smiled. “I know, I love you too. More than anything.”

You went to kiss him again, but his phone buzzed and you froze. He groped for it blindly, frowning. You’d both learnt the hard way that if his phone went off and Dean wasn’t with you, it was best to check it.

Sam snorted, flipping it around for you to see.

The text, from Dean, was two sentences. “Back in 1/2 hour. Get decent.”

“Screw you, Dean.”

Sam laughed, tossing the phone to the side. “I guess we’ve got half an hour.”

“I’m taking a shower then,” you said. “I saw a vending machine, like, right outside, and I really want a soda right now.”

“I’ll get you a soda if you let me take the shower with you?”

“Deal.” You held out your hand as if to shake on it, but he kissed it instead. Yeah, “gentleman” was definitely high up on that list.

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