sorry only just saw this!!
so i finally did the one with charlie and the bone marrow!!
also hope y’all have happy holidays umu
Charlie taps the Star Wars theme tune in the wooden arm of the chair, slowly at first, but quickly increasing in speed until it all becomes a jumble of thuds and that grumpy overweight middle aged man in the corner’s unkempt eyebrows almost totally cover his eyes. You clap your hand over hers.
“Hey. It’s gonna be okay.” You rub soothing circles into the pale smoothness of the back of her hand and glance up at her pasty pallor. It could’ve been the cream coloured everything of the numerous hard surfaces in the room reflecting on her skin, but it also could’ve been the fact she was about to get pregnant. With your baby.
She smiles at you briefly before looking down at your hands. “Yeah, I know, you’re right. It’s just – this is so friggin’ scary, y’know, like – after I was sure I played for this team I kinda thought that was synonymous with not having kids.”
Your brow puckers slightly.
“Not that – not that I’m having second thoughts. At all. Though I’m scared as hell about all this mom stuff I’m also totally excited and there’s no-one I wanna make babies with more than you.” She frowns. “That sounded more romantic in my head.”
You chuckle. This had to be why you loved her. Or, not to mention the fact she was gorgeous, or she had amazing taste in music, video games, TV, films, or the fact she was the sweetest and cleverest person you had ever – or would ever, you were pretty sure – met. You lean forward and peck her on the lips, and before you have the chance to say anything more a female doctor pops her head out of the door, “Charlie Bradbury and Y/N?”
Your fingers on her hand stop to clasp it and pull her, along with yourself, to your feet. She squeezes your hand extremely tightlyand both of you follow Dr. Pond, as it said on her name badge, into the light.
It’s only when you both reach the car that either of you stop to take it in.
Charlie takes a deep breath in. “I’m pregnant. Oh my God.”
You nod dazedly. “You’re pregnant.”
She turns to you. “I’m pregnant!” Then and there her face is a ray of sunshine – not a boiling, spitting ball of magma – a star; happiness; the light. It’s goodness. The most genuine grin spreads across her face and it’s infectious. You pull her close to you, tight. You read somewhere once that no matter how hard you try, there will always be a microscopic area of space between two surfaces. Right now, that has to be impossible. Your bodies are pressed together into the tightest hug imaginable that somewhere turns into a deep kiss which makes your legs go weak.
You’re not sure how long the two of you are stood there for, but when you pull back the sun is going down. You let out a small laugh.
A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Imagine what the guys’ll say.”
The two of you descend the somehow pristinely pearly polished wood of the opening stairs down to the bunker, hands still clasped tightly together.
When you arrive on the main floor, Cas is standing there with his usual stoic, confused expression and his head whips around like a cat on your arrival. His eyes narrow – hey, nothing new.
“You okay, Cas…tiel?” Charlie’d only met Cas last week and, despite you telling her otherwise, had insisted she didn’t have nickname rights to him yet since she didn’t share a ‘profound bond’ with him – whatever that meant – but couldn’t seem to get out of the habit of using it.
“Yes, I’m fine.” His head cocks sideways. “You’re… Different, Charlie.”
“What d’you mean?” You chip in.
His eyes narrow further.
It all comes out of her like vomit, then: “I’mpregnant.”
His eyes move to space on the floor in front of your feet.
“…With Y/N’s baby.”
His eyes flicker up to yours. “You must be mistaken. That is biologically impossible.”
You attempt to help. “No, Cas, see, there’s this thing in modern medicine with bone marrow –”
“Hey, so, I’m thinkin’ tonight we order pizza. My baby’s all fixed up, the world can put its crap on hold –” Dean’s footsteps echo loudly around the bunker whilst he dusts his hands off on his jeans. “What’s up?”
You and Charlie exchange glances for a couple of seconds.
“Hey, what’s goin’ on? You gonna tell me or we playin’ Charades?”
Charlie pulls herself in close to you so your face muffles her speech when she talks. “You’re gonna be an uncle.”
Dean’s eyes widen then he frowns and his jaw sets in a hard line. “Sammy!”
A distant “yeah?” is thrown off the walls, which is followed by footsteps.
“No, no – Dean, no, it’s – it’s gonna be me.” Charlie blurts before Dean can say anything else.
His brow furrows even more. “But you don’t… Did some guy – hell, did some guy do something to you? ‘Cus I swear to god I will hunt the bastard down and –”
“No! No, no! The baby’s Y/N’s.”
He looks around the room like he’s trying to figure this out. “But…” He blinks a few times. “You know, I might be wrong, but don’t you need a guy to do that?” He pauses. “Wait, did you get one of your, uh, LARPing buddies to jack off into a jar for you and do it that way?”
“Ew! Dude, no! Oh, ew, Dean. Seriously?”
“No, we –”
“Hey, everything okay?” Sam sounds mildly breathless upon his abrupt arrival into the ‘dining room’.
“Charlie’s pregnant. It’s mine. Before you ask, just listen, okay?”
His mouth opens, then closes, then he simply nods.
“We’ve been planning this for ages, we – we really wanted a kid together but of course we…” You look down and clear your throat. “Yeah.” You look up again. “And we thought how totally awesome it’d be if it was, you know, ours, and not some random donor that would never be a part of this baby’s life.” You swallow. “So my doctor told me about this new thing that’s coming in. It – it uses your bone marrow, to, uh, make… The lil’ wrigglers, and it works that way. So it’s biologically yours. Or mine.” You look around at their faces.
Cas is intensely staring at you with a frown on his face, unwavering. Dean’s eyes flicker between you and Charlie, as if he can’t quite comprehend what you’ve just told him. Sam looks thoughtful and after about 10 seconds breaks the thick silence by stepping towards you both and pulling Charlie and you into a bear hug.
“That’s amazing! So I’m gonna be an uncle?”
Charlie grins and nods.
Sam begins laughing and it’s catching. Soon, the three of you are in hysterics and after a minute or so you remember Cas and Dean. You lean round Sam to peek out at them and are dismayed to see both still standing there with frowns on their faces and your smile slips away.
You step out of the hug to place yourself directly in front of Dean. He slowly shakes his head whilst staring you down, an unreadable expression on his face, and your heart sinks. God, no. He had to be one of the only people you absolutely knew you wanted to meet this kid, to be in his or her life, and if he wanted nothing to do with it…
Dean swallows thickly, and before you know it has stepped forward to envelop you totally in a hug. His left hand curls over the back of your head and he buries his nose in your hair, and that’s when you know it’s going to be alright. This is how he interacted with Charlie – this is how he interacted with a sister.
“If it’s a boy you better call it Dean, okay?” He mumbles into your hair.
You grin and nod into him, softly making a sound of agreement. Just like you did with Sam, though, you peek round his shoulder to see Cas, who is now looking at Charlie intently whilst she chats animatedly to Sam.
His eyes snap to you.
You pause. “What do you think?”
He gives a small nod. “Congratulations.”
“You don’t… You don’t think it’s, uh, weird?”
“I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation. ‘Children are a heritage of the Lord’.”
You’re not totally sure what that means, but you nod and smile anyway.
Love is love, no matter where it comes from.
You stare forward at the Impala’s dashboard heavily shadowed in 2am gloom, and consider all the options. Sam was definitely on the demon blood, most likely Ruby’s – that much you know.
You feel a painful jolt of a jealousy thinking about Ruby. What could she give Sam, besides her blood, that you couldn’t? Did Sam like her?
You’d been able to have a slight grip on the situation at first. Some nights he’d sleep with his head in your lap and whenever he had a funny start you’d run your hands through his hair soothingly and offer him some sleep meds.
But then there came a time where it stopped working. He twitched and writhed and beads of sweat and tears dripped down his temples and soaked your trousers. You’d pressed a light kiss to his forehead and whispered about how strong he was in his ear – like a mother would – but that didn’t work either.
One night, though, he stopped. Stopped wriggling and squirming and just lay peacefully for the first time in months. You’d glanced over at Dean and he’d just shrugged, so you’d thought yeah, maybe he is getting better.
You’d let your eyelids slip closed into a dreamless slumber.
You tuck your knees up to hug them and curse yourself. You should’ve known. If it seems too good to be true, it usually is.
Dean looks sidelong at you. “You haven’t eaten for 48 hours. I’m stoppin’ off at the next food place, okay?”
You shake your head and mumble a muffled “no,” but Dean ignores this and a half hour later he pulls into a truck stop and gets out, giving the instruction for you to stay put. Where the hell would you go anyway?
While you wait you drum rhythms on the leather seat. 2 days he’d been gone. You could travel a long way in two days, which snakes doubt into your mind. Dean was pretty confident he could find him (“what don’t I know about that kid?”) but he must know that if Sam doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be.
You jump slightly when Dean opens the door and tosses you some chocolate and a couple of juice boxes, then gets in.
The corner of your mouth pulls up slightly. “Nutritional, huh?”
He raises an eyebrow sarcastically. “Well it’s that or beef jerky.”
Hours later you you’re standing outside the hotel Dean seems to be positive Sam is staying at.
You open your mouth to speak again but Dean cuts you off. “I swear to God if you ask me whether I’m sure it’s here one more time, I am dumping your ass on a one way train ride to Mexico.”
You hold your hands up in mock defeat. “Okay, okay, just checking.” Looking up at the ominous doors beneath the harsh glow of a neon sign and your grin fades. You’re worried you’re not going to like what you see.
Dean takes a sharp breath in. “Okay, let’s do this,” he says under his breath and checks his pockets. “Got your salt and gun?”
You nod and your heart speeds up. It’s partially adrenaline – you get to end Ruby, here, tonight – but it’s also the thought of seeing Sam again. When you’d all met in a bar years and years ago, you’d thought he was pretty cute. When you’d got talking, you’d thought he was pretty nice. When you’d gone hunting, you’d thought he was pretty clever. But when he’d gotten ill, you’d realised you weren’t sure if you could live without him, and that scared you.
You load your gun and hold it close to you out of habit. Bullets couldn’t kill a demon, sure, but they could incapacitate one long enough for Dean to shove a knife in its neck.
There’s nobody at reception – if there was, they’d probably call the cops because of a guy and a girl walking through with pistols – so you slip by undetected.
You follow Dean up a flight of stairs and he edges on to a landing and stops by door 66, gesturing for you to stand the other side of the frame. You silently follow the instructions.
Dean wordlessly counts down from three on his fingers and busts in with brute force. You follow him in and spot Ruby – but not Sam – immediately. Rage fills you, it courses through your veins and in a second you’re across the room and have her against the wall, your arm jammed over her meatsuit’s windpipe. “Dean!” you signal desperately and he’s next to you in a millisecond, the knife nearly –
Suddenly he’s thrown backwards and you look back in confusion when you are, too.
You’re still standing up, just, but Dean is splayed out on the floor coughing whilst you blink the lights away from your eyes.
“Guys, I’m glad you’re both here,” Sam says looking between the two of you, “let’s just talk this out.”
“Sam, she’s killing you! Can’t you see what an idiot you’re being?” As soon as it comes out you want to take it all back. Shove it back down your throat and bury it.
Sam stares at you. Just stares, and oh God, it’s the worst stare imaginable. Hurt mingles with sadness mixes with an undertone of anger.
You shake your head slowly. “Sam that’s not what I –”
“No, she ain’t goin’ anywhere,” Dean cuts in.
Ruby merely looks at Sam, but his gaze is still locked on you, so she exits so quietly it’s as if she was never here. You wish she was never here.
Sam’s voice is tight and restrained when he speaks. “She’s helping me find Lilith.”
Your breath gets stuck in your throat. “No, she’s manipulating you!”
“Listen – we’ve got a lead on a demon close to Lilith, what’s the problem with that, huh? Neither of you have one.”
“We can do this without Ruby. Just us three.”
“I don’t get why you even hate her so much. She’s helping me!”
“That’s crap, Sam! Why can’t you let Dean help?” You gesture to him. “Why not me?”
“Because Ruby can give me what I need – she supports me, and with her blood I can kill Lilith.”
Your voice is still ascending and you can’t stop it. “Ruby isn’t the answer to everything, you know!”
He frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well,” your voice wavers and wobbles dangerously but you’ve started now and can’t stop. “Does Ruby stay up so she can hold your hand if you have a bad turn? Does she worry about you constantly? About how you’re slipping away from her with every second that falls away and there is nothing – absolutely nothing – she can do about it but sit and wait and hope that she can be the light that leads you out of the dark? Does her whole being hurt at the thought of losing you or – or how much she loves you?” Your breathing is heavy and fast like you’ve just ran a marathon for a few moments, then you realise what you’ve said. Your eyes widen and you take a step back, your mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.
His eyes focus hazily on the space above your head. “What?”
When you next speak, it’s a whisper. “I’m so scared, Sam.”
His eyes slowly, so slowly, drop back to fix yours in a stare.
And the next time he blinks, his eyes are black.
from sam & dean’s perspective or yours??
aka jared and gen haha
beware it gets smutty at the end!! double beware bc i am terrible at smut!!!
You sit down wearily in an equally weary diner somewhere in Kentucky and pick at the peeling faded lino seat. Some part of your brain comments that it’s a shame, really, since this could’ve been a nice place.
Your head snaps up when you hear a voice. It belongs to a balding, overweight bearded man in leather who looks notably out of place. Speaking, or rather leering, directly to your chest, he winks. “Free later, darling?” and licks his lips.
He looks taken aback for a second and his grin disappears. For a few moments panic flashes through you and it seems as if he’s going to use force, but his chin merely juts forward and he mutters “dumb bitch,” before wandering off.
You shift about uncomfortably. You hate getting your boobs out at the best of times, but in certain places – such as this – where the police force was predominantly male, using your assets to your advantage couldn’t hurt.
You’ve just about finished your beer when the police scanner crackles to life. Another death, this time a few blocks away. You frown. In daylight?
You stride out to the car park and select a car. You scan the area to make sure nobody’s around before easily breaking in and hotwiring it to start. Sure, you could have walked, but with 6 inch heels on you’d have bloody stumps by the end of it.
After a minute or two you find the place easily enough. The police tape is a dead giveaway.
Making your way through the crowd that has begun to gather, a tubby police officer with an extravagant moustache steps forward to meet you. “How may I help you, ma’am?”
You stick your chest forward not-so-subtly and flutter your eyelashes slightly, touching his shoulder with newly manicured nails. “Detective Balgrove, FBI.”
He nods and lifts the tape up to let you through. “FBI sure got here quick,” he remarks, but doesn’t make an effort to stop you. He says something else indistinctly that you don’t catch, but you don’t bother to ask for a repeat since it could easily lead on to a wait, who the hell are you?
A couple of middle-aged policemen mill about inside, taking little notice of you, save for ogling gazes.
The place itself is a small grocery store with no more than two or three aisles, and an exhausted décor not dissimilar in atmosphere from the diner, although a little less colourful. The shelves are filled with own-brand long life packet mixes that probably contained little natural substance in.
You scan them for any telltale hexbags or sulfur on your way to the scene in order to rule out the possibilities with a familiar metallic smell filling the air. It was rather ironic how you were often around blood, being a hunter and all, but you could only barely tolerate it at the best of times – and now was no exception.
Your mind whirs. Not a demon or witch, then. Angel? Very unlikely. Ghost? Probably.
You’re about to round the corner when your feet are nailed to the cheap lino and your blood runs cold.
10 million square kilometres and he’s here?
No. It had to be a mistake.
Your body reacts before your brain does, and you’re backing away towards the door. Suddenly the air seems heavy and this room too small and the bloody stench clogging your nostrils.
Your hand is on the door handle when it happens. The unthinkable.
Your opportunities sprint through your mind. Walk out and ignore him? He’d probably check the shop’s tapes for confirmation it was really you. Turn around? He thought you were dead, for crying out loud. How would that play out? Yeah, sorry for ditching you, Dean; but hey, I’m alive!
Maybe Sam would help you out? Yeah, of course he would. Sam was the one who facilitated your whole Sherlock Holmes getaway, after all.
A few tense seconds pass and all three of you are silent.
What are you waiting for?
You turn around slowly to face him but don’t meet his eyes. He’ll crush you with them and you both know it.
“Dean.” You swallow.
He simply stares at you for what seems like a lifetime, and is only broken when Sam clears his throat.
Dean looks at his little brother then back at you. “We need to talk.” His voice is tight and closed and everything you wish it wasn’t.
“I don’t think that’s –” You begin, but he cuts you off.
“We’re staying at Sleep Inn.”
You’re either about to burst into tears or vomit or both at once. “Dean, I don’t think that’s such a great idea. Let’s just forget this ever happened.” You turn around to the door.
His jaw and fist tighten simultaneously. “Yeah, no. Not gonna happen.”
You close your eyes. He’s right. Oh, God, he’s right. Dean Winchester is the world’s best tracker with the determination of a hellhound. He’d find you wherever you went. “You going all Liam Neeson on me?” You let out a jittery laugh that falls noticeably short of its target of humour.
Dean ignores you and turns to the shop owner. After a few quiet words with him, and subsequently Sam, they both walk towards you so you’re left with no choice but to exit the shop.
Suddenly the 80 degree heat is way, way too hot and you clutch your throat, forcing in the oxygen to your lungs.
A hand on your back makes you jump about 10 feet in the air and instinctively pull away slightly, but it merely follows. For a second you’re terrified it’s Dean, but to your minimal relief it’s his younger brother. You send him a pleading look but he presses his lips together and looks away.
You note how his hair has really let itself go, and it flows like a lion’s mane to brush his shoulders. This would be acceptable, but Dean’s hasn’t changed at all, so you figure maybe there must be opportunity to get their cut at some point, so really there’s no excuse.
These thoughts take place in the small part of your brain that isn’t in overload. It’s like someone crossed the wires and everything is crashing into each other at once, threatening to cut out completely.
You three arrive at the Impala. Oh God, the Impala. Hours and hours in there you’d spent – sometimes it was way too hot and you melted into the leather seats; the rattling in the air conditioning had annoyed you no end. Sometimes it was too cold and its complete lack of insulation had meant you’d frozen until Dean bought you a huge fur blanket. Sometimes you rode in the front with Dean and sometimes, just sometimes, he’d let you choose the music. And in extremely rare cases, he wouldn’t even complain.
Then there were the times in there where it was you two alone. You blush slightly. Those times were the best.
You sit in the back – it goes without saying you’d promptly lost front seat priveliges – and for a few seconds there’s a horrid, arid silence that you’re too scared to shatter.
“Why’d you do it?”
You attempt to swallow down the lump in your throat. “Dean, I’m –”
“Yeah, you’re sorry. That’s what everyone says. Funny, that.” He pauses as if to let you speak, but carries on. “Way I see it, you ditched me and Sam when we needed you most and let us think you were friggin’ dead.”
“I can’t change that.”
“Too damn bad, Y/N. I trusted you!” His volume rises a few notches. “Doing this stuff when it suits you!”
You raise your voice, too. “It did not suit me! How could you even think that?”
“Oh yeah? Like the time in Salt Lake City?”
You fall silent. He was bringing up Salt Lake City. He was bringing up Salt Lake City. That was a low blow.
The three of you say nothing for the remaining 20 minutes of the journey, at the end of which you pull up to a duffed-up motel that was once called Sleep Inn, but as a result of the missing letter, it now reads “Seep Inn”. Huh.
Sam and Dean get out and straighten up, Sam managing to hit his head in the process, and both begin walking to the reception. You stay sat where you are, trying to prolong the time before the inevitable.
Dean would make you crumble, you know that. He would crumple you and tear you into pieces without so much as touching you, which was both the worst and best thing about him. He hated what he dubbed “chick flick moments”, aka showing emotion, but if you lifted the mask then he was emotion all over, and you kind of loved it.
They return, Dean raising his eyebrows at you as signal to get out, and you follow the wordless instructions silently. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
The sick feeling wells up; your head pounds, but somehow your feet are still moving.
Once inside, Dean closes the door behind you and you cross the room to slump into the cheap off-white plastic chair by the matching table and stare at that dodgy yellow stain on the floor.
Dean rubs his face. “Okay, uh…” He turns to look at Sam pointedly. When Sam just raises his eyebrows, he raises them back. Eventually Sam rolls his eyes and leaves, the sound of the Impala’s husky voice growling and her tires chewing the gravel, before speeding off.
You look up at Dean. “You’re letting him take it?”
You both laugh, and it’s a nice but surreal moment.
You’d hoped for a while that you could just get over him, and you’d tried. You really had. You’d had fling after fling and even been on dates just to try out different guys, even if you weren’t looking for anything long term; just something to get him out of your brain.
It hadn’t even worked.
“I missed you.” You say quietly.
He lets out a short, sarcastic laugh.
He turns around so his back is facing you, but you still see the tremble of his shoulders and stand up to brace yourself.
“You’re friggin’ impossible.” Barely contained anger tinges Dean’s voice and you wince. He spins around suddenly, causing you to shrink back in your chair.
“What the Hell were you thinking? Did you even stop to think about how it made me feel? I thought you werestone cold dead!”
You jump up with such vigour the chair tips over and clatters to the floor, but you’re too furious to care. “I did it for you!”
“Cut the crap, Y/N! How the fuck was that for me, huh? Yeah, sure, thinking you were dead like pretty much everyone else close to me was darned peachy!”
“Hey, and you know what the worst thing of all was? Feeling like I’d failed you like every other God forsaken thing that I care about. I don’t need to feel like crap! I don’t need it!”
You take a step towards him, so you’re close enough to touch his chest. “That’s your problem, Dean, you keep trying to look after me all the time. Well newsflash: I’m not a kid and I can look after myself!” You punctuate each word of the last sentence with a jab of your index finger to his broad chest.
There’s a brief pause, then Dean is leaning down and you’re meeting him halfway with your lips. You crush together with some force and you feel the anger, the passion, and the hunger pulsing through him as he turns you 90 degrees and slams you into the wall, his mouth never leaving yours.
You link your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him and extinguishing any space between your bodies. Without your brain telling your body to, you grind into him, never wanting to leave – but Dean abruptly pulls away.
Your mind flails for a few hundredths of a second. Does he not want me? Am I unattractive? Have I lost it? Is he having second thoughts?
Your thoughts are interrupted when he tugs off your blazer and attempts to undo your blouse before getting frustrated and ripping it open, buttons flying everywhere.
He does the same with his own blazer and shirt, forgetting the tie so it lay on his bare chest. Obstructing his bare chest. You rectify that by undoing the knot with ease and throwing it over his shoulder.
Momentarily you pause and stare up at his green eyes – like in some kind of movie – marvelling a little at the beauty of them for a second, when Dean cuts you off by rather forcefully pulling him into you again.
You unbuckle his belt and pull down his flannels, bending down, pausing by his crotch and noticing the bulge straining through the grey fabric. Dean’s breathing suddenly becomes even more erratic and you look up to see his lip trembling slightly, him staring down at you with pure lust.
You stand up and he groans slightly, to which you smirk. Yep, you definitely did still have it.
He removes your skirt and tights with ease so you’re both standing there in only your underwear. Just for a second or two you pause to take the vision of him in. God, he was gorgeous. You loved every little bit of his personality, his quirks and all, of course, but damn, was he beautiful.
You reach to lay a hand over his heart, which beats in competition with a hummingbird’s, and he shudders.
Again with an abrupt action, he grips your elbow to jerk you towards him and undoes your bra. You assist by pulling down your panties, scrunching them up and launching them across the room. Dean does the same with his boxer briefs until you’re both standing completely nude.
You wait for him to make the first move toward you – you always did – but all of a sudden his eyes flash with fury. It’s then you remember you’re pissed.
Dean rams his fist into the wall above you. “Damn it, this is your fault!”
You place both hands on his chest and shove him away with as much force as you can muster. It does force him back a pace, but he’s a hefty guy.
“My fault? My fault? I was fucking protecting you because of your fucking incompetent hunting skills and I had to get Sam to help me!”
“Sam helped you?” Dean’s breathing and volume increase even more. “You’re telling me Sam freaking helped you?” He regains his space lost and rests his elbows either side of your head, pinning you in place.
You swallow. You can feel his rage radiating from him, and you see his Adam’s apple go into overdrive.
“You fuck him?”
“No.” You shoot out.
“You’re mine.” He all but growls.
You tip your head up to meet his eyes and lick your upper lip. Through gritted teeth you mimic his voice. “Says who?” Your eyes flicker down and then up at him again. Go on, you will him.
Impulsively and quickly he thrusts his hips to yours so they touch, and you let out an audible gasp as he enters you.
You’re letting out shallow, jagged breaths, and so is Dean, but he collects himself enough to pin both your arms above your head and stare you hard in the eye, nostrils flaring.
You let out a small laugh and that’s it. He’s gone.
Dean pounds into you, squeezing moans and grunts out of the both of you. It’s sore for lack of lubricant, but so, so, good. So right.
You feel Dean’s on the edge before he says it. “Y/N,” he says softly at first. “Y/N!” His voice raises, and you feel a warm pool in your belly.
“Hold on for me,” you breathe, it growing by the second. “Hold on for me - oh, God, D-Dean,” your right hand grabs a hunk of his hair whilst the left scratches at his back. “Dean!” And you’re gone, which sends him over the edge. You pull your legs up around his waist and clench around him while he lets out the most delicious moan you’ve ever heard, and you’re sure you’ll utterly lose it unless you do something. You bite down hard on to Dean’s shoulder so he reciprocates by pressing little hickies down your collar bone, all the while the both of you riding out the orgasm.
When you’re finally done you’re both shaking with your heads leant on each other’s shoulders and neither of you say a word.
When your breathing slows, he slips out of you without a word. You expect him to walk away and start pulling his clothes on, since he’s still supposedly mad at you, but instead he gives you a smile. A perfect smile, the smile you’d been waiting for, the smile that secretly holds a ray of sunshine and a look in his eyes like he genuinely thinks you’re the most perfect thing in the world. He shakes his head slightly,
“God, I love you.”
sounds awesome omg but do you mean like an au or???
maybe possibly but i don’t know man if i’m in the mood then i guess
i guess you wanted sex in this but i’m crap at smut so
You twist round to examine the gash on your torso that extends from your right armpit and curves round to end at the small of your back. You touch the sticky, deep ruby mess tentatively and quickly shove your fist in your mouth to choke back the scream.
This was only your third hunt without Sam and Dean, so you were most definitely not calling them back for help. Of course you three had agreed it was a mutual decision for you to break off from them, but it had been obvious they were reluctant to let you go since you had an inane habit of losing yourself in the hunt and getting hurt. Just like now.
Which was precisely why you needed to deal with this yourself.
The mash of tears and blood and sweat on your face creates a stench of plain fear. You try to put blinkers up in your mind – focus on what’s happening now. Nevertheless, there’s still a section of your conscious that drifts from the task in hand and can’t help noticing all that flesh reflected back at you in the mirror. You’d stripped in order to attend to all your wounds, that being the practical thing to do, but you can’t help wishing all the reflective surfaces away.
You pause to examine yourself in the full length one. Your hair is knotted and your face mottled almost beyond recognition. Some twisted part of you is slightly glad about that – you always hated your facial features, too.
You lean over to your makeshift first aid kit of dental floss, alcohol and a needle, and pull out your lighter shakily to disinfect the sharp point. You squeeze your eyes shut and swallow to brace yourself and are just about to pierce the skin when you hear your name.
Your hand goes to the handle of your pure iron dagger and you spin around.
You narrow your eyes. “Cas?”
“Y/N. What happened?” His eyes scan your body so that you remember your lack of clothing.
You scream and pull the dank blanket of the bed up around yourself, tipping some of its contents off in the process. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”
His eyebrows knot together. “You prayed.”
You frown back. “No I didn’t. I…” It is then that it dawns on you. “Idiots! Fucking following me!” Your hand closes around the neck of the bottle you wish was one of theirs and hurl it across the room. In the anger you forget about the wound in your side, but the action causes the nerves to flash red hot and make you yell out in pain, clutching it.
“Y/N, let me see,” Cas says in his broad, commanding voice.
“No!” You sob, attempting to pull the bedclothes further up to your neck.
He frowns. “Why are you –”
“Look at me, Cas! I’m hideous!”
“I don’t understand.”
“My body – it’s grotesque! My face – God, it’s –” You squeeze both of your own cheeks, wincing as you do so. “Get out.” You stand up, stumbling slightly, and cross the area between the two of you, shoving him with as much force as you can muster. “Get out!”
He stays put and doesn’t respond for a second or two, but when you attempt to back up to the bed, he cups your cheek, holding you in place. “You are God’s creation. His creation is perfect.”
“Guess I’m an exception to the rule.” You spit out and tug away.
His jaw clenches and a bright light fills the room, but you only realise what he’s doing too late.
In your improved state you shove him again and this time he takes a step back. “You asshole!” You scream, spewing various other profanities. “I could’ve done it myself!”
He’s quiet for a few moments. “You don’t like your aesthetic appearance.”
You fold your arms in what you hope is an aggressive way. “Yes. And?”
You roll your eyes, making an ‘ugh’ sound, turning away.
“It doesn’t make sense. Why would you think that?” He pauses briefly. “You’re beautiful.”
yeah this is really shitty soz