SPN, VCR was set for S1 E1

It started off purely out of curiosity. You'd been together before and he noticed a pattern, after a certain touch here, special attention there, you'd unravel faster. So he decided to see just how fast.

Then how slow.

He wanted to draw out your pleasure for as long as possible, and he was intrigued by how long he could keep you just on the brink of an orgasm. He decided to test his theories late one night in the bunker.

Sam and Dean were out of town seeing old hunting buddies, leaving you and Cas alone. Initially, you had been excited to have the place to yourselves, eager to be as loud as you wanted.

Of course, Cas made you feel a slight tinge of regret that you didn't exactly have a time limit on when the boys would be back.

You were watching TV, relaxing for the first time in a while when Castiel appeared beside you. You were happy to see him, dragging him down to binge your favourite reality show together.

After a while, you were starting to get a little too cozy. Hands roaming, drifting, touching. In a split second, he whisked you up and sat you on his lap.

You could feel the bulge in his pants immediately.

It wasn't too obvious, meaning he was just a little turned on, a challenge in your eyes.

You shifted, seemingly readjusting yourself, but you purposely pushed your ass against him repeatedly, grinding down.

You could feel it working.

You continued your work through the show, not caring about whatever the hell was going on that wasn't you and your Angel.

You felt his hand creep up your thigh, toying with the waist band of your pants.

"Be good and sit still" He half growled, lips brushing your skin, breath unfairly hot.

You let out a shaky breath, followed by another as his fingers slipped down into your pants, forefinger tracing a line over your already soaked underwear.

"All this so fast?" It almost sounded like a real question, but it held that slight air of pride, he did this to you, no one else.

He traced the edges of the cotton for far too long, running along the seams, getting you all hot and bothered and on the verge of begging. He watched as the speed of every inhale you took grew more rapid, your skin beginning to heat up, almost shining with sweat.

Then he dipped a finger in.

Just enough to collect your slick, gently and far too slowly stroking from your opening to your clit. He repeated the action, back and forth, back and forth, working you up until you threw your head back against his shoulder, struggling for breath and trying your hardest not to writhe and squirm.

He pressed a barely there kiss to your cheek, changing his motions. He moved to circle your clit, speeding up and slowing back down intermittently, bringing you right to the edge then calming you back down. It was borderline torturous.

Even more so when every now and then, very randomly, he'd dip the tip of his finger inside you, nowhere near enough to make you cum, just enough to push you that little bit further.

Your fingers dug into his thighs, nails sure to leave little crescent marks even through his pants. You could feel his slight smirk against your neck, revelling in your almost silent little sounds but wanting just a bit more.

"We're alone, my love. You can be as loud as you like"

He punctuated his statement by slipping his finger all the way inside your dripping cunt, pulling a pathetic moan out of you, twitching up in his lap, craving more movement.

"Please Cas!" You cried out, grinding your hips up against his hand, trying to pull any movement from him you could.

"I said" A low rumble came from his chest "Sit still"

His other hand clamped down onto your hip, his grip bruising, borderline shattering.

You let out a soft whine, half-heartedly writing in place, just begging for something.

He kept toying with you, fingers barely moving, gathering more and more of your slick between your thighs.

He did this for hours, bringing you right up to the edge only to pull you back down.

It was torture, pure, cruel torture.

And you couldn't get enough of it.

Your chest was heaving, rising and falling with each painful breath you took. Sweat coated your skin, glistening around your neck. Sweat mixed with Castiel's saliva after he left mark after mark across you, littering your body with his claim.

"C-Castiel" You panted, brain too foggy to say much more "Please, let- let me come. Please Angel"

"First, work for it"

His voice was distant, like he didn't care, but that couldn't be further from the truth. 99% of the time, giving you pleasure was his number one focus.

But today was that special little 1%.

In the flash of your eyes opening and closing, he flipped you over, positioning your dripping core over his thigh.

"Show me what you want"

You took a shuddering, deep breath. Swallowing hard and closing your eyes as you readjusted yourself in his lap, planting your knees firmly. Your hands came to the back of his neck, holding steady, forearms finding purachse along his shoulders.

You rolled your hips experimentally, letting out the slightest whimper, the muscles in your thighs pulling, a little sore from Castiel's teasing.

You pushed through the pain, finding pleasure fast. His pants bunched up just a tad, your clit catching and rubbing in just the right way.

You closed your eyes and tilted your head back, your mouth dropping open as your pleasure built.

Castiel watched you, almost too captivated by what he thought to be your divine beauty to stop you.

Almost.

Just as your breath hitched and your orgasm approached, his hand gripped your waist tight, halting your movements immediately.

"Cas!" You whined, head falling to his shoulder "Please! Just let me cum" You gave a pathetic attempt at a thrust through your sobs.

"I want to see your eyes while you beg"

You lifted your head up, a few inches from his, staring into those deep, blue, lustblown eyes.

"Cas, ple-"

You cried out as a loud crack resounded through the room, his palm crashing against your thigh.

"Say my real name"

"C-Castiel!" You cried, trembling "Please Castiel, please let me cum. Please fuck me, Angel, please, please!"

"Since you asked so nicely" He let a small smirk slip as his grip shifted to the underside of your thighs, flipping you onto your back.

He freed his cock, hard as a rock and weeping. He brushed the head against your clit, swiping it through your folds, collecting your slick before driving in. You let out a broken cry as he slid home, every inch knocking another breath out of your lungs. He stilled for a moment, allowing you time to adjust as leaned down, capturing your lips in a bruising, possessive kiss.

"Mine" He breathed out against your lips "You're mine, say it"

"I'm yours, Cas!" You cried, trying to grind against him, to feel something more "All yours"

"And I am yours" He repeated, pulling back and plunging into you, deeper than he'd ever been before.

Your eyes shot open at the feeling, rough but utterly perfect.

Your hands flew to his biceps as he picked up his pace, nails digging into tan skin, leaving sharp, crescent marks he'd admire for every second they branded him as yours before they disappeared far too quickly.

He kept up a steady, punishing pace as you writhed against him, back arching, pressing yourself closer than you thought you could get.

Just when you could barely stand the pressure, you felt his Grace circle your clit and you broke.

You cried out his name, clenching hard around him, shaking, trembling, falling apart beneath him.

He watched with wide eyes before he felt his control snap, fucking into you hard before he let out a low, animalistic sound. His head fell to your shoulder as he spilled inside you, coating your insides with thick ropes of cum, filling you with everything he had.

He rolled his hips a few more times, helping you ride out your high as best he could as he came down from his.

Nothing but your shared panting filled the slience of the room for minutes, both of you trying to compose yourselves.

He spoke first, head still pressed against your pulse point, feeling it race.

"Are you okay?"

You huffed out a laugh, working your tired arms around him "Yeah Cas, perfect"

He smiled against your skin. Once again the soft, sweet Angel you loved.

"I'm sorry if I was too much, I-"

"Cas, baby? Never apologise for that. Like ever" You grinned, fingers drifting up into his hair "That might have been the hottest sex we've ever had"

"It did feel particularly….pleasurable"

You chuckled, rubbing your other hand up and down his back, right in that spot you knew he liked, where his wings should be.

His palms slid up your sides, curling lightly just above where they were before. He watched as the bruises formed, a slight bluish shade blooming across your skin.

You felt a weak warmth before your hands landed on his, preventing him from healing you.

"Whaddya think you're doing Angel?" You asked, his expression confused in that adorable way of his.

"Healing you. I-"

"You aren't gonna do a damn thing, okay? I wanna keep these. For as long as they'll last"

He smiled, far too innocent and sweet considering he was still inside you.

He leaned up, pressing a soft, delicate kiss to your lips, a whispered "I love you" following suit.

He rested his head back against your shoulder, nuzzling into the warmth the crook of your neck provided. You pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, fingers combing back through his hair with such care and reverence.

"Rest, Angel. I might not be done with you yet"

You felt the small grin he sported against your throat, followed by a few light kisses.

It was only a matter of moments before he was asleep, the only time he ever did sleep was after a terrible hunt or a wonderful night with you.

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His eyes are heavy and kept low as he enters the room. He barely acknowledges you with a small peck to your temple before slumping on the couch, exhausted from the heated panel. You kneel down and take off his boots, relieving his tired feet of their confinement. He closes his eyes with a sigh after you set them aside and begin massaging him. He leans his head back on the cushion, trying his hardest to be swept away by the sensations your hands bring.

“Thank you.”

You hum in response, focusing a little longer on his feet before making your way up his legs. Words bounced around in your head, hoping for the right ones to come out. He looks so peaceful, you almost don’t want to disrupt the warfare going on up there, but you’re bursting to make him feel better. Your hands rub up his thighs a few times before you lift yourself off the ground and straddle his hips. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even open an eyelid to peek at you, so you continue your massage.

Your hands rub over his silk black shirt before working his neck and shoulder muscles. The poor man was tense, and you tried your hardest to massage the knots out of them. Small groans and grunts fall from his lips, and each one breaks your heart a little. When was the last time he took care of himself when you weren’t with him? You didn’t even want to imagine what he’d do if he came back to an empty room. Whether he wanted it or not, you’re going to do your best to ease his mind as best as you can. Your hands move to his head, then face, adding just the right amount of pressure to provide relief. Yet, he’s still troubled.

“I’m so sorry you had to put up with that.”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t even wrap my head around how disrespectful they were. To try and force you to believe—”

“I don’t want to talk about it, sweetheart.”

You nod, but he doesn’t see. “Okay. I understand.”

“I just want to forget about it.”

“I can help with that.”

You lean forward and press your lips against his in a soft kiss. He returns it before you trail your kisses downward. From his cheek to his neck, over his collarbone, and onto his chest, before his shirt impedes further down. You slide off his lap and kneel between his legs once more, your hands working his belt. He adjusts in his seat as his boner reacts. His face scrunches, and you bite your lip, wanting more.

“Baby...”

“What?” You ask as you kiss the outside of his jeans.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

You unzip his pants and yank them down without his help. His boxers try holding down his erection, but his dick jerks, begging to be set free.

“Mm, don’t have to.”

But his body says another thing. He scooches down, allowing you more access. You move the briefs out of your way, and his member springs up. His tip is as red as your face was earlier, and all you want to do is suffocate on his length. It stands tall, proud, and ready to be swallowed, just like it deserved to be. Your mouth waters, needing your husband’s cock.

“I want to. I really, really want to.”

Your hand wraps around the base of his phallus, guiding it at an angle before leaning over his lap and engulfing him. Jensen moans the second he feels your lips around his bellend. Your eyes close, and you let your tongue take over, like it had a mind of its own. It circles around his burning tip, even dipping into his slit, making him jump in his seat. His hand flies to your head, his fingers interwining with your roots as his teeth clamp down on his lower lip.

Fuck everyone else. This woman is going to be the death of me, he thought. His tune changed from before, trying to pretend like he didn’t want you relieving his stress this way, to now shoving your head further on his dick. You take a deep breath and allow Jensen to guide you. With your tongue flat against the back of his member, he glides down your throat until he reaches your uvula, until he can’t go any further, until you’re gagging.

He opens his eyes just enough to see you. Your nose is pressed against his pelvis, his unshaven hairs tickling your skin. He finds it cute how your hands rest on his clothed thighs, your nails digging in as you slowly begin to asphyxiate. He felt a little sick for seeking pleasure in watching you struggle to breathe, but finding it so damn hot that not only did he enjoy it, but so did you. Your head begins to swirl, and on instinct, your eyes fly open from the lack of oxygen. You look up and make eye contact with your partner, a smirk replacing his frown, and if you could smile too, you would.

Jensen pulls your head back slowly and uncorks your windpipe. Your nostrils inhale sharply, filling your lungs with as much air as they can hold before you’re pushed down again. His tip hits the back of your throat again, and you know with his mood, you’re no longer in control. And you’re perfectly fine with that. He guides you, up and down, fast and slow. You hollow your mouth, work your tongue, bob your head, and suck just how he likes it. He’s sure he tastes blood from how hard he bites his lip, but he doesn’t care.

The way you worked in your tricks with little control amazed him. The way tears fell from your eyes, but you didn’t ask to stop once. The way you moaned when his hips began to jerk, pushing his cock deeper down your throat. The way your saliva dripped down his shaft, allowing an easier glide for him in and out of your pretty hole. The way your eyes rolled to the back of your head because you loved the way he fucked your mouth.

Your underwear is drenched with wetness, and he knows it. Despite being his wife, he still referred to you as his slut, the way you reacted to him. You clench around nothing, aching for him to fill you there, too. He’s close, and you know it. You work with him, trying to speed your bobbing as if it were humanly possible. That’s it, he thought before ripping you away and pulling you up with him.

You’re dizzy and disoriented before he falls onto the bed with you. He tears your bottoms off, making you squeal. He shuts you up real quick when he shoves his wet dick into your wetter pussy. The motion is so strong, you gasp, and he groans. Your mouth falls open as he sets a fast and deep pace. Your arms fly around him, holding on for dear life as he pounds you like tomorrow isn’t promised.

Holy fuck, is the only thing your mind keeps repeating that your voice can’t quite repeat. You squirm underneath him, but his body holds you in place. His tip hits your g-spot, over and over again. Tears fall like summer rain, and his hips are lightning. Your skins slap together, echoing like thunder. The bed frame slams against the wall, knocking on it and asking if its neighbor is awake. You know you’d hear it from Jared tomorrow.

You cry out, Jensen’s grunts only encouraging you to get there faster. His breath fans your neck as his breathy moans lick your eardrums. His hands grip your body as he holds you as tight as you him; you’re sure they’ll be bruises soon, and you can’t wait to indulge in them. Your feet dig into his lower back, just above his perfect ass, your thighs squeezing his hips as you try to last. Only, you can’t, and neither can he. His hips slam against you, halting as he shouts for all to hear. You join him, screaming as you cum on him just as hard as he cums in you.

Holy...fuck...

He slumps on your body, refraining from adding all of his weight on you, not that you couldn’t handle it. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, like a prisoner on its cell bars. Sweat coats your bodies after the unexpected and spontaneous workout you both participated in. Your feet push the rest of his jeans off his legs, and it falls to the floor in a clump. He quickly removes his button-down, and you follow with your upper garments, needing every bit of air your body could get. It was as if the heater was working on full blast in the tainted room, but it was only the heat from your bodies.

“Fuck, baby girl, that was...thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, that was all you.”

He catches your lips, deepening the kiss for as long as his lungs would allow. He comes up for air, his lips hovering above yours as he opens his eyes. Feeling his stare, you open yours and gaze into his dark green orbs. He pushes your sweat-drenched flyaways away from your face, completely captivated by your beauty. Yet, not like you were by his.

“I am so in love with you.”

“Not as much as I love you, baby.” You look down, knowing he doesn’t want to talk about it, but needing to say your peace. “It was really hard for me not to speak up for you. Seeing you on that stage...it broke my heart, and all I wanted to do was fight everyone in that room that booed you and agreed with them.”

His finger lifts your chin so you can look at him once more. “I know, sweetheart, but at the end of the day, that won’t fix anything.”

“It’ll make me feel better,” you murmur.

He chuckles, knowing you’re telling the truth. “Trust me, you and me both, but people will be people, and unfortunately, we can’t change who they are or their opinions. So, fuck ‘em. We just gotta let it go and move on. And darlin’, after that, I can’t even remember why I was upset.”

A bright smile graces your face, lifting both your spirits. Suddenly, nothing and no one else mattered. Just you and him, your shared happiness, love, and support for one another. That’s what mattered. That’s all that’ll ever matter.

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“We’re a team, Soldier Boy. If justice is to prevail, we have to remember that we're in this together.” The script was crap but the director still bit his fist from the studio chair, enthralled.

Soldier Boy finally shifted his eyes onto her. His focus was more intrusive than any camera she had faced so far. He tilted his head and tense hollows shadowed his neck. Squaring his shoulders, he walked towards her. The soft pads of his boots thudded purposefully.

He reached his mark and she smelled leather once he was close enough. A jaunty quirk of his lips cracked through his character. She was supposed to grip his shoulder now, a touch of solidarity. Audiences would get a kick out of the comeradery, and this scene would end.

She poised her palm inches away.

God, he was attractive. Rough around the edges and a total asshole most days, but sometimes she could convince herself that he truly stood for the ideals they preached. Patriotism, faith, and the greater good. As Payback’s newest recruit, Y/N was still green.

She touched him.

Now she caught a bite of tobacco and the stale cologne that clung to the collar of his flak jacket.

She expected him to shoot out his next line and charm the camera with a smile. Instead, he stared at the hand on his shoulder and frowned.

"Fuck," he muttered. A murmer of disapproval washed through the crew when he turned his back to the cameras.

“Fuck,” he said again, turning on his heel. Y/N stumbled back a step when he nearly barelled into her.

Bated breaths surrounded them as cast and crew hoped to take the shot and call it a day. “Fuck this.” Soldier Boy snapped off his mask and hurled it at the director. “You kidding me with this dialogue?” he shouted, arms extended. "What is this? Saturday morning cartoon bullshit? I sound like a fucking boy scout strung out on Charlie.”

"I hear you. I completely understand," the director insisted. He rubbed anxious circles at the nape of his neck. Standing up, he plastered on a smile and stepped behind his chair defensively. "Mixup with the lines is all it is! We'll take five and give it the ol' go-around. How's that sound, champ?"

Soldier Boy's response was to raise his right finger and fling a prop desk off set. “If you want me to play some wet-paper version of myself, find yourself another asshole in a cape. Get the hell off my set.”

Empty eyes stared at him, idle and afraid.

"Did I stutter? Move out!"

People scrambled. Crimson Countess glided past and the click of her heels tacked pleasantly above the noise. She had been watching patiently from the sidelines. When Soldier Boy saw her, she hesitated, always too soft where her lover was concerned. Or perhaps she was simply complacent like the others.

“Ben, maybe you just need —”

He didn’t let her finish. Just shrugged her off and held out his palm. “Back off," he warned. Crimson's mouth tightened. Y/N stared after her and earned a withering look.

Beneath the gloss, Payback frayed like a copper wire.

Y/N watched everybody trip over themselves to be first off the lot. She moved to join them. It was no secret that Soldier Boy was notoriously difficult to work with. He had a short fuse, and got off on inflicting himself on others.

The room cleared in another sixty seconds. By the time she reached the door, everything was silent. Over her shoulder, Soldier Boy paced. His rage was excessive but she was intrigued. Her eyes trailed from his broad shoulders down to his backside.

Y/N had coveted him since joining Payback. The Countess may have secured a public relationship but everybody knew about the pool of women that kept his bed warm at night. The idea of joining his revolving door of hookups should have felt cheap except her mind constantly entertained it.

Soldier Boy was muttering curses now. Y/N's hand lifted from the door handle and she listened to the faraway stream of profanities.

He had never tried to seduce her. He had groped and dirty talked countless interns and consultants under her watchful eye, but had never made an advance with her. Some days he studied her with dilated pupils, but his fleeting glances never escalated.

She wished they would.

Other days, his eyes would soften. He would call her rookie, impart counsel, and stalk away with a terse nod. She took those moments to bed, pretended they meant something and trailed her hand over warm skin thinking of him.

The cardinal flitted past her and perched on the audio equipment. Its jerky movements captured her attention before it flew off as fast as it had landed.

When she looked back, Soldier Boy was staring at her from his place on-set. His feet were planted firmly. "Planning to suck my dick?" His voice reverberated in a thin echo. "Can't think of a different reason you'd be slumming it in the dark after I explicitly told you to fuck off."

Y/N felt the terrible sensation of stinging pins along her collarbone. She wanted to shoot back a witty remark but couldn't think of a suitable response. "I can leave," she said lamely.

Soldier Boy held a hand to his ear and frowned. "You're the quiet type, aren't you? The kind of girl who bites her lip and doesn't make a sound while a guy's got two fingers up, trying to crack you three ways from Sunday." He propped his boot onto a crate, and leaned forward. Hooking two fingers in the air, he beckoned her forward with a flick of his wrist. "Come on. Get over here."

"I can just leave," she said, forcing the volume this time.

But Soldier Boy was already fetching a fallen script off the ground. "Run lines with me," he commanded. He watched her tentative approach, clicking his tongue impatiently against his teeth. "Top of page six. Where you touch my shoulder. Let’s go."

Y/N did as she was told but a slight tremble shook her wrist when she reached out.

Soldier Boy let out a long, heavy sigh, scrubbing a gloved hand rough over his mouth. The heave of his chest hinted toward a sudden wave of exhaustion. When his hand dropped, his lips pulled back in a tense grimace. He stared down at her.

​"Christ," he muttered. "You're too green"

"Excuse me?"

Before she could step back, he pressed a finger to her mouth. "I know you’ve been eye-fucking me since the day you signed your contract with Payback. You want it, bad. But you’re too goddamn innocent."

"I'm just as competent as any —"

"Vought is a fucking meat grinder," he cut her off. His hand dropped and flexed at his side. "It takes girls like you and turns them into drug-addled Hollywood whores before breakfast." He began tracking his gaze towards her breasts. "I've got a good dick on me, Y/N. I could have you seeing stars and moaning my name till' kingdom come. But I'm also self aware. I'm one abrasive, selfish son of a bitch." He leaned in, his breath suddenly hot against her ear. "I'm not having you on my conscience. Comprende? Lose the bedroom eyes, do your fucking job, and stay the hell away from me."

"You don't get to make decisions for me. I know that I have to pay my dues and work twice as hard as anybody on this team to prove I belong. I can take care of myself, thanks."

He let out a low whistle. "Shit. Listen to that. Keep it up, you'll need a spine around here." He walked past her and she fully expected him to take his leave. Soldier Boy stooped until he had secured the director's chair by the frame and dragged it back before settling it five paces from where she stood. He dropped into it with a groan and spread his legs wide.

When he looked up to where she stood, his hands settled flat on his thighs. "Do you want me to fuck you?" He asked earnestly. A cautious look over her shoulder comfirmed their isolation.

Soldier Boy gestured towards her suit, immaculate for the cameras. "Take your clothes off." When she hesitated, he let out a short breath through his nose. "You can stand there and get off on looking at me, or you can finish the job and take off the suit."

Slowly, her fingers found the concealed releases of the suit. The wardrobe department had designed an alterantive film variant of her daily reinforced armour. The fabric was a matte, rubberized polymer that clung to her ribs and hips. She popped the collar seal first. The primary zip slid down with a metallic hiss. Soldier boy brought his right fist to his mouth and bit down, teasing her.

Shrugging her shoulders, she let the molded sleeves slip down her arms. The rigid breastplate functioned as an integrated bra and fell with a clatter. Cool air hit bare skin and beneath Soldier Boy's heady stare, her nipples hardened pleasantly. He was gallant enough to stay quiet and let her settle.

Then, his index finger began a slow tapping against his thigh. He shifted his hips and watched with predatory fascination, a true voyeur.

Next came the hips. She unbuckled the utility belt, letting it drop. So followed the leg harnesses until she was bare except for low cut panties. Entirely under his influence, her chest heaved awaiting further instruction.

"Don't stop on my account," he murmured. His voice had turned to low gravel. "Finish it."

With her fingertips and a slight roll of her hips, the strip of fabric pooled around her ankles, leaving her bare.

"Pick 'em up," he commanded quietly.

She paused for a fraction of a second before leaning down. Her fingers wrapped around the panties and she stood up again. Soldier Boy stayed quiet. He held out his right hand, palm up, and gave a slow flick of his eyebrows toward his chest. Throw them over.

She tossed them.

His fingers closed around them easily. Without a single reservation, he brought the fabric up to his nose, his eyes narrowing as he took a slow, deep breath. A dark look of satisfaction crossed his features before he tucked them deep into his trousers pocket.

Then he stared.

His jaw clenched as he observed the uneven rise and fall of her chest. His gaze streaked down her body, riveting despite its apathy.

"Spread your legs," he said. "Just a notch. That's it."

His hand moved to the front of his trousers, fingers unfastening the fly carefully. Sitting in his director's seat, he began to touch himself. A short grin was all he gave as his wrist paced his gratification. Soldier Boy's pleasure was lethargic and it cruely augmented his authority.

"I think I've made a point," he said. He didn't rush to finish, just tucked himself back in, leaving a hard line in the fabric of his suit.

He finally stood up and kicked the chair aside. His slow stride closed the short distance to Y/N until she caught that same masculine scent of worn leather and cologne.

A familiar pulse of arousal hindered her reasoning. Her mind's eye replayed the sharp motions of his wrist while he fondled himself just moments ago. She had done that. He had been looking at her. Coveting her.

"I want you to fuck me," she whispered. The admission slipped off her tongue to answer his earlier question. Her willpower was too far gone for pride.

Soldier Boy's eyes traced a final path down her body before he grinned up at the ceiling. His suit seemed so modular under the stagelights. When his gaze dropped down again, he pressed a warm kiss to the side of her neck. The wet glide of his tongue against heated skin brought a new thrill to an otherwise sensory experience.

Instinctively, she reached up, hands searching for the broad span of his shoulders. Before she could touch him, his hands shot out and caught both her wrists.

He held her suspended until she was forced to focus. The crease in his brows was sympathetic. ​"I told you I didn't want you on my conscience," he said.

He let go, allowing her wrists to fall back to her sides. Then he stepped past her, just barely brushing her shoulder with his own.

Y/N didn't turn around to observe his exit. She just stood where he had left her and listened to the sounds of his boots on the flooring, the click of the door handle, and finally, the swing of the door.

The cool air suddenly lost its charm against her bare skin and her body ached with unreleased tension. The empty pieces of her tactical suit were scattered on the floor and she dreaded the thought of kneeling down to collect them.

A sudden flash of red flickered in her periphery. She glanced up and tracked the movement to the rafters until she caught sight of it again.

The cardinal.

For the second time she wondered what it was doing here trapped, out of its depth, and completely out of place.

She bent down to collect her things.

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

The house was quiet when they got home. There was the low hum of the refrigerator, the faint ticking of the antique clock in the hallway, the soft rustle of wind moving through trees outside the kitchen windows.

Danneel locked the front door behind them. Jensen didn’t turn on the overhead lights, only the lamp near the couch, casting the room in amber.

“Shoes,” Danneel murmured gently, kneeling first and tugging at her own heels before reaching for theirs.

She sank onto the couch without meaning to. The adrenaline had burned out somewhere between the car ride and the threshold. Jensen disappeared into the kitchen and she could hear the cabinets opened softly and the kettle clicked on.

Danneel sat beside her, not crowding, just close enough that their thighs touched.

“You’re shaking,” Danneel observed quietly.

“I know.” Her voice was thin. “I thought I was fine.”

“That’s usually how it works,” Danneel said.

The kettle began to murmur and Jensen came back with three mugs: chamomile for her, black tea for Danneel and something stronger and darker for himself. He set them down and sat on the other side of her, effectively boxing her in with warmth.

For a long moment, none of them spoke. Danneel traced slow circles against her wrist, grounding. Jensen’s knee pressed steady against hers.

“You remember,” Jensen said softly, eyes on the steam rising from his mug, “when we said if this ever got hard, we’d pause.”

She huffed a small laugh. “We did pause.”

Danneel smiled faintly. “For six months.”

Six long and confusing months; it hadn’t started dramatic. It had started with lingering conversations after wrap and with her staying late to check on Jensen after a stunt sequence. With Danneel bringing dinner to set and noticing the way the three of them fell into rhythm too easily. At first it was harmless until it wasn’t.

“We thought it was a crush,” she murmured now.

Jensen nodded. “We hoped it was a crush.”

Danneel leaned back into the couch cushions. “We’ve been married a long time, you don’t just gamble that.”

They hadn’t, they’d talked endlessly in the kitchen, on the porch. In low voices after the kids were asleep. What if this ruins us, what if we’re selfish, what if she gets hurt and what if we do.

“And then you,” Jensen said quietly, turning to her now, “told us you’d rather walk away than be the thing that cracks us.”

Her throat tightened at the memory; she had meant it, she had loved them enough even then to step back.

Danneel’s hand slid into hers now, firm. “That’s when I knew.”

“Knew what?” she whispered.

“That you weren’t trying to take anything.” Danneel’s voice was soft but certain. “You were trying to protect it.”

The kettle memory, the porch memory, the night they’d sat in near-darkness admitting what none of them wanted to admit... it all folded into this quiet living room.

“We didn’t rush,” Jensen said. “God, we didn’t rush.”

There had been therapy, boundaries, schedules and brutal honesty. Jealousy that was acknowledged instead of denied and fear spoken aloud instead of swallowed. The first time they held her hand in public was tentative and deliberate. The first time one of them said our partner out loud and didn’t stumble.

“We built it,” Danneel said simply. “Brick by brick.”

She blinked back tears that felt different from earlier. “Sometimes I still feel like I’m intruding.”

Jensen set his mug down immediately. “No, you live here,” he continued. “You eat at that table. You argue with me about which coffee beans to buy. You steal my hoodies.”

Danneel smiled. “You help with homework. You fix my laptop when I forget passwords. You know how I take my tea without asking.”

Her breath stuttered.

“You belong,” Danneel finished.

There was silence again  but softer. Jensen shifted closer and gently pulled her sideways until her head rested against his chest. Danneel adjusted without hesitation, fitting along her back, arms wrapping around both of them.

 “You scared me tonight,” Jensen admitted quietly into her hair.

“I handled it,” she murmured.

“I know you did,” he said. “That’s not the point.”

Danneel pressed her palm flat over her heart from behind. “We don’t want you to have to be strong alone.”

The words settled deep; she let herself sink into them fully now, into Jensen’s steady breathing, into Danneel’s protective hold. The house creaked faintly as it cooled for the night.

“I kept thinking,” she whispered after a while, “that if I made a scene, it would reflect on you.”

Jensen made a low, almost offended sound. “Anyone who thinks your dignity reflects badly on us doesn’t get to work with us.”

Danneel’s voice turned softer, but firmer. “You are not an extension of our reputations. You are your own person and that’s why this works.”

That had been the rule from the beginning: no ownership, no hierarchy disguised as romance. Just three adults choosing each other every day.

She exhaled slowly, tension unwinding inch by inch.

“Thank you,” she said.

Jensen tilted his head slightly. “For what?”

“For not treating me like something fragile.”

Danneel’s lips brushed her shoulder. “You’re not fragile.”

Jensen’s hand slid up to cradle the back of her head gently. “You’re strong but you’re ours and those aren’t opposites.”

Eventually Danneel shifted just enough to press a lingering kiss to her temple. “You’re safe here.”

Jensen’s fingers traced slow lines along her spine. “We’ve got you.”

Beau hated her boyfriend. In fact, it was impossible not to hate that jerk. Mike was one of the cops in her department and was known for his excellent work. But on the other hand, when you visited him at the station to drop off a piece of cake or just to see him, he could be a real jerk. The first time Beau saw you was in the elevator as you were leaving, after your morning visit to your boyfriend, holding back tears. Beau heard that on that day, the two of you had been fighting and you wanted to make up, but Mike wasn’t in the mood to talk and was rude. And it was there, in that elevator, that Beau realized he wanted to get to know you.

S/N is beautiful. Brown eyes that sparkled in the sun, curly hair, always well-dressed in a suit or a skirt and blazer ensemble. She worked at the book publishing house Magia da Criação, famous in the city, and was involved in the entire process from creation to the launch of the books. She always walked with confidence, as if she knew what she wanted, where she wanted to go, and how she wanted it.

And one day, you went to the police station to have lunch with Mike. He was late—maybe on purpose or because of a pile of paperwork—but he was late.

I kept fiddling with my phone, checking our conversation and waiting for a reply, when I heard a voice:

“Hey, S/N? You down here?” Beau’s voice joined his presence in the spring air.

“Oh, hi! Sheriff Arlen! Yeah, I’m waiting for Mike… again,” I say, trying to stay patient.

“That’s weird. His lunch break was earlier today… I saw him leave half an hour ago and—”

Beau’s voice is cut off when I see Mike walking back to the station.

– Honey? What are you doing here?

I held up my phone, trying to stay neutral. – Lunch, remember? I thought we were going together.

– My phone died – he lies. Right to my face.

I just dial his number and his phone vibrates in his pocket. I look at Mike, waiting for a response. Just then, I see Beau excuse himself and leave, perhaps taking a deep breath to keep from punching Mike right there.

– Are you always going to want to control my schedule now? Let’s not turn this into a stupid argument, okay?! – Mike defends himself.

I look at him and take a deep breath. – If you didn’t want me here, you should’ve just said so! I wasted my lunch break waiting here for you like an idiot and—

– Stop bugging me! I just left for lunch early; the workload is heavy. You know what I’m going through, and you keep holding me accountable for everything! – Mike raises his voice a little and takes a deep breath. – We’ll talk about this shit later. I’m not going to stress about it here. I’ll stop by your place later.

Before I can even respond, he walks into the police station and takes the elevator up. Typical of him; I’m still wondering why I’m here, insisting. I take a deep breath, feeling a lump in my throat and, even worse, hungry. Before I can head over to the nearby diner, Beau approaches:

– It’s mean to leave someone hungry. If you don’t mind, I’d love some company for lunch.

I smile awkwardly. – No need to bother—I can eat lunch on my own.

– I know you can, but I can’t. Are you up for it? – He’s persistent. Even though I only know the basics about Beau, something feels off. I mean, having lunch with my boyfriend’s boss? That was… wrong? He snaps me out of my daze as he adds – It’s okay if you don’t want to; I know it’s weird. But we’re just having lunch as colleagues—can we keep that in mind?

We placed our order, and I felt shy for a moment. Maybe he noticed, because he asked some icebreaker questions while we waited for the food, and they really helped. By the end of lunch, I was already laughing freely and openly at all the work stories he was telling or whenever I asked him to tell me about his. He was always interested in hearing what it was like to work at the publishing house or how I spent my free time. We seemed like old friends. I glance at the time:

– Oh shit, I have to get back to work. If I’m any later than this, I’ll get fired. – I laugh, still enjoying his company. He insisted on paying the bill even though I kept insisting we split it.

– Thanks for lunch… you saved my afternoon and my stomach – I say softly. I notice his gaze, smiling at me. He picks up his hat and holds it to his heart, saying:

– I’m the one who should thank you for your company. I didn’t know I needed this so much.

– Neither did I.

Our gazes linger for too many seconds to be anything simple. It was just a lunch with a guy I’d seen several times at my boyfriend’s work, who made me laugh, treated me ten times better than Mike ever did. Oh, for heaven’s sake, I wasn’t needy. Or was I?

I clear my throat. – Well, I’m heading over there now… See you another day? – It just slipped out

– Definitely. I’ll be holding you to that next lunch. – He says, and I see him hesitate a little as he approaches. He didn’t want to force closeness, and I was mentally grateful for that.

"Pretty sure it's a djinn."

Sam's words hung in the heavy silence of the motel room. Dean's eyes widened at the mention of the creature. They were both too serious and quiet, and Y/N briefly wondered if they had lost someone to one of these monsters before.

"Like a genie?" she asked for clarification. "Like, granting wishes?"

"Not exactly," Dean muttered, his attention on the hunting duffel that contained their weapons as he searched for something specific.

"And we think it's in this abandoned factory?" She asked, readying herself for the hunt.

"Yeah," Sam nodded and swallowed hard as he cast a wary side glance at his brother. "You sure you're up for this?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Yeah, Y/N thought, why wouldn't Dean be up for a hunt? They had all been itching for some action after a period of unusual inactivity across the nation. The second they'd heard of people showing up dead and emaciated in Steubenville, Ohio, they'd piled into the Impala and onto the road, ready to save people and hunt things. After all, it was what they did, the three of them, together.

It was a sixteen-hour drive from the Bunker to the southern region of Ohio, but Dean managed the thousand-mile trip in just under thirteen-and-a-half hours, despite the many stops for gas and snacks. With a steady stream of classic rock from his many cassettes and local stations, Dean's good spirits made the drive seem easy and quicker.

They all got along really well, like family, and had been hunting and living together for a few years. She loved the long drives and enjoyed every minute she got to spend with the brothers, relaxed and free, their guard down and banter flowing. They often teased each other, and Y/N too, and she gave as good as she got. Though it always grated her nerves a bit when Dean landed on his go-to favorite taunt of Sam and Y/N just getting together already. They'd always tease him back and deny any chance of that ever happening—that one hurt.

Because the truth was that Y/N was secretly head-over-heels in love with her closest and best friend, Sam Winchester—emphasis on secretly. And when Dean hit a little too close to home, and Sam vehemently denied it, her heart cracked a little more. But she couldn't tell him. He clearly wasn't into her like that, and she was genuinely grateful for their friendship. She didn't want to ruin the good thing they all had going, and she certainly didn't want to make things awkward when Sam inevitably rejected her.

Sam was kind, thoughtful, intelligent, funny, charming, handsome, and everything she could ever dream of or hope for in this life and beyond. But she was happy to sit in the backseat and silently observe him and admire him when he wasn't looking. Though Dean, the ever observant man that he was, noticed every time and indulged in silently teasing her with taunting smirks through the rear-view or across the room. She was sure she struggled to hide it from him, but somehow Sam never noticed, and for that, she was glad.

Dean amped up the teasing as they spent nearly a week interviewing police and witnesses, family members and loved ones, digging deep into news and archives, and researching late into the night until they finally cracked the case. A week of close quarters with Sam, working beside him as Dean chased down other leads, and enduring Dean's relentless teasing and tormenting of their non-existent love lives.

She was sure Sam would figure her out, and his constant and sometimes angry rejection of Dean's claims only further reminded her why she stayed silent to begin with. He was her best friend; she was head-over-heels in love with him, and that was all it would ever be.

Dean gathered three silver knives from his bag, retrieved a jar of lamb's blood he'd acquired, and dipped each knife into the blood before handing them over, reviewing the plan of action for hunting the djinn creature.

"Stab it through the heart?" Y/N asked, a little grossed out by the animal's blood coating an otherwise pretty and shiny blade.

"Has to be the heart," Sam nodded in affirmation, smirking at her disgust and chuckling when she childishly stuck her tongue out at him in response.

Standing outside the large and looming abandoned factory, the three hunters reviewed the blueprints Dean had laid out on the hood of the Impala.

"Looks like there are three points of entry here, here, and here," Dean pointed on the paper before rolling it up. "I think we should split up, cover more ground."

"Maybe we should stick together on this one?" Sam firmly suggested.

Y/N could see the uncertainty he had. It wasn't unusual for them to split up on hunts, but Sam always argued against it. Maybe he was still worried about Dean and the past she assumed he had with these creatures.

"It'll go faster if we split up," Y/N sided with Dean. "We know what to look for and what to do," she added with a reassuring smile, patting Sam on the arm. His look of concern almost made her second-guess her decision, but Dean clapped his hands together with finality and broke them from their silent stare.

"Alright, let's gank this S.O.B."

The three hunters moved, weapons at the ready, to their separate entrances. Y/N cast Sam one last reassuring smile over her shoulder before the brothers disappeared around the side of the building. She started on her route, blade in one hand and flashlight in the other, as she wandered through halls, checking rooms and looking for any sign of activity. It was quiet and dark, except for the occasional rodent or insect that shifted through the debris of the rotting building.

After several minutes of searching and finding nothing, she wondered if the boys were doing any better, though she couldn't hear any sounds of an altercation. However, that didn't say much, since the building was quite large, with several stories. It was always a little harder for her and Dean to traverse large buildings like this. Sam always fared better because he worked out regularly and had incredible stamina for these things.

As her mind settled on Sam, it drifted from her surroundings into her thoughts. Maybe she should take a chance and tell him how she felt. It seemed like, throughout the case, that perhaps something was shifting between them. But that could also be her imagination, and she didn't want to make things awkward. Despite her deliberations, she still concluded that it was a lost cause. She didn't have time to regret her lack of attention to her surroundings until it was too late.

She heard the shuffling from behind her and turned to face it, a split-second too late as the unknown assailant hit her hard, knocking her to the ground. She turned to see a man, covered in strange tattoos and rags, eyes glowing bright blue as he reached for her. She kicked out with all her strength, landing a blow to the man's stomach as he stumbled back into the wall.

Jumping to her feet, she readied her blade, lunging forward to strike a deadly blow. But the man - creature, her mind provided - grabbed her wrist, his strength more than human, and he grappled with Y/N until their positions were switched. She was pinned against the wall, the knife knocked from her hand.

He had one hand squeezing tightly around her throat, while the other lit up with blue magic as she struggled to keep his splayed hand from touching her. The blue light seemed to grow brighter as his hand grew closer. His touch burned as it came into contact with her forehead, and she felt her body go lax before she blacked out.

-

Sam had a sinking feeling in his gut from the moment they discovered it was a djinn. When Dean suggested splitting up, that feeling grew into a suffocating black hole, and he feared that one of them would fall victim to this monster in one way or another. He hoped that if that were true, it was him. He couldn't bear to witness the loss, sadness, and torment in his brother's eyes again, living a life that he denied himself, a life that could never be. He especially couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to Y/N.

He was never eager or willing to split up on a case, even though he and Dean were forced to do so often. But when it came to Y/N, he never wanted her out of his sight, if he could help it. He knew that was creepy, especially since he was nothing more than a friend to her. A best friend, sure, but still a friend nonetheless.

He wished they could be more, but he could never find his courage or the right words. Dean had clocked him right from the start on his love-at-first-sight feelings for her, which he did his best to hide and contain. Luckily, she never seemed to notice, but Dean wouldn't relent. Y/N was everything to him, and he knew he was nowhere near good enough to give her the life she deserved. Nor was he brave enough to tell her how he truly felt.

He had tried to gather the courage at the small diner in town, where Dean kept rambling on about the burgers and the fact that it was a bar and diner in one, which he acted like was the greatest thing he'd ever seen. But Y/N was all business and urging Dean to focus on the case. Sam knew he wouldn't get anywhere.

He thought he'd try again at the motel, but Dean was insistent on sharing local facts about the town - like it was the birthplace of Dean Martin, which Sam had to admit was cool - to get out of researching, but once again, Y/N was insistent that they needed to focus. People were dying, and they needed to find the monster responsible. Sam really admired that about her, how focused and determined she became during a case.

He had another, seemingly perfect, opportunity as he and Y/N decided to walk along the Ohio River, where one of the victim's bodies had been found. As soon as the words climbed to the back of his throat, Y/N was focused on identifying several buildings upstream where the body could have originated. It felt like everything and everyone was working against him, and in the end, he decided maybe he should keep it to himself.

Another empty hallway, another series of rooms full of furniture, debris, and small critters skittering about, but no djinn in sight. It didn't even look like there was an encampment anywhere, or that feet had disturbed these halls for some time.

He briefly thought about what might happen if he were caught by the djinn, what that world might look like. What would be waiting for him? Would Y/N be there? Would they have an everyday life? What would that even look like?

As he rounded the corner in a hallway, completing the search of his assigned sector, he was relieved to see his brother approach him from the other end, shrugging. The feeling of unease lessened as neither he nor Dean found any sign of the djinn or victims. After a minute, and no sign of Y/N, the feeling returned tenfold.

"She should be here by now," Sam spoke through clenched teeth, pacing the intersection of hallways that Y/N should have come through, but there was no sign or sound of anything approaching their location.

"She's probably fine, just got turned around or something," Dean tried to reassure, though he didn't have a good feeling either. He didn't want to let his overgrown, emotional little brother know that, especially since he was already beginning to spiral into aggressive panic.

They continued through the halls, into her search area, but still found nothing. Frustrated, Sam pulled out his cell and called her number. Both their heads snapped toward the sound of her ringing cell just down the hall from their location.

It didn't take long for them to find her phone on the ground, ringing with Sam's unanswered call. Dean picked up the phone and sighed, stuffing it into his pocket as Sam ended the call and put his phone away. They both searched the immediate area, but there was no sign of her or the creature anywhere in sight.

"We have to find her," Sam declared, tugging at his hair as he continued walking her search path in reverse, checking every room, nook, and cranny he came across for any sign of her.

"I know," Dean answered, not so helpfully as he followed his brother, also searching for any clue, but there wasn't a trace. Not even footprints, other than hers, were coming in that they could track.

"She couldn't have just disappeared!" Sam was moving faster, sweating, his muscles and veins bulging as he searched with fruitless desperation. They searched every hall, room, and floor of the building, but found nothing, reluctantly returning to the Impala.

"We need to get her back," Sam said, looking on the verge of tears as he glanced around at the many other empty buildings.

"We will," Dean insisted, though he wasn't so sure himself. "Even if we have to search every damn building in this town, Sam. We'll get her back."

Dean did his best to remain calm as Sam freaked out, and they worked together to find her and the creature. Sam started wondering if this was the case that tore them all apart, the one that took her away from them for good.

-

The Bunker door opened and closed with loud creaks and an echoing bang, the sound a signal that Sam and Dean had returned from their hunt. It was always hard to wait at the Bunker as they went on hunts, always worried if they'd make it back home alive and in one piece. It was hard to stay away from hunting, not to go with them as she used to, but life had changed, and she was willing to adapt.

It started after the djinn case, where she had been knocked loopy by the creature, but Sam and Dean had arrived in the nick of time to save her from the monster's hallucinogenic venom. Sam was so worried, cupping her face and scooping her into his arms as they fled the factory the djinn called home. He'd carried her to the Impala and checked over every inch of her body for injuries, but she was fine.

It was then he'd grabbed her with gentle and unsteady hands and kissed her with all his buried emotions. He'd confessed his love for her, and she returned the sentiment with tears in her eyes. It was something she never thought possible, but eight years later, they were still together, building a happy life together.

She had moved into Sam's room with him, at his insistence, and it grew to what was now their room. A few doors down from that, Sam had cleaned out one of the spare storage rooms and converted it into a nursery. Then, they did the same for more rooms as more children grew and needed their own spaces. He and Dean worked hard to make the Bunker a home, one more safe than any house he could ever provide, where they raised their beautiful little family. Still a team, the three of them. Well, plus the kids.

As Sam's feet came off the steps, he was nearly tackled by the two small boys who attacked him with hugs and joy at his return, and she was reminded why she joyfully agreed to give it all up.

"Hey, guys," Sam smiled, picking up one child in each arm, hugging and kissing them relentlessly. "Were you good for your Momma?"

Y/N smiled, waiting for her turn as he greeted their children. Once he set them back on their feet, they dogpiled on their uncle, and Sam chuckled, turning his attention to Y/N. "Hello, Wife."

"Hello, Husband," Y/N smiled as Sam kissed her deeply, a hand finding her rounded belly. Sam never missed an opportunity to call her 'wife', and she relished the loving look on his face every time he did, followed by a hungry look when she responded with 'husband'. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too, Baby. So much. How are you doing?" he asked, rubbing her belly. She couldn't help the broad grin. Sam was always so worried and attentive towards her and their children, and she always felt blessed to call him hers.

"We're good," she promised. "Just glad you're back."

The sounds of the children and Dean at play suddenly fell silent. She turned her attention from Sam to where the others were playing, but they were gone. She briefly wondered if they had skittered off while she was distracted with Sam, but when she looked back to him with a questioning gaze, he, too, looked different.

Where before he seemed happy and clean, now he looked worried and dirty. The Bunker seemed to flash in and out, replaced by a dank, dark, dilapidated building. The flashing images before her made her disoriented, and she swayed on her feet.

"Y/N?" Sam's voice shook with worry as he cupped her face, the image of him changing more rapidly between happy and concerned, put together and disheveled. "Y/N, come on. Come back to me."

"Sam? What's happening?"

"Y/N-" his voice sounded like it was coming through water as her vision tunneled, black creeping in on the edges.

Her body ached fiercely, and she looked down at her now flat stomach with panic. As she tried to run her hands over her stomach, she couldn't move; her arms were held by something. She could feel Sam shaking her with urgency, and she wanted to demand that he stop, but she couldn't make herself speak, either, only a pained squeak passing her lips. Then, everything went black.

-

"Y/N?"

Everything hurt, and there was a relentless pounding behind her eyelids. Y/N forced herself to sit up, one hand gripping her aching head, an involuntary groan punched from her lungs at the tremendous effort it took to move.

"Whoa, hey, go slow."

It was Sam's reassuring voice, his large, warm hands on her shoulders, and she instantly relaxed at the familiarity of his touch. Whatever had happened, Sam was here with her, protecting her. Without opening her eyes, she leaned forward and tucked her head beneath his chin as she so often did. But his arms hesitated to hold her in the way she was accustomed.

Confused, she pulled from his hold and forced her sore eyes to open and look at him. He was the worried, dirtied, and sweaty Sam that had flashed in and out of her mind. She looked down at herself, absolutely filthy, and ran a shaky hand over her empty belly. A broken gasp fell from her parted lips as she released a pained cry.

"My children," she stuttered, wild eyes locked on Sam's comically widened ones. "My baby! Sam, where are the kids?"

As she started to spiral into panic, Sam looked to Dean for help, but he, too, was stunned at her outburst. "You don't have any kids, Y/N," Sam responded, his heart sinking further as she shook her head in denial and tears streamed rapidly down her face.

She froze and whispered a broken, "No," before she sobbed heartily.

Sam didn't know what to do but hold her, wrapping his arms tightly around her and trying to soothe her, but it didn't seem to help. Whatever she'd experienced in that damn djinn world was hurting her in ways he didn't know how to heal. When Dean had been captured, it took months before he seemed himself again, but Sam suspected he never really got over it.

He couldn't bear to think what she had lost, what sort of perfect life she was forced to leave behind, though he was curious. Did she settle down with some civilian who gave her the life she deserved? Two and a half kids, a dog, and a white-picket fence? All things he desperately wanted to give her, but was sure he never could. Whatever it was, it was tearing her apart. Sam cast a pleading look to his brother, someone who could understand and maybe help.

"Took us a few days to find you," Dean said, his voice layered with anger and apology, and she knew he was blaming himself. "That bastard knocked you out and took you to another building. So we searched them all until we found you."

"The djinn got me?" she said, less a question and more a statement.

It made sense, she realized, since their research and the brothers' knowledge told her that the djinn poisoned people, siphoned off their life while they rotted away in a magical, hallucinatory dream world. It took them days to find her - days - and she surely would have died if the trusty Winchesters hadn't found her just in time and brought her back to the motel.

It was a dream. All of it. Being married to Sam, having a family together. It was everything she had wanted, and it was all a dream, induced by the venom of a creature. It would haunt and torment her the rest of her days.

They hovered over her, as if they could make her okay just by being close. It made her uneasy and uncomfortable, an unfamiliar feeling with the brothers that she’d long called friends and companions. Dean was still Dean, in the dream and in reality, but she couldn't look Sam in the eye; she couldn't speak to him or interact with him directly.

The dream world from which she’d been ripped still lingered in her mind and ached her heart, and she couldn't bear to look at Sam, knowing he wasn't her Sam. Not in the way that she had become used to. Because even though it had been a few days, it had been years in her mind. In the next moment, she buried her head in her hands as harsh sobs tore from her. Her husband, her children, and the life that she cherished were gone in an instant.

Dean understood, more than Sam could, about how much a djinn world could mess with your mind and emotions, playing on the things you wanted most, and leaving you bereft once free. All she truly wanted was to disappear back into that world where everything was perfect. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sam offered, but she shook her head frantically. How the hell could she put it all into words and speak those words to him? “Okay. Do you feel well enough for the drive home?”

Home. That word now held a different meaning for her, especially from Sam’s lips. She couldn’t look at Sam, shying away from his touch and nearness, depending heavily on Dean, who was more than willing to be there for whatever she needed. Y/N was more than just a friend; she was family, and a cornerstone to their little trio.

He also knew Sam was hurting as she turned away from him, refusing any comfort from the friendship that just days ago had Dean wishing the two of them would get together already, despite their constant denial of anything more, or the insecurities that had them both believing it wasn’t possible.

It didn't stop Sam from trying at every moment to help Y/N, either by supporting her weak body as they packed into the car, trying to engage her in conversation, or picking her favorite snacks when they stopped for food and gas. Each time, she barely uttered a sound and never met his eyes, and Sam did his best to hide the pain of her distance.

Just Sam's presence was like a knife twisting in her heart, because it wasn't her Sam, her husband Sam. He was still himself, and that, too, made it difficult, because he was so sweet and caring. But every little thing only reminded her of what she'd lost, of what could never be, and she felt as though she were dying a little more inside with every passing second.

As Sam helped her weakened body into the car, she had a flash of when she went into labor with their first child. He had held her much the same way, guiding her into the car while he panicked and tried to focus on the birthing plan they'd put in place. It was amazing how quickly his rational mind disappeared when his emotional mind could only focus on 'baby coming'.

Because of that, and her body still weak from being captured and strung up for days, she opted to sleep in the backseat for most of the long drive home. Sam kept looking over the seat at her with concern, especially as she grew fitful time and again, likely fighting whatever torment she'd endured in her mind. When she was awake and chose to speak, it was only in small words and only with Dean.

When Dean stopped for gas and snacks, Sam returned with a big grin and handed her a variety of her favorite snacks. He just knew what she liked. It reminded her of when he'd return home after a hunt, always with some cheap little trinket for her. Usually, a keychain from a rest stop, or a dollar plastic toy he found cute and amusing. She kept every one, and had built up a collection. Sam had obtained a small three-shelf bookcase and used it to display the collection of tokens, something that always reminded her of his love and of how he was always thinking of her.

The cold shoulder from Y/N towards Sam continued for several days as they moped around the Bunker. Sam tried many times to talk to her, but she retreated from him every time, as if they’d never been friends to begin with. Every time he caught her out in a public space, she barely said anything to him and mostly avoided him altogether.

He had walked toward the kitchen and paused when he heard her and Dean chatting inside. It wasn't anything important, but she laughed and seemed to talk just fine, though there was an underlying sadness that tinged her every word. He began to wonder if Dean was the father and husband in her dreams. She seemed more comfortable with him after the hunt, when before she was closer to Sam.

It never occurred to him that she might harbor secret feelings, especially for Dean, but to Sam it made sense - they always fell for Dean. It crushed him in ways he couldn't put into words. But if Y/N dreamed of a life with Dean, he wouldn't stand in the way. All he wanted was her happiness.

-

Dean rounded the corner in the hallway, intent on finding his brother, only to see Sam leaning against the edge of the wall as he peered around the corner at something. Dean slowed his steps and stealthily moved beside the taller man, stretching to see around him. Y/N stood in front of an open doorway to a room Dean wasn't familiar with; there were just so many, and she looked as if she were softly crying while absentmindedly rubbing her belly.

"What are we looking at?" he whispered.

Sam jumped in surprise, completely unaware Dean was there, his focus on Y/N and his guard down when he was home. He peeked around the corner again, glad that Y/N seemed undisturbed and hadn't noticed or heard them. He turned his attention back to his older brother with a huff.

"What are you doing?" Sam snapped back. Dean raised a brow, waiting for Sam to answer his question. The stare-off lasted only a few moments before Sam rolled his eyes hard. "I was watching Y/N."

"I can see that."

Sam fought back a groan, "She's been like that for twenty minutes."

Dean raised a brow again, "You've been watching her for twenty minutes?"

"No!" Sam hissed, though he closed his eyes and sighed, slumping as he knew that he had, in fact, watched her that long. "Yes. Look, something is going on with her. I think whatever happened really messed her up." He paused for breath. "You should talk to her."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. Because she actually talks to you, and you two seem close," he shrugged, trailing off like it was no big deal, but they both knew better.

"Really, Sam?"

"You might have been in her dream, or her friend, or something. I don't know. But she's more comfortable talking to you since the whole thing. She barely looks at me," he deflated.

Dean peeked around the corner, and Y/N was still standing in the same position, almost as if in a trance. It was a little creepy. He looked back at his brother, who had been watching her for over twenty minutes, which was also creepy. He didn't want to get in the middle of whatever was going on with them, but if he could help them get through whatever this funk was, then he would try.

"Hey, Sweetheart," he smiled, making his presence known as he rounded the corner.

Y/N jumped in surprise and quickly wiped away the tears from her face as he walked toward her, stopping in front of the open door and looking curiously into the room. It was stacked haphazardly with various furniture and file cabinets, dusty and forgotten with time. He looked back at her, and she looked embarrassed at having been caught at something.

"What were you looking at?" Dean carefully asked.

"Nothing," she shook her head and forced a smile for his benefit, but he could see right through it, read the pain in her eyes.

"What was this room?" He looked into the room again before meeting her eyes, his gaze tinged with hurt and understanding.

Her eyes widened at his phrasing and the loaded gaze, because it confirmed what she had suspected before, that he had once fallen victim to a djinn, that he knew what she was going through. She knew because she knew Dean, now and in the dream, and he was one of her most trusted friends. There or here, he was still him.

"A nursery," she bashfully admitted with a reluctant sigh. "He, my husband, cleaned it out, painted and decorated, built the new furniture," she chuckled at the memory, her smile wide as she brushed away another errant tear. "But…it's just a room."

Sam had worked so hard for so long, with Dean's help, to make that room perfect before their first child arrived. He did it again and again with each new child they had. But here, it never happened. Everywhere she looked, signs of that life were missing. The Bunker seemed colder, emptier, less familiar somehow, and she began to wonder if she should even be there.

"We can talk about it, if you need to," Dean offered. Talking about feelings wasn't usually something he did, but if she needed someone to vent to, he wouldn't mind being that for her. Without having much detail at all, he already formed a pretty good picture in his mind of what she had, what it looked like. He knew enough about her to venture a guess, anyway.

"No," she smiled and patted his arm, as if he were the one who needed reassuring. "I'm fine. I'll just head back to my room and get some rest."

Dean let her go, intending to close the door to the storage room, but paused to look it over once more and imagine it as a nursery. He pursed his lips, nodding his head, able to picture something like it in his mind. He slowly closed the door and sighed. That would be a difficult one for him to endure, so he understood why she was so out of it. He wasn't sure what to do to help, really, but he was determined to try before this drove her insane.

-

Dean quickly noticed the mood shift in Sam, who reverted to grunts and glares at his brother as Y/N's avoidance persisted. It bothered him not just their avoidance of each other and the issue at hand, but also that his little brother was upset with him, as if he'd caused all of this.

It didn't take him long to sort it out, that Sam was jealous, and that he thought maybe Dean was the 'husband' from the dream. But he knew that couldn't be it. She and Sam had a thing, and Sam had it bad for her from the get. He wouldn't take that away from him. Sure, he and Y/N were friends, and he wasn't blind to how hot and great she was, but was it possible he had been oblivious to it?

Dean had to find out what had happened in that dream world and, hopefully, help her get through it. There was no getting over it, he knew from personal experience, but she could move past it, and he was determined to help get their little family back on track.

“Hey, Sweetheart,” Dean greeted as he entered the open door to her room. She paused the TV and whatever she’d barely been paying attention to, forcing a smile as he entered and sat beside her. “How you feelin’?” She shrugged, picking at a loose thread on the comforter. “Look, I know you don’t want to talk about what happened, but we need to.”

“Dean-”

“No. You’ve been in a terrible funk, and Sam can’t take much more of you avoiding him,” he chuckled, but instantly felt awful from the pained frown she granted him. “You know I was in a djinn world once,” he said as he sat beside her.

"I figured," she shrugged and met his eyes, surprised as he smiled wistfully.

"There was a woman, Carmen, and we were living together. She was the model from the El Sol beer ads," he chuckled, glad that she was attentive and looking at him.

"In the dream, she was a nurse. Mom was still alive, though Dad had died. Jess was alive too, and she and Sam were engaged." he had to pause; the memory of it all still stung after all these years. Y/N knew about Sam and Jessica, had heard the stories, some from Sam himself. She flinched at the name, though, knowing that she was the great love of Sam's life. Nothing she could be or ever compare to.

"But I was the family fuck up, and Sam and I didn't get along, didn't even talk to each other, like at all," he lamented, and Y/N placed a hand over his reassuringly.

"I can't imagine you and Sam not being, well, you and Sam," she chuckled. He was glad she still had humor about her, despite looking deep in despair, her eyes red-rimmed and dark-circled, her hair a mess, her skin pale and lacking its usual luster.

"It's just, even though I guess I wasn't around much, I had a life, without the supernatural. Apparently, I worked at a garage and lived with that woman. Sam was engaged and a lawyer; Mom was alive and in the house in Lawrence. It was awesome," he admitted, the pain of it returning to the surface as he spoke about it, even after all these years.

"When I came back, I couldn't help but feel guilty. Like if I hadn't gone back to get Sam from Stanford, maybe he would have had that life."

"None of what happened to him was your fault, Dean."

"I know. But I spent a lot of time feeling angry and sad, filled with loss, wishing I could have that life again," he admitted with a heavy sigh. "I guess I'm just trying to say that I get it, you know. It's not easy, that's why djinn are such terrible creatures."

If he was willing to open up about it, she supposed she had to as well. She sighed as she sat up straighter, leaning against the headboard and daring to meet his eyes. “I was married, we had kids, a whole, happy life together.”

“Aw, honey. If you wanted to get married, all you had to do was ask,” he teased, and she elbowed his ribs playfully.

“It was with Sam,” she added, and Dean couldn’t even pretend to be surprised, though he was relieved that Sam's paranoia was just that.

“Yeah, I figured. It's just that you and he always had that thing," he added lamely.

"There isn't a thing, we're just friends," she added sadly, and Dean had to fight back the frustrated growl at the two of them, just wanting to bash their heads together or lock them in a room. But he knew anger wouldn't help anything.

"I've known there was a thing since you two met. Hell, everyone else thinks there's a thing. If you'd talk to him-"

“How can I? How can I look him in the eye after that?” She rubbed her eyes and rose from the bed to pace. "We were married longer than I've even known him! I love him, and now he's just gone! Our kids-" She started to cry again, the loss of her children too much to bear, her mind unable to separate the dream from reality.

"He's not gone, Y/N," Dean insisted, taking her into his arms and trying his best to soothe her. Though if he'd had kids in his dream and they were never real, he's sure he would have fallen into a deep, inconsolable despair. Except he knew his brother, and that Sam wanted all the same things. He'd only had to hear Sam go on and on about it over the years they'd known Y/N. Her dreams could become reality, unlike his own. “You should tell him.”

“Dean,” she pleaded. “I can’t.”

He huffed, but nodded, wrapping his arm around her as she tucked into his side and shared the whole story of her time in the dream. She needed comfort, and he was the one who could give it to her. But he knew if she just talked to Sam, he’d offer her the world. The two of them were so utterly blind to the possibility of each other that it drove him and everyone else insane.

-

Dean cautiously walked into the kitchen for his morning cup of coffee, ever on the lookout for Sam and Y/N. She rarely came out of her room and only really interacted with Dean, avoiding Sam entirely. That, of course, made Sam unbearable as he brooded about the Bunker, sulking over Y/N, and still convinced that Dean somehow meant more to her.

Luck was not on his side as he entered the kitchen to find Sam at the dining table, nursing his own mug. He looked like he hadn't slept much, and his hair was a little wild. Dean rolled his eyes to himself, his back to Sam as he fixed a mug, chugging it down quickly with a sigh before refilling it and turning to look at his brother, who was already glaring at him.

"You look like shit."

"I didn't sleep well," Sam answered, focusing his attention on the mug in his hands. "I saw her this morning. She came in for coffee," he sighed and ran his hands through his hair, which only made it messier. Dean figured that was how it became so unruly to begin with.

"Did you talk?" Dean asked, quickly polishing off the second mug before refilling and joining Sam at the table.

"I tried to," Sam shrugged. "But she always looks like she's terrified, but also like her body is leaning toward me somehow," he shook his head. "It's probably just my imagination," he huffed, then glanced at Dean, looking like a lost and broken little boy.

"It's not me, Sam," Dean told him gently, still trying to convince his brother that he wasn't some great secret love in Y/N's mind, but he also didn't want to betray her confidence. He wanted her to talk to Sam. But he was quickly losing his patience, and he wasn't sure how much more of his brother's sadness and anger he could take.

"It doesn't matter who it was," he said, a little sharply. "I just want her to be okay. I want to help, but she won't talk to me. She'll talk to you, but that doesn't seem to be helping her, and you won't tell me what it is, so I can't help her."

God, Sam's emotional tirade wasn't helping Dean's patience any. He was spinning out, and he really wanted to bash their heads together for his own sanity. He never thought his brother falling in love meant all his intelligence disappeared. Sam could talk to anyone, adapt himself to them to gather intel or learn important information, and soothe grieving family members and talk down angry police. So why the hell couldn't he manage to talk to Y/N about how he felt?

Dean realized, as he got lost in his thoughts and shook out of it, that Sam was still ranting, had been ranting the whole time. Dean rubbed his temples with a groan. Yeah, he couldn't keep living like this.

"It was you!" Dean shouted, and the room fell silent. He opened his eyes to see Sam, shocked to stillness, slack-jawed, staring at Dean as if there were a hole in his head.

"What?"

Dean sighed, "It was you, man. You were the husband and father. Okay? In the dream, you two were married, had kids, and were stupidly in love. She had a perfect life with you."

Sam sucked in a sharp breath as his heart raced and his mind reeled. It wasn't his brother, but him. They were married and had a family. God, Sam had that dream himself many times, without the involvement of a djinn, and his heart wanted to soar knowing that she apparently wanted that, too.

But how could he talk to her about it? And if she kept avoiding him, it had to be for a reason. Maybe it hurt too much, and she needed space? Maybe Dean was wrong and just using this as another opportunity to try to insinuate something between her and Sam when there was nothing.

“So, are you gonna talk to her?”

“She’s avoiding me for a reason,” Sam responded, snapping out of his stupor and resorting to his usual self-deprecation that kept him from pursuing her in the first place, no matter how badly he wanted to.

Dean shook his head, knowing that insisting they talk alone would not be enough to bring about any change. But he was no longer willing to live with their sadness and separation, with the pining and lovestruck looks across the room, the longing and love that lingered between them. He rapidly stood and marched from the room, and Sam jumped up to follow in a panic.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Dean.”

Y/N had locked herself away, and neither brother had set eyes on her in days. Dean had had enough and threw open Y/N's bedroom door, ready to barricade the two in the room until they sorted everything out. Except both brothers froze with wide eyes as they set eyes on her room, which she was not in, and half of her things were missing, as if she had hastily packed and left in a hurry.

"She didn't," Dean announced, devastated as he and Sam dashed to the garage with the same goal in mind. Her car was missing from its usual spot. They knew she had left without a word, and neither of them had noticed.

"I'll go see if I can track her phone, find where she went," Dean announced, rushing from the garage to start tracking her. Though he knew it wouldn't be simple, since he'd taught Y/N how to cover her tracks.

Sam stood alone in the garage, regretting his decision to give her space. Maybe if he had talked to her, she wouldn't have run off. He could have told her how he felt, that he wanted the same life that she'd dreamed of, kids and all. His heart broke for her as Dean had told him how broken she was over the loss of their imaginary children. He could understand, as he too would be utterly devastated over losing everything he had ever wanted, finding out it was all a dream. He hoped Dean could find something, because right then, Sam felt a hopelessness consume him that he hadn't experienced in years.

-

After her talk with Dean, Y/N knew she had to leave the Bunker, at least for a while. Because there was no way Dean wouldn't end up telling Sam, they told each other almost everything, and she knew Dean was worried about her. But being in the Bunker and around Sam and Dean was messing with her head. She couldn't distinguish between the dream and reality. So she packed up some things, snuck out of the Bunker, collected her old, rarely used car, and was glad that Dean kept all the vehicles in working order.

She drove, without a destination in mind, and found herself back in Steubenville. She pulled into a motel, unlike the one she had been in with the brothers. She desperately needed to disassociate and to reconfigure her mind to this reality, not the one to which she'd grown accustomed in her dream. The loss of her children was the most difficult pill to swallow, even harder when she made herself realize they never were to begin with.

As she entered her motel room, she faceplanted on the bed and let the tears consume her, something she couldn't do back home with the Winchesters around, because they were sweet, caring, and concerned and wouldn't let her suffer alone. Especially Sam, who was the best friend she'd ever had, and she'd never loved anyone as strongly and deeply as she did him.

The first couple of days, she remained in the motel room, crying and grieving as she let herself remember the finer details of her life with Sam and their beautiful children, then forcing herself to let it go, like photographs sacrificed to a fire. She couldn't grieve properly within the walls of the Bunker. It was too familiar, signs of the other life everywhere and nowhere. And being around the brothers who weren't the ones she's grown used to made it harder for her to separate herself from the dream.

After a few days, the pain lessened, and the memories began to fade like distant thoughts. She supposed it was traces of the creature's magic undoing in the wake of its death. Then she decided that perhaps she should retrace her steps from the case, remind herself how she got there, and separate the two sets of memories at the point of their origin, with the djinn.

Luckily, the details of working the case in both scenarios were the same, only the outcome had changed. So she was able to retrace her steps through town. She stopped to look over several houses where they'd gone to interview people about the missing persons, the victims, or possible leads.

She giggled to herself as she stood outside the lovely Victorian-style home with the lonely older lady who was completely enamored with Sam. Dean couldn't resist teasing him about it for the rest of the day, and Sam was the only one who didn't find it so amusing.

'It's because you're so big and charming, Sam.' She remembered teasing him with a flirty grin. 'BIG and CHARMING, huh?' Dean had teased, and Y/N bashfully looked away, her cheeks hot as Dean had chuckled. But Sam flashed her the biggest grin, his dimples popping, as if he'd just won a lottery, and it melted her heart, despite the embarrassment she felt.

As she passed by the diner, she remembered when Dean kept going on and on about how cool it was that the restaurant was a diner and a bar, something he felt should be more common. Sam seemed annoyed with his brother's ramblings, so Y/N tried to help him out and get Dean to focus on the case. But other than asking a question or two about the research, Sam didn't really talk, and she wondered if he was somehow annoyed with her, too.

Eventually, she found herself standing on the banks of the Ohio River, where one of the victims' bodies had been found. It was a significant lead in the case, and proved to be the detail that helped them track down the djinn. She and Sam agreed to check out the area while Dean went to the morgue. Y/N tried to avoid the dead body part as much as possible, though she could never avoid it entirely.

They had started where the body had been found and walked along the river upstream to try to identify a possible point of origin. The police had done that too, but they didn't know what they were looking for.

She admired the way the breeze blew through his hair, the way the sun shone on his skin as they walked, and her cheeks felt impossibly hot when he caught her looking. Though he didn't say anything, she hoped that maybe he hadn't figured it out. He never seemed to catch on before, but she needed to be more careful.

So she focused all her attention on the case and the many abandoned buildings, factories, and warehouses that lined the river in the once-thriving industrial town. Sam seemed glad to focus on the case, and it wasn't long before they pinpointed the most likely location of the djinn.

Though she knew it wasn't one of her better ideas, she entered the abandoned building with a flashlight and a large silver blade, missing the key component of lamb's blood. She was pretty confident that there was no longer any danger, since they had caught and killed the djinn that had settled here, and that the knife was just in case.

She remembered her entry point, the route she traveled, and stopped as she came to the spot in one of the hallways where the djinn had attacked her. In both scenarios, she grappled with the creature. In one, Sam and Dean arrived before the beast could touch her and inflict its venom, and it was the moment that launched her and Sam into their relationship. He had saved her, wanted her, loved her.

In the other, her reality, the djinn overpowered her, touched her, and fed on her while she rotted away in a perfect dream. Sam and Dean found her and saved her. But Sam didn't cup her face with eyes full of tears and kiss her. He didn't choke up as he told her that he loved her and was afraid to lose her.

While she was able to leave the building knowing the creature was dead, the threat gone, she couldn't help but feel that all possibility of the dream coming true was left behind there, too. As she returned to her motel, she considered finding another djinn. She could let it take her, despite knowing that she would die. But she would be able to have that life back.

As she entered her motel room, she chewed herself out for that train of thought. She wasn't going to throw herself away over this, no matter how much it hurt. But she knew she couldn't hide her feelings for Sam any longer. All she wanted was to crawl into his arms, seek his comfort and love. If he didn't feel the same and rejected her, she wasn't sure she could survive that either, the second death of her dream. She had to make a decision: either tell Sam the truth and risk everything, or maybe go back out on her own for a while.

-

Dean was on his umpteenth cup of coffee, unable to sleep with Y/N missing and Sam going crazy trying to find her. Sam had been nonstop since they discovered she'd left, using every method at his disposal to try to track her down. It had been days, and no luck, until Sam received a call from the Jefferson County Sheriff's Office, who spoke with the Steubenville Police Department after a report of spotting the vehicle Sam had put a BOLO on.

"Why would she go back to Steubenville?" Dean asked tiredly as they piled into the Impala, ready to return to the town, despite their efforts never to return to places where they had cases.

"I'll be sure to ask her when we find her," Sam snarkily responded. Dean just sighed, knowing Sam would remain on edge until he set eyes on Y/N again.

Sam was hurt that she left, that she wouldn't talk to him, that she wouldn't let him help her with this. Especially since it involved him, they were best friends, and even if she thought he'd turn her down, which he never would, she should have known that they could talk about it and he could help her work through it. She wasn't in her right mind, not that he could blame her for that, but it only added to his worry.

He'd been thinking about her nonstop since she left. Thinking about what her djinn dream world looked like, according to Dean. Thinking about all the opportunities he had to man up and tell her how he felt, and hated himself for never taking the chance. At least then she would have let him comfort her, talk about what happened, and what she really wanted, deep down.

They pulled into the parking lot of the motel where the car was last seen, and Sam let out a long breath of relief as they set eyes on her car, parked in front of one of the rooms of the dingy motel. Sam's heart raced, knowing she was nearby after nearly a week of looking and going out of his mind with worry.

Dean convinced Sam to wait in the car while he went into the office to find out what room Y/N was in and secure his own room while he was at it. He got a double in case Y/N wasn't there or didn't want to see them. If Sam struck out, Dean could try in the morning. They'd of course have to take shifts to make sure she didn't leave again. Dean just hoped that she and Sam could work it out, for both their sakes.

Sam had to pace outside the car, filled with nervous energy, and fighting the urge to knock on every door until he found her. When Dean returned, Sam was sitting against the hood of the Impala, and he could tell he had worked himself into an emotional frenzy.

"I got a room," he led with, pointing over his shoulder. "Number twenty-seven."

"Is she here?" Sam was barely able to contain the tremor in his voice, his emotions tumultuous and blending into deep, wounded anger.

"Room seventeen," Dean sighed, dropping his head as Sam immediately pushed off the car and headed to the indicated room. "Just…be nice," he hissed after the taller man.

Sam stood in front of her door, closed his eyes, and tried to calm himself as best he could under the circumstances. Gathering his courage, he knocked swiftly on the door and waited as he heard shuffling from within. Several long moments later, the door opened just a crack, stopped by the flimsy security chain on the inside. Y/N peeked through the opening, her eyes tired and red-rimmed, and Sam felt both relieved and heartbroken over her state.

"Sam?" The door closed, then opened again, wider, without the chain limiting its operation. She glanced around, seeing the Impala but not Dean, which confused her more.

"Dean got another room," Sam responded after her quick search.

"What are you doing here?"

"Are you gonna let me in?" Sam failed to keep the hurt and anger from creeping into his voice.

Y/N nodded, backing up to allow him to enter, and shut the door behind them. She turned to face him, leaning against the door and feeling somewhat cornered. He looked so small, despite his size, and she knew he was worried and hurting.

"How did you find me?"

Sam scoffed and shook his head, biting his lip as he looked at her. "We couldn't track you, so we - I - put out a BOLO."

"A BOLO?" she shrieked, looking out the window to see if any other cars were driving past or parked and watching.

"It's just us," Sam promised, glad when she relaxed and looked at him again. "I wouldn't have had to if you had called, or left your phone on, or left a freakin' note!" Sam's voice grew angrier with each word he spat, and when Y/N flinched, he felt both ashamed and justified.

"I'm sorry," she began, taking cautious steps towards him. "I should have left a note or something. But I had to get out of there, sort my head."

Sam huffed, "I get that these situations can be hard, but why didn't you come and talk to us?" He wanted to clarify why she didn't talk to him, but the last thing he wanted to do was make her feel cornered or attacked, even though her silence and absence killed him.

"I talked to Dean," she mumbled as she dropped her head, the words sounding weak to her own ears. "I didn't want to avoid you, I should have talked to you, but-”

“Why didn’t you?” He asked softly, but he really needed to know. Was it someone else, or was Dean telling the truth, and it was him? He didn't want to get his hopes up, but they rose nonetheless.

She huffed a laugh and shook her head. “Because I didn’t want to embarrass myself or make things awkward between us!"

“Between us?" he clarified, swallowing hard, and when she nodded her head, his heart jumped into his throat.

"How was I supposed to tell you that I…I dreamed of being your wife, having your kids, because that's what I dream of every day I see you, know you, talk to you!"

Sam's breath hitched at her confession. He thought about how much he wanted more with her, how he worried she wouldn't like him. How he assumed she wanted an apple-pie life with a civilian or even with his brother. He wanted to be all that and more for her, whatever she needed him to be, but didn't think she saw him as anything more than a friend. Now, suddenly, everything seemed possible, just beyond reach, and he was willing to stretch as far as he could to touch and obtain it.

"You think I didn't feel that way, too? That I haven't wanted you every day since we met?" He responded, still angry, but his words were softer as he stared her down. "After Dean finally told me-"

"Dean told you?" she said, and the look in her eyes was like a cornered animal ready to run or fight.

"Well," he huffed. "You weren't going to."

Her mind was reeling, swimming with a myriad of emotions as she processed what he was telling her. He knew about the dream, and he didn't run or let her down. He said he wanted her too, since they met, and here he was, tracking her down after she fled like a coward.

“Sam-"

"I've had the same dreams. I've thought about a life with you all the time, Y/N. I didn't think you-"

His words set her body in motion, and he was cut off as Y/N stood on her toes to reach his lips, kissing him and crashing her body into his. He hummed into the kiss, reciprocating as his arms pulled her flush against him. It could have been minutes or hours, but it didn't matter as they drowned in each other's kisses. When they finally separated, he leaned his forehead against hers, trying to catch his breath.

“Tell me about it?”

“What?”

Sam moved them to sit on the edge of the bed, tucking her hair behind her ears and cupping her face. “Tell me about the dream, our lives.”

“Sam,” she shook her head, and he urged her eyes back to his.

“Please?”

She couldn’t resist the tender, pleading look in his eyes. “We were married,” she began. “Had been married for eight years,” she breathed deeply to steel her nerves. “We had two boys, and I was pregnant. We were hoping for a girl this time,” she sniffled, having to break their gaze to lower her head and wipe away a sudden tear.

"You were still hunting with Dean, and we lived in the Bunker. I gave up hunting to take care of the kids, and we made the Bunker a home. It was perfect,” she insisted, meeting his eyes again despite the tears streaming down her face. “I just…I wanted a life with you, and the fact it came with everything else…”

Sam kissed her deeply, wiping away her tears with his thumbs as he tried to soothe her. His heart ached for her, and he knew if he’d been the one in that dream, he’d suffer greatly under its loss. It did sound perfect, and if she’d let him, Sam would do his best to give her all that and more.

“I love you,” Sam spoke from the heart, pouring out all the things he’d been holding inside for so long. “I have loved you for so long. But you’re my best friend. You know everything about me, including the worst of me, and I didn’t think there was any way you’d want me after knowing all that.”

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his, running a hand down his shoulder and chest, feeling how real he was, different from the dream. She had a hard time believing it could be true, but she was also so very exhausted. Her stomach gurgled loudly, and they both chuckled.

"When's the last time you ate something?" Sam asked, caressing her cheek. "When's the last time you slept?"

She scoffed, knowing she didn't look great. "I could ask you the same," she said, noticing how unkempt he looked, so different from his usual self. She felt guilty for what she put him through.

"Why don't I order in something?"

She nodded, grateful for him and his care in that moment. Neither of them had been taking care of themselves, and she was so overwhelmed she wasn't sure she could think straight. They ate and passed the time as Y/N told him about their dream lives, and Sam asked pointed questions, wanting to know more. He had pictured a lot of the same things himself, and it thrilled him that the two of them seemed to be on the same page.

Somehow, that turned into them relaxing on the bed, lost in a heavy makeout session while the TV played some random movie neither of them had been paying attention to. He kissed her again and again, stealing her breath away, before trailing his kisses along her jaw and neck, focusing on the spot behind her ear that made her mewl.

“If you let me, I’ll give you everything you want," he said, his touch and kisses igniting something deeper. I’m all in, for all of it.”

“Sam,” she moaned. She wanted to believe him, but it all seemed so surreal. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but-”

“But what?” he asked. “You think I don’t mean it? I’ll call Cas and have him officiate a vow exchange right here and now.”

“Sam!” she chuckled, slapping his shoulder, but he didn’t budge, grinning down at her with shimmering eyes full of love that made her gasp.

“Marry you,” he said with a peck to her lips. “Have babies with you,” he chuckled against her throat, and she groaned to his delight.

“Sam, are you serious?” She pulled from the kiss, cupping his face as she studied his eyes for any hint of a joke or lie.

“Yes, I’m serious. Marry me, Y/N. I want my best friend to become my wife,” he emphasized, and he relished her swoon.

It might seem fast or ridiculous to normal people, people who weren’t them. But for him and Y/N, and the life they lived, he knew he had to take a chance when it presented itself. Tomorrow was never guaranteed, and he didn’t want to waste any more time thinking about it. After all the time they could have been together, all the hurt and misunderstanding, he finally wanted to live it.

Hearing this version, the real version, of Sam say 'wife' sent her whole being into overdrive, the dream and reality colliding into something that made her feel desperate and hungry. “I love you, Sam,” she said, cupping his face to hold his gaze. “So much.”

“So is that a yes?” he chuckled nervously with a lopsided grin that melted her heart.

"Ask me again in the morning," she chuckled, broken by a wide yawn. Sam laughed and kissed her forehead, and they quickly settled under the covers together. She settled off into a deep sleep, surrounded by the safety and warmth of Sam, and hoped he still meant it in the morning. Sam wrapped her in his arms, unwilling to let go in case it was all just a dream.

It didn't take long for Y/N to fall asleep, but Sam stayed awake, holding her close, running his fingers through her hair, and caressing her skin as she fell deep into sleep like her body needed. He was floating on cloud nine, still trying to wrap his head around all of it. He'd proposed, and meant every word. He wanted her to be his wife. He wasn't sure if she believed him, but he fully intended to ask her again in the morning.

When she rolled over and snuggled into the bed, Sam took the opportunity to carefully remove himself from the bed. He needed to check in with Dean, let him know things were okay, but also talk to him about the new developments. Quietly slipping out, Sam headed to Dean's room, knocking on the door rapidly, impatient for him to answer.

Dean hadn't been sleeping, but had been relaxing on the bed watching TV. When he heard the knock on the door, he assumed the worst. That Y/N had rejected Sam, and he'd come crawling back to Dean's room for shelter. Opening the door, Dean was surprised as Sam jovially bounced past him into the room, a stupidly happy grin on his face.

"So, how did it go?" Dean asked, unsure what was going on and why Sam was absolutely lit up.

"I asked her to marry me," Sam announced, rocking on the balls of his feet, grinning ear-to-ear.

“You proposed?” Dean asked, stunned at the turn of events. He thought they’d talk, maybe roll in the sheets, and be together. But he didn’t know either of them would dive straight to the big stuff. “Are you sure this isn’t the dream influencing things?”

“Dean, I love her. You know that, and this isn’t the first time I’ve thought about a future like that with her.”

“Yeah, but married? What did she say?”

“Well, she told me to ask her again in the morning,” Sam deflated a little. "She was tired and a little surprised to see me," he admitted, chewing on his lip in thought as he wondered if his happiness wasn't premature.

“Are you sure about this? I mean, I just don't want you to rush into things. And I don't want to see either of you get hurt."

“Look, it’s not like we can have a legal marriage. If we do a private ceremony, we can make our promises together, and it’ll mean more than just some legal piece of paper.”

“You can make a fake marriage certificate, Sam,” Dean rolled his eyes.

“It’s not about that,” Sam sighed, disappointed that his big brother didn’t seem as on board as he thought he’d be.

"Look," Dean sighed, feeling bad that he popped Sam's happy little bubble. "Let's just get home first, all three of us. Then we can talk about it some more, okay?"

Sam nodded, realizing maybe both Y/N and Dean needed time to stew on the idea of this being a reality. "I'm gonna go spend the night with Y/N," he said as he opened the door. "I'll see you in the morning."

When he walked back into Y/N's room and found her still asleep, he smiled warmly to himself. He carefully climbed back into bed beside her and grinned when she rolled over into his arms, sighing his name as she remained deep in her slumber. He wouldn't give up. He'd ask her again in the morning, after they'd slept and eaten, and he'd convince Dean to get on board as well.

-

When Y/N woke, she felt refreshed and better than she had since leaving the dream. She was still sore, but it was less a post-hunt ache and more a 'didn't move from the same spot for too long' pain. She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, the warm glow of the sun lighting the curtains a bright orange and casting a soft glow across the room.

Sam had spent the night with her, something that made her smile. He had found her, despite not wanting to be discovered, and arrived on her doorstep confessing that he, too, harbored similar feelings. It was all too awkward and a little angry to be a dream, but she enjoyed that too. His side of the bed was empty and cold, which made her grin falter until she noticed the sheet of paper left on his pillow.

Went to get breakfast. Didn't want you to think I was gone or that it was a dream. - Sam

She huffed a laugh. It was sweet and thoughtful for him to leave a note, because she surely would have driven herself insane thinking it was all another dream. She was beginning to be able to sort things out, one life from the other, and didn't need further confusion. As she rose from the bed, she spotted another slip of paper on the dining table under the window and retrieved it after a long, satisfying stretch.

In case you didn't see my other note, I went to get breakfast. Be back soon. - Sam

She chuckled, always amused and grateful to Sam for thinking of every detail. It was possible that she wouldn't see the notes, the fan could blow them away, or that she'd wake in such a panic that she wouldn't focus on details like a note. Sam knew that, and he was proving how well he knew her through those simple little actions.

She did her morning routine in the bathroom and chuckled heartily at another note, taped to the mirror, just like the others. It told her that Sam was just as worried as she was, that maybe it wasn't real, or perhaps she didn't believe him. She sat at the dining table, the three notes laid out before her, smiling dopily as she thought about their exchange.

She distinctly remembered him asking her to marry him, but figured she was probably caught up in the moment. While she definitely wanted to explore this new thing and shared feelings between them, she wasn't going to hold him to anything he said. A small part of her worried that he'd said all he did just because he didn't want her out of his life.

The room door opened, and Sam stepped through, a bright smile on his face as his eyes met hers. He quickly closed the door, hands full of a paper bag and a tray with coffee.

"You're awake," he smiled, setting the items on the table and passing one of the two cups to her. "How do you feel?"

"Good," she smiled, breathing in the aroma of freshly brewed coffee with a happy sigh. "Haven't slept that hard in a long time."

His grin somehow grew, dimples popping, eyes shining as he stared down at her. He leaned in, cupped her cheek as his lips met hers, lingering for a second, and took the seat next to her as he began removing items from the paper bag for them. She was swooning so hard. The kiss was sweet, but the giant muffin he sat before her was even sweeter.

"So I was thinking, when you're ready, that we could head back to the Bunker," Sam said as he finished eating, smiling over at her. "Or if the Bunker makes you uncomfortable, we could head to one of Bobby's cabins, or Rufus's in Montana," he offered.

Her heart stuttered at how he was looking out for her, worried about her comfort. She was still a bit nervous about being back at the Bunker, despite having separated her lives in her mind, because she would still mourn what wasn't. But Sam seemed determined to prove to her that he loved her, that something between them could work.

"I think I want to go home," she smiled softly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "We can go back today."

"Okay," Sam smiled, and she knew he'd be glad to have her back in the Bunker, all of them safe at home where they belonged. She balled up her trash and tossed it in the paper bag, groaning, and she rose from her seat and stretched. "I'm gonna grab a shower."

She leaned down, a hand on his shoulder, as he pecked his cheek. Sam turned his head, capturing her lips again. Now that he could kiss her, he wasn't sure he would ever stop, stealing any and every opportunity she allowed. His eyes were glued to her ass as she entered the bathroom, and he had to fight the urge to join her. He closed his eyes and took several calming breaths.

He wanted Y/N so badly. But this whole thing was new, and her nerves and mind were still raw, and he didn't want to rush anything. But he'd thought about being with her so many times, and now, it seemed just within reach. It took several long minutes to get his overeager body to relax, though his cock painfully throbbed in protest.

A short while later, the bathroom door opened, steam billowing out as Y/N emerged in only a towel, her skin and hair damp. She locked eyes with him and smiled bashfully, "Forgot to bring my bag in with me," she explained as she retrieved her duffel from the floor.

Sam's heart raced at the sight of her, and his cock hardened again, all his calming efforts gone in a flash. He wanted nothing more than to cross the room, take her in his arms, and kiss her senseless. The moment he realized he could, his feet were moved with purpose, carrying him across the room to where she stood in a few short strides.

One arm wrapped behind her back, pulling her flush against him, while the other cupped her jaw and angled her head. He crashed his lips into hers, his hunger evident as he nipped at her lip. She gasped, and he seized the opportunity, slipping his tongue into her mouth and tasting her properly.

Y/N moaned, her hands slid over his chest and shoulders as she rose to her tiptoes to kiss him back, matching his hunger. Her towel fell away, and she couldn't care less, lost in the feel of Sam's lips and his hands as they caressed her now bare skin.

He pulled back, and his eyes glazed over as he looked down at her naked body in his hands, her nipples hardening in the cool air of the room. He groaned as his hands slid up to cup her breasts, feeling the softness and weight in his large hands. He ran a thumb over a nipple, making her gasp, and he kissed her harshly as he guided her back toward the bed.

He guided her to lie back on the bed, following her down and covering her soft and naked body with his hard and fully clothed one, kissing her senseless the whole time. The contrast of his rough denim and soft flannel against her bare skin only further heightened her sensations as his hands roamed over her breasts and down her stomach, his lips over her jaw and neck.

"You're so beautiful, Baby. So damn sexy," Sam groaned against her throat, kissing his way to her lips. "Can I make you cum? Please?"

His hand lingered on her inner thigh as he waited for her permission to go further. His eyes were dark and hungry, his breath hot and teasing against her lips. She wanted him so badly, this Sam, her best friend.

"Yes," she nodded, pulling him in for another kiss.

She parted her thighs as his hand cupped her mound, relishing the warmth and wetness. She was already so incredibly aroused. Sam had that effect on her, but since he'd shown up at her doorstep, she'd been yearning for him and his touch. But this Sam, her Sam, was so very different from her imaginings or even the djinn dream. He was a bit hungrier, more demanding, his touch more sure, and it only made her squirm for more.

His long, calloused fingers ran through her folds, exploring and teasing, testing what made her release certain sounds, or made her hips jerk and swivel, what made her hands clench in his hair while his mouth kissed and sucked at her breasts, teasing at her nipples with his tongue. He was eager, wanting to prove himself, wanting to enjoy and savor her, wanting to be with her.

Once he had completed a cursory mapping, he set to work, concentrating on those sensitive areas. He slid two fingers within her, his thumb reaching to circle her clit as his mouth and free hand continued stimulating her breasts. In a matter of minutes, her body tensed as she came hard, her thighs clenching around his hand, her fingers tugging harshly at his hair. He leaned on one forearm, gazing down at her and drinking in every detail as his hand worked her through her high.

By the time he pulled from between her legs, his fingers were drenched in her cum. Holding eye contact, he lifted his hand to his mouth and sucked his fingers clean of her juices, his eyes fluttering closed as her tangy but sweet flavor exploded on his tongue.

"You are gorgeous like this," he praised, brushing the hair back from her flushed and relaxed face as she descended from cloud nine and back into her body. "Marry me, Y/N? Please?"

Her heart stuttered in her chest at his words and the sweet yet vulnerable look in his eyes. Before, he seemed almost manically to demand her hand. But now, and after last night, things seemed different, real, less urgent, and more them. He proposed to her with a tenderness that almost broke her heart.

“Yes,” she grinned broadly, accepting Sam’s passionate kiss, but it was over too soon for her liking. She pouted as he rose off her and pulled her off the bed to her feet. “What?”

“I wanna marry you,” he reiterated. “So that when I finally slide inside of you, make love to you the way I always wanted, have you bare and cum inside of you, I can call you my wife.”

She swooned so hard he had to catch her as her knees buckled from his sensuous words alone. His knowing chuckles were frustrating, but she also admired his confidence and resolution.

“Don’t you wanna test drive the car before you buy it?” she teased.

“I’m confident in my acquisition,” he kissed her soundly. "Get dressed."

“Wait, where are you going?” she asked, dumbfounded as he headed for the door.

“To talk to Dean,” he grinned and shrugged. "We're gonna head home, and then we have a wedding to plan," he added as he rushed out the door to Dean's room.

It was happening! Not in a dream, but for real. And while it did seem fast and she was a little unsure, Y/N knew that if they waited, anything could happen to prevent their happiness. Sam said he was all in, which was everything she’d wanted from him and with him. It was all so rushed and informal and utterly different from the dream, which somehow made it even better. 

After dressing and packing up her things, Sam returned to help her pack up her car. "You and I can take your car, and Dean will lead in the Impala," he explained, and Y/N knew that in his short few minutes to his brother's room, Sam and Dean had talked about a whole lot. It was their way, their shorthand.

When she stepped outside, Dean was already there waiting. "Hey, Sweetheart," he said as he wrapped her in a warm hug.

"Hey, Dean."

"You had us worried," he said and gave her a heavy look. She glanced at Sam, who focused back on loading the car. She knew she was due for an ass chewing. "Don't ever run off on us like that again. If there's an issue, we work through it together. Yeah?"

"Yeah," she agreed, feeling heavy with guilt. She needed the time to herself to sort through things, but she could've left a note or something, much like Sam did when he went for breakfast.

He grabbed her gently by the shoulders and tilted his head to meet her eyes. "You good? Do you need some more time here to sort through things? I don't want to rush you home if you aren't ready."

She smiled genuinely and nodded to him. She wanted to be home with her family. It was infinitely better than being on her own, and she knew they cared for her as much as she did them.

"Alright," he nodded curtly, glancing at Sam. "Let's hit the road."

-

Dean was glad that Y/N was coming home with them and even happier that she and Sam could have time alone to work things out. He had to admit he was surprised when Sam rushed into his room to tell him that he'd asked Y/N to marry him. Mostly, he was surprised that Sam finally manned up and had the balls to tell the girl how he felt. He'd only been pining after her for ages.

He also worried that jumping straight to marriage was a little impulsive and spurred on both ends by the fantasy the djinn had concocted. Dean knew how hard it was to come back from that. But he also didn't want either of them to end up broken-hearted or decide they were better off as friends. He didn't think any of that was likely; they were a great match, and he'd wondered how it'd taken so long.

The downside to having a two-car traveling caravan was that Dean wasn't the only driver in control, and Sam stopped more often than Dean liked for gas or snacks, because Y/N needed the bathroom, or to stretch his legs. It was everything they asked for when Dean drove, but he refused, pushing through to reach the next location as quickly as possible. It made the already lengthy drive from Steubenville to Lebanon even longer.

Dean didn't mind being on the road, behind the wheel, blasting his favorite music and singing off-key at the top of his lungs without anyone there to criticize him. He could do it all day. But that was not the point. He groaned as his phone pinged with another text from Sam, telling him they needed to get gas. His Baby needed gas quite often, but Y/N's little beater seemed to guzzle it up.

Dean pulled into a pump, and Sam pulled up on the opposite side. "Filling up again," Dean teasingly groaned at the pair.

"I see you're getting gas," Sam sassed back.

"Might as well, since we're here," Dean shrugged, though Sam didn't need to know that Baby was running low on gas and he'd have to stop soon anyway to fill her up. Again, not the point.

Y/N smirked and pecked Sam on the lips, "Gonna go to the bathroom and get some snacks."

"Kay," he smiled, his eyes glued to her until she disappeared from his sight, and Dean was sure she had a little more sway to her hips, knowing Sam was watching. Sam shook his head, smiling as he turned his attention to pumping the gas.

"Man, you are so whipped," Dean chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the side of his car. Sam shrugged, tucking his hands in his pockets, though the smile was stuck fast on his face. "Honestly, I'm happy for you."

"Yeah?" Sam looked up at Dean with skepticism.

"Yeah, really," Dean insisted, dropping his arms to his sides.

"Didn't seem that on board with everything earlier."

"I know, I'm sorry," Dean sighed, conceding the fight. "Look, I'm not against the whole getting married thing if that's what you two really want," he tried to explain himself. "I just didn't want you two rushing into something. But if you both really want to do this, then I want to support you."

"We've been talking about it in the car," Sam said, with a slight smirk. "It's still talking with my best friend. But I'm holding her hand, and we're talking about marriage and if we think it's a good idea." The gas pump clicked, and he put the handle back, closing the fuel intake latch.

"And she pointed out that we love each other and already live together, have for years, and that we know everything about each other and our lives. I've always wanted to get married and have a family, but over time it just didn't seem possible, having to choose between hunting or starting my own family."

"But Y/N said if she learned anything from the djinn dream, it was that having a family in the hunting life is possible, and how to do it. We built a life in the safety of the Bunker, but the kids still had somewhat normal lives."

Dean smiled warmly at the image, but felt a little sadness creep in as he tried to imagine his brother out of the life, with a family, and Dean hunting alone.

"You were there," Sam said, picking up on his brother's body language. "In our lives, you still lived there, we hunted together," he explained as Dean tried to pretend he wasn't intrigued. "You were the cool and helpful Uncle," he smirked, thinking of Bobby in their own lives.

Dean smirked, then cleared his throat. "I'll call Cas," he said, ignoring Sam's look of surprise as his eyebrows rose to meet his hairline. "I'll take care of everything."

“Really?” Sam’s mood instantly improved, the smile back on his face, and Dean felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of him.

"Yeah," Dean said as he eagerly climbed into his Baby. "Rings, dress, decorations. Give me twenty-four hours. I'll meet you back at the Bunker."

"Where are you going?"

"Got a wedding to plan!" Dean shouted out the open window, tires screeching as he peeled off.

Sam eyed his brother cautiously, wary about how it would turn out if Dean were planning it all. He didn’t want bottled beers, peanut butter cups, and Zepplin IV on repeat. In the end, it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was Y/N.

"Where's he going?" Y/N asked, dropping her purchases in the car as she watched Dean disappear down the road.

"To plan the wedding, apparently," Sam shrugged, grinning as he wrapped his arms around her, happily accepting her kisses.

"Oh yeah? Should I be worried?"

"Doesn't matter," Sam spoke as he swayed with her in his arms. "As long as I get to make you my wife."

She giggled as she accepted his kisses, but pulled from his arms and ignored his pout as he tried to push her against the side of the car. She opened the passenger door, grinning at Sam's exaggerated pout.

"Uh uh," she teased. "You're the one who wanted to wait until marriage, so let's get home."

Despite her teasing, Sam was on cloud nine, grinning as he climbed in the car and drove toward home. A couple of hours into their drive, Sam began to notice that Y/N had shifted to sit sideways in her seat, her back against the passenger door as she bit her lip and stared at him with bedroom eyes.

"What?" Sam asked with a smile, his eyes flitting between her and the road.

"You are so incredibly handsome," she said, and he could almost feel her gaze as it swept over him. "So damn sexy. I never get to really look," she swooned, continuing to ogle him from her seat shamelessly. "Always so afraid of getting caught and the possible fallout from that."

"I know the feeling," he said, looking over at her and taking his own sweeping glance of her relaxed and open body. The same body he had naked under him just hours ago. Reminding himself he was driving, he turned his attention back to the road.

"I love the way your hair falls around your eyes and frames your face," she said, leaning forward. "I always wanna brush it back," she said as she used a gentle finger to sweep back his hair from his face and tucked it behind his ear, letting her fingers trail down the column of his neck.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. She smirked, her eyes locked on his angled jaw as she ran the back of her finger over the hairs there. "I love the bit of stubble you get when you've been too busy to shave for a few days." She ran her lips and cheek against his stubbled jaw, enjoying the scratch against her softer skin, and kissed the hinge of his jaw.

"I love how serious you get when researching for a case, and how excited you get when you learn something new," she added, admiring the pink that tinged his ears and cheeks.

"You do that, too," Sam smirked. "On a case, you're so serious and focused. When people are dying, you are all business. I respect that so much," he praised, admiring how she swooned. He placed a hand on her thigh, his fingers digging in as he squeezed.

His arm pressed against her chest as she leaned in, and she hummed, rubbing her fingers up and down the length of his muscled arm. "I love it when you hug me, wrap your arms around me. I feel surrounded by you, warm and safe. You're so strong, yet you can be so incredibly gentle. And your hands-"

Her hand slid over his that rested on her thigh, running over his fingers before picking it up and holding it between both of her hands, noting the significant size difference. "Your hands are one of my favorite things," she smirked.

"My hands? Really?" Sam chuckled, though she could see he was worked up from just her words, which made her swell with pride.

She held his hand, examining it with a smile as she ran her fingertips along the length of each finger. "Yeah, like how delicate they are when you turn a page. Or how dexterous when you wield a weapon," she grinned at him. "How gentle they are when you tend to my wounds and stitch me up, or how precise and deadly they can be when squeezing the life out of an enemy."

She bit her lip as she looked at him, taking note of how his breathing increased and he struggled to keep his eyes on the road. "Or when you're touching me, your fingers inside of me," she shuddered, feeling as if she were already climbing toward another orgasm, just remembering what he had done earlier. "So big and capable."

She kissed the tip of his middle finger before gently sucking on the tip, relishing his sharp intake of breath. She placed his hand back on her thigh as she leaned in and kissed along his jaw, her hand sliding down his torso to the bulge in his jeans, rubbing over the hardness beneath his denim.

"Fuuuck," Sam groaned. He absolutely loved every word she said and everything she was doing, but it was a struggle to focus on the road. He had to jerk the wheel back on course a few times as his head threatened to loll back on his shoulders.

She unfastened his jeans as she kissed along his neck, dragging her teeth against the hot and taut flesh, relishing his responding shudder. As she pulled his hard and leaking cock from its confines, Sam's head spun. He had this dream before, in which Y/N was eager for him, desperate to have him or to please him. But he was driving, and despite knowing it wasn't the safest idea, he gave only a half-hearted protest.

"Baby-"

"Eyes on the road, Sam," she teased before licking a long strip up his cock and sucking on the tip before taking him into the back of her throat with a satisfied hum.

Sam cursed, his hips bucked, and he righted the wheel again as he veered slightly out of the lane. He kept looking down between her and up at the road, fighting as his head rolled back and his eyes threatened to close. Her mouth was so warm and wet, her suction and throat tight. Fuck, it was going to take no time at all to make him cum.

After only a few short minutes of her efforts, Sam had to pull off the side of the road, ignoring the honk of the car behind him as it swerved and sped past. Throwing the car into park, he relaxed back in the seat, letting his eyes close and head fall back. One hand gripped the wheel hard, the other tangled in her hair as he came with a roar and a hiss down her throat.

She took every drop he gave, swallowing it down, before sitting back in her seat with a triumphant grin. Catching his breath, he looked at her as she wiped the corners of her mouth with her thumb, then sucked the digit clean of the remnants. Fuck, he could already feel himself hardening again from just that sight.

He tugged her in harshly by the back of the neck, kissing her hungrily and nipping at her lip. "God, I want you so bad," he said, resting his forehead against hers and holding her close.

"Then I guess we should hurry home," she teased.

He groaned, kissing her again before tucking himself away in his pants. A quick look over his shoulder, and Sam merged back onto the highway, his foot a little heavier as he rushed to get her home and struggled with his decision to wait to have her.

-

Several hours later, Sam sighed in relief as the Bunker came into view. He drove the car down the long tunnel to the underground garage and parked Y/N's car in its assigned spot. As he cut off the engine, he felt like things were slipping back into place, back into their version of normal. But the Impala was not there, and Sam quickly shot a text to his brother, who should have beaten them home.

Still doing wedding stuff. Cas is with me. Might be a couple days.

Sam chuckled at the thought of Dean and Castiel shopping for a wedding, his rough and rugged older brother and a billion-year-old celestial being, arguing over decorations and cake flavors. He glanced at Y/N, passed out in the passenger seat, and his smile shifted to something softer, warmer.

"Y/N?" He tried gently waking her by caressing her arm and shaking her lightly as she slowly woke up. "Baby, we're home."

She groaned and stretched, and Sam bit his lip as his eyes trailed over her body. It was hard enough not to just take her like he wanted, like they both wanted, especially when she'd been teasing him and driving him crazy the whole drive home. But he reminded himself that she was more than worth the wait.

"Where's Dean?" she asked as they walked inside.

"Still shopping, I guess," Sam shrugged, and Y/N chuckled.

When she turned down the hall to head to her room instead of Sam's, he paused, trying to tug her by the hand in his direction, but her feet stayed stubbornly planted as she smirked at him.

"Thought you might want to go back to sleep," Sam said, tugging her into his arms where he felt she belonged.

"I do," she said, kissing the corner of his mouth and pulling herself from his arms. "In my room."

"Okay," he said, trying not to pout over not having her in his bed. It's not like he'd been thinking about it the whole ride or anything. When he tried to move towards her room, however, he was stopped by her hand on his chest. "What?"

"I'm going to my room, and you're going to yours," she said, like it was obvious.

"Why?" Sam ignored the hint of a whine in his voice, but she didn't, as she chuckled again. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," she shook her head, that cute smile still on her face, and Sam wanted to kiss it away, kiss her senseless until she changed her mind. "We're not married yet, and we're supposed to sleep in separate rooms."

"Oh, come on!" Sam playfully complained, regretting his decision more and more, though Y/N was clearly amused by the whole thing.

"Nope," she remained steadfast. "You want the tradition and waiting til marriage and all that, so that's what we're doing."

"I change my mind," Sam quickly responded, wrapping her in his arms and kissing down her neck. "We don't have to wait."

She cupped his face and kissed him soundly, "Goodnight, Sam."

He stood in the hallway, watching her walk away, his eyes glued to her ass as her hips swayed with every step. He fought the urge to chase after her, though every muscle in his body itched to do so. He knew she was teasing him, riling him up, making him pay for the decision to wait. He hadn't anticipated just how much she wanted him, as much as he wanted her. As he went to bed alone, he texted his brother to hurry home. He wasn't sure he could handle more days of this torment.

Y/N was determined to try to make him break. Sam was notorious for his self-control, and when he was determined, he wouldn't be deterred. She saw it as a sort of challenge, and even if she couldn't break him, she could rile him up, and maybe on their wedding night she would get to see Sam snap, lose control, and claim her entirely. The thought alone sent shivers through her, and she amped up her efforts.

The first day back was pretty tame, settling back into life in the Bunker. She still felt like Y/N, like his best friend, with the added bonus that he could yank her down across his lap and kiss her silly whenever he wanted until she giggled and he finally released her.

The second day was torture, and Sam would know. It started when he woke from an intense dream that left his boxer briefs wet and sticky. Throughout the day, it seemed every little thing Y/N did was designed to draw out his torment. The way she'd walk and sway her hips or bend with her ass on display, the way she wore a low-cut top, her breasts pushed up and spilling over, the way she dropped innuendos every chance she got, or drew attention to her mouth with the tip of a pen or chewed on her finger in thought.

When she came out of the bathroom in only a towel, her hair and skin wet, her dirty laundry gripped in one hand, Sam had flashbacks to the motel. He was glad that Dean was gone as he had her cumming on his tongue and fingers multiple times in the middle of the hallway, pressed against the cool tiled wall as her screams of pleasure echoed around him, her towel and clothes forgotten.

The third day was by far the hardest, and Sam found himself wishing Dean would get home already and also that he'd stay away, 'cause Sam was sure he and Y/N would break and give in at any moment. From the time they woke up, they'd sought each other out, unable to stop touching or kissing. He'd made her cum on his fingers before coffee, and she'd nearly sucked his soul out of his body on her knees in the kitchen, thanking him for breakfast.

Sam increasingly had to fight to maintain control, desperate to fuck her hard until they both came screaming. But he forced himself to maintain control, enjoying the build-up and little bits of release. She had no idea what kind of trouble and payback she was in for when he finally had her on his cock.

By the end of the third day, though, Sam began to worry about his brother. It shouldn't take three days or more to shop for a few things, and it wasn't like they were doing anything elaborate that required reservations or anything. At least, Sam hoped that wasn't what Dean was doing. He really wasn't sure he could survive another day of wanting to bury himself balls deep inside of Y/N, or even another day to make her his wife like he'd been craving.

Turns out, he needn't worry.

A few hours after he stopped focusing on the throbbing need of his cock and started spiraling over his brother and his whereabouts, the Bunker door finally opened. Sam relaxed as soon as he heard Dean and Cas from where he now stood from his chair at the map table, though he quickly tensed again as they bickered on their descent into the War Room.

Sam chuckled and blushed in embarrassment over their marriage-like antics as the two men recounted their endeavors. Castiel complained about Dean's perfectionism, while Dean chastised Cas's color choices.

"He couldn't even help with the cakes, because he couldn't taste them," Dean laughed.

"It all just tastes like molecules," he complained, turning to Sam. "It's not very appetizing."

"No, yeah, I'm sure," Sam awkwardly replied, though he was touched by how much they seemed invested in this. "I guess I was just worried something had happened. It was a while."

Cas stared at Dean, who shrugged defensively and glared back with a silent 'what'. Cas sighed, "Dean hooked up with the bakery owner, so it took an extra night and day."

"We had chemistry," Dean defended, then smirked. "Besides, she gave me a great deal on the cake."

Cas and Sam groaned and rolled their eyes in unison.

-

It was another day and a half, nearly thirty-six hours, before Sam was putting on his suit for the wedding, and he had suffered, in one way or another, almost the entire time. In stark contrast to the last few days, Y/N insisted on a celibacy of sorts and did not allow any touch or hugs or kisses, which of course made Sam itch all the more for it, any of it, and all of her.

Then Dean came to him with an unexpected and possibly dangerous task that served as the perfect distraction, though he couldn't really be mad about it, considering how it had happened.

Dean had decided to make their wedding bands himself, from scratch. He chose angel blade metal for its durability and the white-gold sheen it gave off, and for its ability to protect them. It turns out, he needed a flame from the Forge of Heaven, which Castiel acquired, to melt and modify the metal. He was successful, and the rings were unique and stunning.

However, that left them with an eternal flame that could not be extinguished and which they figured might come in handy in the future, so Sam set out to find a way to store the ever-burning, bright-blue flame. It served as a welcome distraction while Dean assigned Castiel decorating duties with precise instructions, and took Y/N dress shopping.

Per Dean's detailed instructions, Castiel staged and decorated the area at the back of the Library, using the telescope alcove as an altar. The archway, decorated in flowers and vines, was for Castiel to stand beneath as he officiated, as Sam had requested. He had added flowers, streamers, balloons, and a plethora of decor that screamed dollar store, but was still placed with the utmost respect and attention to detail.

The Library table facing the alcove was also decorated with a small, simple two-tier wedding cake featuring generic male and female characters that bore no resemblance to Sam and Y/N, perched atop the frosted surface. Again, a detail that didn't matter to Sam but mattered to Dean and might matter to Y/N. What did matter to Sam was the thought and effort that went into everything.

Just like how Dean had been thoughtful enough to take Y/N shopping for a dress appropriate for the occasion, though Sam didn't think she owned a dress of any kind. He had told Sam that they found a beauty on the clearance rack at a small boutique in town, and that he and Y/N had a heart-to-heart. Sam was worried about what that meant and even more worried his brother might have given her a speech, but Dean wouldn't tell him and said it was between them, which Sam respected.

As she walked through the Library up to where the others waited for her, escorted by Dean, she looked like she walked right out of a dream in a dress made just for her. He thought maybe they had found an old prom dress or something, but she was stunning in a beautiful wedding gown. All Sam could see was the woman of his dreams ready to marry him, and he fought back the tears of overwhelming emotion that threatened him.

Y/N wasn't faring any better, on the verge of happy tears since Dean linked his arm with her to walk her to where Sam waited. She was more than surprised by how on board he was with everything, despite the rushed timeline, but she knew he, too, understood the importance of seizing the moment amid their uncertain lives.

As her eyes landed on Sam, wearing his fed suit and standing at the makeshift altar, her smile grew so wide it nearly hurt. It was far simpler and smaller than their wedding in the dream, which had been lavish and in a church. In retrospect, it probably should have raised a few warning flags in the dream, but she supposed acceptance was part of the venom at work.

Despite all that, it was more perfect than anything she could have dreamed up, because it was real, and Sam was waiting to be her husband. By the time they’d finished their vows and sealed them with a kiss, they were both silently crying tears of unrelenting joy. They kept it simple, neither of them artistic writers in any sense.

“I love you, Mrs. Winchester,” Sam teased with a grin, their foreheads pressed together as he cupped her face and breathed her in.

“I love you, too, Mr. Winchester,” she cheekily responded, and they laughed together.

They danced and laughed and drank and ate cake, and the four of them talked about what they'd endured to get here and what the future might hold, made even more special by sharing it with their closest friends and family, Dean and Castiel. Though she'd be lying if she said she wasn't looking forward to the wedding night, alone with Sam, to connect and be together fully. It didn't help that Sam couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself; he always needed to hold, touch, or kiss her. She didn't mind, wanting it all the more, especially since they were allowed.

“Alright, you two,” Dean clapped his hands and grinned. “I packed a couple of bags in one of the cars for you.”

“You did?” Sam asked, confused. “Why?”

“Well, since I’m such an awesome brother, and technically the best man, I got you two a honeymoon suite for a few days. Here,” Dean handed over a slip of paper to Sam that had an address written on it. 

“Dean, thank you,” Sam responded, genuinely grateful for all his brother had done to help make this happen. Dean loved Y/N too, like family, and to have him on board and so invested meant more to Sam than he could say.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean waved them off. 

As they hit the road, Sam interlocked their fingers, smiling over at her and admiring how stunning she was in her wedding dress, makeup, and hair. She was gorgeous and happy and all his. Dean had booked a honeymoon suite at a quaint, niche hotel in Overland Park, about four hours away. Dean had apparently discovered it while cake shopping and while planning other aspects of the wedding.

Sam had made his own plans for the long drive to keep things interesting and drive them both a little crazy. It was already dark outside, so he wasn't worried about being discovered, plus the roads were mostly empty as they drove the almost three hundred miles to the hotel. He kissed the back of her hand and released it as he smiled wickedly at her.

"Wanna play a little game?"

She smirked at his teasing tone, knowing he already had something wicked and probably delicious in mind. "What kind of game?"

"Hike up your dress for me," he nodded toward her flowing skirt, tucked into the passenger wheel well. It wasn't fluffy or big, but there was still a lot of it. When she complied, he bit his lip, seeing her thigh-high stockings, her garter, and the silky panties she wore. It was all white and smooth, shining prettily against her skin.

She parted her legs and looked over at him with an exaggerated, innocent pout, "Like this?"

She was so incredibly sexy, and despite how turned on he was, he was determined to work her up. With his left hand on the wheel, he moved his right to her panty-covered center and rubbed her through the thin and slick fabric. He focused on her clit, lowering down to tease at her entrance, and back up, but did not touch her skin directly.

She squirmed and moaned in the passenger seat, her legs spreading wider as her body silently begged for more, her hips canting against his hand. It didn't take long for her to start panting, showing the signs that she was nearing her release. Before she could get there, Sam removed his hand and sucked his fingers before placing them back on the wheel, smiling over at her with a shit-eating grin.

It took her a minute to catch her breath and realize what had happened. She was so close to cumming and Sam just stopped entirely. She looked over at him with a real pout, ready to vocalize her protests.

"Why did you stop?"

"Because I'm gonna keep edging you until we get there," he said.

"Seriously?"

She'd never done such a thing before, and the thought of it sounded like torture. But she could also see how hard Sam was just from fingering her while driving. It was torture for both of them, and if she thought she was desperate for him now…

"Okay," she agreed, fixing her skirt to at least cover her panties until he was ready to go again. But she had her own ideas of returning that torment.

Over the course of the drive, Sam had edged her another three times, one for each passing hour of their trip. Her panties were ruined, completely soaked through with her arousal. Sam had teased and fucked her pussy with his fingers every way he could from his position, leaving her desperate and whiny each time. And every time, he had to stop, curse, and grip his cock tight through his slacks.

Because every time he played with her, aroused her, and teased her, she retaliated with words. She told him how good it felt, how good he was to her, how much she wanted his cock, to feel him fuck her nice and deep. She begged him to pull over, to let her cum on his cock, ride him until they were both satisfied, though she knew he wouldn't. He clenched his jaw, stared at the road, and tried to pretend he wasn't as affected as he was.

When they finally arrived in Overland Park, they pulled into a surprisingly upscale hotel, and both Sam and Y/N were riled up to the point of breaking. Check-in was easy, as Dean had already registered and paid. Sam grabbed their bags from the trunk and wrapped his free arm around her waist as he guided them to their room for the next few days.

“Here we are,” Sam grinned, setting down their bags and unlocking the door. The room was large and beautiful, though clearly decorated for romance. His brother seemed to go all out, the bed covered in rose petals and a bottle of champagne waiting in a bucket.

Before Y/N could enter, Sam scooped her into his arms, pecking her lips before carrying her over the threshold and into the suite. He set her on her feet as she giggled, and he rushed to retrieve their bags before he kicked the door shut with his foot and dropped the bags haphazardly to the floor.

Y/N looked around the room, the king-sized bed the center of attention, complete with satin sheets and a cushioned, heart-shaped headboard. She flushed at the sight of the large mirrored ceiling just above the bed and turned to meet Sam's eyes. She shouldn't have been surprised; it was very on brand for Dean's idea of romance, but despite the tackiness, it all seemed more than perfect.

Sam smirked as he removed his jacket and tie, laying them over one of the chairs. He opened the bottle of champagne, and Y/N jumped at the sudden, loud pop of the cork, giggling as the bubbles overflowed and Sam cursed under his breath, struggling to contain the mess. He carefully poured two flute glasses, returned the bottle to the bucket filled with ice, and handed her one.

"To us?" Sam asked, holding his glass up for a toast.

Y/N grinned and held her glass the same, "To finally giving ourselves a chance?"

"To the family we'll make together," he added with a smirk.

They toasted and sipped, and the room grew quiet and a little awkward, neither of them sure what to do next, though they both had the same idea of where it would lead. Y/N downed her drink in a few sips, and Sam threw his back quickly, setting their glasses to the side on the table.

Y/N giggled in delight as Sam took her into his arms again, held her close, and kissed her passionately. His large, warm hands covered most of her back as he pressed their bodies together, unwilling to part for long, eager to make her his completely.

She couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that she and Sam were in love and married. It was like a dream. Well, no, she’d had this dream, and reality was much better. She grinned cheekily as her hands ran over his shoulders, and with his tie and jacket gone, it was no effort to start unbuttoning his shirt.

Sam grinned into the kiss that seemed to keep going, parting long enough to catch a quick breath, before meeting again and again. More than ready and a little impatient, Sam ripped his shirt open, surprising Y/N as the buttons flew across the room.

“Your shirt!” she giggled against his hungry mouth.

“I’ll buy a new one,” he chuckled, his now bare torso pressed against her. 

She couldn’t complain as they continued hastily removing each other’s clothes. She had seen bits and pieces of Sam throughout their time together, but never all of him, and never where she was allowed to look and touch. Her hands and eyes were frantic as she roamed every inch of exposed flesh Sam offered to her. He was firm and warm and smooth, her hands enjoying every line and dip, her mouth and tongue teasing behind each caress. 

Sam, too, couldn’t slow his movements or actions, almost starving and desperate to have her naked and writhing beneath him. He’d imagined it so many times and in so many ways. Now that the moment was upon him, he couldn’t decide where to start. 

“My beautiful Wife,” Sam uttered once they were completely bare. She swooned, and he chuckled, picked her up, laid her back on the bed, and followed her down all in one fluid motion. Sam’s display of strength made her moan and grab onto him tightly, feeling his muscles flex beneath her hands.

“My handsome Husband,” she returned reverently. “I love you, Sam.”

“I love you, too, Y/N,” he whispered, kissing her deeply.

She parted her thighs, assuming he'd just go for it like nearly every man she'd been with before - not that there were many - but he surprised her as his lips moved down her neck, and his fingers expertly found her clit.

"Sam!" she cried as he slid two fingers into her core, his thumb continuing to toy with her sensitive button.

"Mmm, love that sound," he hummed against the swell of her breast, before taking a nipple between his lips and flicking it with his tongue. She released a shocked, high-pitched moan, and he grinned up at her. She was embarrassed by how close she was to coming already. "That sound was even better."

His voice was thick with arousal as he kissed his way down her body, spreading her thighs wider with his large hands, making room for his broad shoulders as he leveled his face with her pussy. His eyes glistened with hunger as he licked his lips. It was the hottest thing she'd ever seen.

His eyes fluttered shut as he opened his mouth wide and licked a broad stripe from her entrance to her clit, and back down, delving deep inside of her with a vibrating moan. With his tongue lapping at her sensitive walls and his nose rubbing perfectly at her clit, she came screaming. Sam sucked her clit hard as he slid his fingers inside her again, working her through the intense orgasm.

He reluctantly pulled himself away from her center, kissing up her body. He was rewarded by the sight of her: skin flushed, a light sheen of sweat, hair wild, and panted breaths. She was stunningly beautiful, better than he'd imagined, and he felt a swell of pride knowing he did that.

When her eyes finally opened and looked at him, he grinned at the intense lust and love he found in their depths. She ran her fingers through his hair, grabbed fistfuls in each hand, and tugged him down to crash their lips together in a sloppy and hungry kiss. The head of his cock rubbed between her folds and bumped against her clit as his hips ground into hers, making her buck needily beneath him.

He dropped his gaze between them, gripped his cock in his hand, and ran it through her folds, teasing her entrance and spreading her wetness as she bucked and whined.

"Can I have you just like this?" Sam asked, keeping up the teasing to enjoy her desperate struggle. "Can I come inside of you?"

Sam's deep, breathy voice made her moan; his hips and cock made her desperate for him just to take her. But despite her long-held breeding kink and Sam's utterly sensuous words, she had to maintain some sensibility.

"I'm not on anything, Sam."

He rubbed the tip of his nose against hers in a gentle and intimate gesture that made her heart flutter. "I know," he whispered, a slight tremor in his voice. "I'm not saying we try," he flashed a crooked smirk. "But maybe we just…let things happen?"

Her hips bucked sharply, and Sam grinned as he continued teasing the bulbous head through her drenched folds. She cupped his face and kissed him deep and slow, barely able to control her lustful reaction to his decree.

"I wanna feel you, Sam," she said, tilting her hips to try and encourage him inside. Reaching a hand between them, Sam lined up and slid deep within her warm and wet core in one smooth and slow stroke. They broke the kiss only to gasp into each other's open mouths the moment he bottomed out.

Sam was longer and thicker than anything she'd experienced before, stretching her wide and reaching deep to caress areas she'd never felt. She shouldn't have been surprised, as everything about Sam was large. But he'd managed to exceed her fantasies and the dream.

He took in every detail of her face and body, caressing her sides to soothe her as she adjusted to the intrusion. He was in awe, disbelieving that this was finally happening. They were married, and his bare cock was buried against her cervix, ready for him to make her his completely.

Testing, he adjusted his hips and gently nudged forward, watching her face for every little detail. She smirked and wrapped her legs around his hips, her arms around his shoulders, and braced herself. Sam pulled out slowly, then thrust forward swiftly, repeating the action as she gasped and moaned.

He fell into a steady pace, a rock and grind as he pressed deep within her on each thrust. He wanted her to feel every inch of him, now and later. It took a great deal of effort for Sam to remain slow, to draw out the moment and sensations instead of claiming her hard and rough as his lust demanded.

Y/N was losing her mind. With his mouth and fingers, Sam brought her immense pleasure. The feeling of him inside of her, making her hyper aware of every movement, feeling his muscles flex, tense with restraint. Her mind reminded her that he was hers entirely, and she was his.

Sam shifted his hips and found the spot inside that made her gasp and cling to him desperately. He tried again, grinning once he realized. Increasing his pace, he rubbed her clit with his thumb, moaning when she clenched around him, and her eyes widened.

"Sam!" It was part surprise, part a desperate plea. It was so intense, so good, that it bordered on too much.

"It's okay," he soothed. "I got you. I'm right here. Trust me, just let go." He was desperate for it, to feel her clenching and squeezing his cock as she reached her climax. A few more thrusts, and she exploded as his cock hit that right spot inside of her.

"Sam!"

Planting his hands on either side of her head, Sam allowed his need to drive him, fucking her hard and fast as he could manage, extending her high while chasing his own. When he finally came with a long and loud roar, he pressed his hips firmly against hers, letting his cum flow deep, before his hips continued a slow and lazy thrusting to draw it out.

Slowly withdrawing, he knelt between her parted legs, taking in every detail as they both caught their breath. Her skin was flushed and sweaty, adorned with minor marks from his fingers or mouth. Her chest rose and fell with her heavy breaths, her breasts shaking with the effort. Her pussy was swollen, her hole stretched, but what really caught his eye was the white cum - his cum - dripping out of her.

He groaned, bracing one hand on her thigh as the other scooped up the dripping and pushed them back inside with two fingers. She whimpered, and Sam couldn't resist, fitting back between her legs as he slid deep within her a second time. They were both sensitive, but Y/N eagerly welcomed him as he set a quick pace with short thrusts, and their sensitivity brought mutual orgasms much faster than before.

Finally spent and satisfied, Sam withdrew and stumbled to the bathroom to retrieve a washcloth. He dampened the fabric and returned to the bed, shushing her as he gently cleaned her up. Once satisfied, he quickly wiped himself and tossed the cloth aside. He climbed back into the bed, drawing Y/N into his arms, and she went willingly, her body lax as he curled himself around her.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she grinned, forcing her eyes open and head back to meet his gaze and smiling face. "That was amazing."

"You're amazing," he replied. Y/N scoffed and rolled her eyes, playfully slapping his chest and snuggling back into him. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she whispered as she quickly fell to sleep.

-

Y/N sighed as she stood in the kitchen, finishing the dishes from lunch, and gazing out the window. The sun shone brightly on the large, old oak in the front yard, and she smiled at the four children running around the tree, the smallest and youngest barely able to walk, let alone keep up. She sighed and stretched, a hand on the curve of her back for support as she did. Their fifth child was growing fast within her belly, and she only had two months before they'd get to meet them.

As she went to the front porch to call in the children, they all erupted into cheers, jumping up and down, as Uncle Dean's black Impala sped down the long dirt driveway towards their small farmhouse. As soon as she'd discovered she was pregnant with their first child, Sam insisted on finding them a home, outside of the Bunker, where the kids would have windows and a yard.

Though he still commuted to the Bunker to prepare for cases or handle other hunting-related issues, they found a place just outside the Lebanon town limits and, with Dean's help, bought it and fixed it up. Now it was home, and Dean had his own guest room too, since he often slept over or stayed for dinner or family events. He was very active in the children's lives, just as their father was.

The Winchester Brothers climbed out of the parked Impala, massive smiles gracing their faces as the kids bombarded them with excited greetings, hugs, and prattle about their time apart. They all tackled and dogpiled on Dean before Sam could even get a hello from each other. He feigned offense before turning his attention to his beautiful, pregnant wife on the porch of their home.

"Hello, Wife," Sam grinned, cupping her large belly with one big hand as he kissed her tenderly.

"Hello, Husband," Y/N responded, smiling through the kiss. She was always happy when they returned from a hunt, especially when they were uninjured. Many times, it wasn't the case when Sam came home broken, and the reunion was anything but happy. So she always appreciated the better moments when they happened.

"How are my girls?" Sam asked, kneeling and using both hands as the baby began kicking.

"Good," Y/N smiled down at him, running her fingers through his hair. "She missed you, too, it seems," she sighed as the kicks grew rapid and harder.

"Go easy on your Mom, Baby," Sam spoke to her belly, grinning when the child settled. He stood back on his feet and wrapped his arms around her, pecking her lips again and again. "Do you need anything? Dean's gonna entertain the kids for a little while so I can take care of you. Whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?" she replied sultrily, biting her lip. "I want a bath, a massage, and a nap," she admitted with a chuckle.

Sam laughed with her. "Done," he said, pecking her lips and guiding her inside their home.

Life was better and more real than any djinn dream or fantasy could ever be. And neither the djinn nor her own mind really understood that Sam had a breeding kink and just how much he loved seeing her pregnant. But as long as she had support and financial means to care for them properly, she'd have all the kids with him. Sam - her best friend, her husband, the father of her children, and the love of her life - was a dream come true.

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You looked back, noticing the two soldiers' gaze. You smiled that innocent smile that was never truly innocent. Steve held his breath—and hated how this was becoming more and more common when it came to you.

He tried to go back to the book. He read the same line four times. He absorbed nothing.

And then he heard your voice.

“Steve…”

He looked up immediately, as if his body were conditioned to respond. You walked toward him, drops of water trickling down your sun-warmed skin, holding a bottle of sunscreen.

“Can you put some on my back for me?”

It was a trap. Steve knew. He understood the second you spoke, maybe even before. But he didn't have the strength—or the will—to refuse.

“Sure” he replied, his voice lower than he intended.

When you turned, sat on the towel between your legs, and exposed your back, Steve swallowed hard. The bikini top was loose. Your skin glistened. And you arched your back slightly as you felt his hands touch you.

He spread the sunscreen slowly, with firm fingers.

Too slowly.

Too cautious.

But deep down… he just wanted to prolong it.

Steve was gentle, he always had been. But there was something about you that brought out a more possessive, more hungry side of him. He always controlled. Always took a deep breath. He always reminded you of who he was, who he wanted to be.

But you never made it easy.

"Is this good enough, Captain?" you murmured, your voice thick with provocation.

Steve almost smiled. Almost.

"I'm almost done," he replied, with a light squeeze of his fingers on your waist that he pretended was natural.

The truth is, he wanted to touch you more. He wanted to pull you closer. He wanted to do everything he shouldn't do—especially with a certain ex-Sergeant Barnes on the other side, watching everything from behind his sunglasses.

But he didn't do anything.

Not yet.

“Thank you, Steve” you said in a voice that was anything but innocent. “Your hands are so… steady.”

Steadfast.

You chose that word.

Bucky cursed under his breath.

And Steve realized what was happening: you wanted them to react.

At lunchtime…

Later, when the group gathered to eat, Steve was already on edge. Bucky too. The two exchanged silent glances the whole time — the kind only a very old couple understands.

She's messing with us.

I know.

And you're going to let her?

And you're not going to?

The tension only worsened when you walked over to them again, this time with your hands sticky with some sauce Nat had made.

"Buck…" you asked with the most innocent face, "my hands are dirty. Can you tie my hair up?"

Steve heard his boyfriend's heavy sigh.

You turned around, exposing your neck.

Bucky almost growled.

And Steve… was torn between laughing and grabbing you by the hips.

He saw how Bucky's fingers slowly touched the nape of your neck, gathering your hair into a high ponytail. You bit your lip. It didn't help. It didn't make it any easier.

"There," Bucky murmured against your ear, too low to be polite. "It won't stick to anything anymore."

You turned to him with a smile that should be illegal.

"Thank you, James."

Steve closed his eyes for a second.

James.

Not Bucky.

James.

You knew.

And before either of them could react, you slipped between them, brushing lightly—very lightly—against Steve's chest.

"You guys should enjoy the sea," you commented over your shoulder. "The water's great."

And you left.

Leaving them both standing there, stiff, tense, and utterly unable to pretend they didn't want you.

✦·✧·✦·✧·✦·✧·✦·✧·✦·✧·✦·✧✦·✧·✦·✧·✦·✧·✦·✧·

You were sitting on the sand chatting with Wanda when you suddenly stood up, walking slowly towards them. Bucky noticed immediately.

The way you walked.

The smile that appeared even before you arrived.

Your eyes glistening with mischief.

You were about to cause something.

Again.

"James," you called as you approached, and Bucky felt his shoulders tense. Whenever you used his full name, something inside him awakened. "Help me?"

It was always that "help me?"

Always that soft voice that fooled no one.

"What is it now, doll?" he asked, trying to sound light.

You delicately lifted your leg, displaying your hip.

"Tie it here for me."

The bow on your bikini bottom was loose. So loose that one wrong pull would completely undo it.

Steve almost choked.

You noticed.

Of course you noticed.

Bucky had two simultaneous reactions:

A fierce impulse to grab your waist and sit you on his lap.

The absolute need to maintain composure because the Avengers were present.

Then he took a deep breath, knelt before you, and carefully picked up the ribbon.

Your hip was too close.

Your skin too warm.

Your scent too sweet.

He pretended not to notice you holding your breath when his fingers touched your thigh.

"Untying your bikini on the beach?" Bucky murmured in a low, husky voice. "You want to die, don't you?"

You smiled—that smile he hated and loved at the same time.

"I trust you."

He looked up.

You were already looking at him.

And that was it.

He felt his stomach churn. The world slowed down. You looked like you were about to bend down and kiss him, and he was about to let you.

But Steve was there.

Watching everything.

And Bucky had no problem with that—Steve knew everything, shared everything with him—but he didn't know how far you could go.

So he had to stop before he got too blatant.

He tied the knot.

Firm. Precise.

But his hand… lingered.

Just a second longer than necessary.

Enough for you to notice.

"There," he said, slowly standing up. "Now it won't fall anymore."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Not even if I want to?"

He almost lost his breath. Steve did too.

But you just turned around and continued walking along the beach as if you hadn't just left two super-soldiers stiff, tense, and completely in love.

Steve remained silent. His gaze followed you, analyzing your every move, as he always did when trying to understand what he felt.

Bucky knew that look.

It was the same look Steve used when he wanted to draw something—detailed, concentrated, admiring.

"You like her," Bucky said.

Steve didn't deny it.

"You too."

Bucky shrugged, as if it were obvious.

"We've always liked her, Steve." The difference is that now she's noticed.

Steve let out a low, tense laugh.

"And she's having a lot of fun with it."

"We should give her some fun."

They both looked at you again. Their minds racing.

—

The island looked different at night.

As if everything was waiting for something to happen.

Most of the Avengers had already retreated to their cabins, deliberately scattered along the beach—Tony's idea, which he swore was "for privacy," but in practice was pure logistical fussiness. Steve and Bucky's cabin was the furthest away of all. Almost at the edge of the sand and the dense vegetation.

You shared yours with Natasha.

And at that moment, you were in the bathroom, finishing brushing your teeth, your hair still slightly damp from the shower, wearing simple pajamas: soft cotton shorts and a loose shirt.

You were about to lie down when the cabin door opened.

“Hey,” Nat said, leaning against the doorframe with a half-smile you knew too well to be innocent. “The Captain’s calling you.”

You froze for a second.

“Steve?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

Nat crossed his arms, watching you with sharp attention.

“Steve. And, technically, Barnes too. But it was Steve who asked.”

You sighed, putting the brush down on the sink.

“What did he say?”

“Nothing specific,” Nat replied, shrugging. “Just that he wanted to talk to you. Now.”

Now.

You looked in the mirror.

The pajamas.

The robe.

The hair too loose.

“Does he know what time it is?” you murmured.

Nat smiled, in that way that said I know exactly what’s going on and so do you.

“He does.”

You felt your stomach churn slowly.

The sand was cold under your bare feet as you stepped out of the cabin.

The moon illuminated the path enough that you didn't need a flashlight. The sea made a constant, almost hypnotic sound beside you. The night wind played with the hem of your robe, lifting the fabric occasionally against your legs.

You walked slowly.

Without haste.

As if each step were part of the provocation.

Their cabin was isolated.

Of course Tony would do this, you thought, almost laughing to yourself. If there was one place where something wrong—or very right—could happen without interruption, it was there.

When you got close enough, you saw the light on inside.

You knocked on the door.

No answer.

You waited a few seconds, feeling the cold night wind chill your skin under your robe, and knocked again—a little harder this time.

"Steve?" you called, your voice low. "Bucky?"

Silence.

The cold seemed to intensify, and a strange discomfort settled in her chest. The light remained on. The cabin didn't seem empty.

You pushed the door open carefully. It creaked softly.

"Hi…" she murmured, entering.

The room was empty. No sign of them. No conversation, no television on, no muffled laughter. Only the distant sound of the sea and the creaking of the wood under her bare feet.

You took a few more steps, closing the door behind you.

That's when you heard it.

A low sound. Muffled. Too rhythmic to be mistaken for the wind or the cabin floor.

Your heart raced immediately.

You walked slowly toward the hallway, each step more conscious than the last. The closer you got to the room, the clearer the sounds became—contained breaths, a deep murmur, another lower one, heavy with tension.

The door was ajar.

You paused for a second, your hand suspended in the air, your whole body torn between retreating… or moving forward.

You moved forward.

Carefully, you approached close enough to see inside the room.

And then you saw.

Bucky was kneeling on the bed, his body tense, facing the door, his hands digging into the mattress as if he were holding onto something much bigger than the moment. His hair fell over his face, his breathing visibly heavy.

Behind him, Steve.

Steve's body moved slowly and intently, his expression completely different from the one he usually wore in public—intense, focused, laden with something too intimate to be seen.

Both their bodies moved as if each gesture were known by heart, rehearsed over years of silent complicity.

Bucky remained leaning forward, his whole body reacting to every movement behind him. The sound escaping his throat wasn't loud, but it was raw—muffled, restrained, failing to be silence. A sound somewhere between a sigh and something that clearly required effort not to turn into an open moan.

Steve was pressed against him.

The rhythm of their hips was firm, constant, marking the time like a dull beat echoing in the room. The sound of his breathing was deeper, heavier, mixed with murmurs too low to be understood, but intense enough to make Bucky's body respond immediately.

The mattress sank under their weight.

With each movement, Bucky's body reacted—his shoulders tensed, his back arched involuntarily, his fingers clenched tightly into the sheet as if it were the only possible anchor. His neck was exposed, his head hanging forward, his breathing completely out of control.

Steve leaned over him at certain moments, slowing the pace only to make everything more brutal. The sound then changed—less impact, more contact, more friction, more presence. The kind of pause that doesn't relieve, only prolongs.

A louder sound escaped Bucky.

A broken sound, ripped from him.

Steve responded immediately—not with words, but with movement. The rhythm returned stronger, more decisive, and the room filled with that damp, repetitive sound, mixed with the accelerated breathing of the two.

You felt your own body react before you could think.

Your stomach tightened.

Your skin crawled.

Your heart was beating too fast.

Steve placed a firm hand on Bucky's waist, his fingers pressing into the skin as if marking territory, holding him in place. The other hand moved up his back, leaving a slow, possessive trail that elicited another involuntary sound.

Bucky trembled.

The rhythm became erratic for a few seconds—not out of control, but by choice. As if Steve were taking Bucky exactly to the limit, pulling back just enough to pull him back with even more force.

The creaking of the bed intensified.

Steve's breathing became a low growl.

Bucky's… chaos.

“Steve…” the name came out drawn out, almost a complaint. “Damn it, this isn't fair.”

The creaking of the bed marked the change in cadence. Slower. Deeper.

Steve seemed determined to feel every reaction.

“Since when do I play fair with you?” he murmured, his voice too close to Bucky's ear.

A louder sound escaped him. Muffled, tense, as if he were biting his own lip to keep it from coming out.

“Steve…” another hoarse moan, more relaxed now. “Don't stop.”

Steve didn't stop.

He leaned over Bucky, the sound of his breath mingling with the other's, deeper, heavier.

“I never stop when you ask like that” he teased, his voice too low, too intimate.

The rhythm became irregular.

Hidden in the doorway, you had a perfect view of the surroundings: Steve's toned chest, the light sweat spreading across his golden skin, his blond hair swaying with the force of Bucky's thrusts.

Bucky was a delicious sight, his strong arms gripping the sheets, his red, swollen mouth open, releasing hoarse moans, his hips thrusting, his round ass swaying with the force of Steve's hip thrusts.

You'd always imagined what Steve and Bucky fucking would be like, and now that they were right before your eyes, it looked like fucking sinful paradise.

You could feel the wetness gathering in your pussy, your nipples were itching to be touched, your body was loving the show, and your mind was short-circuiting.

"You're trembling," Steve commented, almost satisfied.

"It's your fault," Bucky replied, his voice raspy.

Steve let out a sound that wasn't quite a word. Something between a sigh and a low growl.

The movement returned stronger for a few seconds, and the room filled with that repetitive sound, mixed with the uneven breathing of the two. Bucky let out a louder moan this time, without trying to contain it.

Steve responded immediately, as if that were encouragement.

“That… let me hear you.”

Bucky was already fucked, his mouth open as he felt his g-spot being continuously hit. “Damn, Steve… it’s so good. I can’t…ngh~…”

“You like having your ass fucked while thinking about her sweet pussy, huh? My dick isn’t enough for you, huh?” Steve groaned loudly. “Ahh, you needy slut. But I understand.”

You were absolutely fucked, hearing those words coming from the so-good Steve Rogers, you were hot just from hearing them and you weren’t even being fucked by them.

“Damn! Ah, Steve, I’m going to cum! Shit!” Bucky announced through a moan.

“Go ahead, darling… put on a show for our needy girl… I’m going to fill that tight hole…” Steve purred in his partner’s ear as he continued.

“Aah, fuck yeah! Fill me up, Stevie, fill me up, fill me up—!” Bucky was cut off as his face was pushed against the mattress, muffling him.

You then realized something that made your stomach clench.

They knew you were there. They called you over to watch the two of them fucking, thinking of you.

Steve lowered his hand and began to rapidly masturbate Bucky’s cock, the sound of their hips colliding was insane. It took a few thrusts and Bucky was cumming all over the sheet, thick strands of cum gushing from his cock.

You had never seen such a large amount of cum spilled like that, your pussy tightened around nothing, wanting to feel that thick load inside it.

With a muffled groan escaping Steve's lips, he released his load inside the brunette, releasing Bucky's grip on her ass.

Steve slowly dragged his cock out of Bucky's stretched hole, letting the cum spill out of it.

He smiled proudly, patting Bucky's ass, "You did such a good job taking me, darling... you always do." Steve cooed as he kissed Bucky's shoulder, before turning him onto his back and observing the bed beneath him.

Steve hummed as he saw the sheets, "Oh, you were generous with the load, Buck... imagine how beautiful she'll look with your cum dripping from her pussy. I know you'll be giving the biggest load when you're in that wet pussy."

It was too much for you to hear them openly talking about filling your pussy while they were fucking each other, it was too much for your pussy to handle. You just needed to be fucked by two, to be used by them until you tested the limits of your endurance.

You just didn't know how to approach it. Should you go into the room and ask to join in? What if they yelled at you for watching everything and not joining in sooner?

Steve seemed to have heard your thoughts, and the next thing you heard was your name, so clear and unmistakable.

"What are you waiting for, doll?"

Students bustled in and out with the distracted energy of people who lived on caffeine and looming deadlines. A small bell above the entrance rang with each new arrival, its cheery tone doing little to interrupt your concentration. You had come here countless times, and nothing had ever once felt out of place.

Yet today, you could not shake the sensation.

The feeling settled into you gradually, the way cold water seeps through fabric — a slow, creeping unease that you could neither name nor dispel. You looked up from your notebook, the pages filled with notes on postmodernist theory and economic ethics, and allowed your gaze to scan the space with quiet precision. 

Your eyes moved from the counter to the door, from the students to the far corners of the room, from the windows to the street beyond.

Nothing. Everything appeared precisely as it should.

Still, your hands had stilled against your tablet, your fingers frozen mid-sentence. That was the second sign. The first was the prickling at the back of your neck, that near-mythical alertness that every woman knows and every soldier respects — the kind that tells you when eyes are fixed upon you. You resisted the urge to turn too quickly, instead allowing your gaze to drift lazily across the room, as though distracted by a passing thought.

And then you saw him.

Seated alone in the far back corner, tucked into the shadows where the sunlight did not reach, was a man who did not belong. Not because of what he was doing — he held a coffee cup like anyone else, sitting in feigned stillness — but because of what he was hiding. 

His cap was drawn low over his brow, and oversized sunglasses concealed the rest of his face. His shoulders were broad, his arms thick with muscle, and though he attempted to appear casual, there was a stillness about him that rang false. It was the stillness of someone waiting.

Your blood chilled. Every part of your mind screamed at you to move.

You did not look at him again. You did not allow yourself the indulgence of a second glance. Instead, you began to gather your things with calculated calm, stacking your notebook atop your tablet, slipping them into your satchel with hands that only trembled once. 

Your heart was pounding now, but you breathed through it, just as Natasha had taught you, just as Steve had reminded you — keep the panic low and the pace steady.

Still, regret clawed at your chest.

You should have brought Natasha.

She had offered, as she always did. But this morning, in your foolish optimism, you had told her not to bother, that you would be fine on your own, that you would only be studying at the café for a few short hours. 

She had narrowed her eyes, unimpressed, but eventually conceded. You had dismissed her concerns with a flippant wave and a kiss on the cheek. Now, the only person you could think to call was the one you had deliberately left behind.

Your fingers shook as you hit her name on your phone.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

The bell over the door chimed as you stepped outside, the cold air biting against your skin. You did not look back. You did not need to. The sound of footsteps followed seconds later, steady and too close behind.

Natasha answered on the fourth ring, her voice calm but laced with a readiness that made your chest loosen just a little. "Hey there, sugar."

You didn’t return the greeting. Your breath hitched, and your voice came out in a whisper. "Nat… I think someone’s following me. I— I don’t know what to do."

There was silence for half a second. Then the sounds of movement erupted in the background — metal clattering, something heavy being dropped, followed by Natasha barking orders to someone, likely Sam.

"Where are you?" she demanded.

But before you could respond, she added, almost to herself, "No, forget it. I have your location. Stay on the phone. Do not stop moving. Do not talk to anyone. Do not go somewhere unfamiliar. Keep walking. I’m coming to you right now."

“I’m really scared, Nat, he’s walking right behind me.”

"Keep the phone to your ear. I want to hear everything. Don’t run, don’t look back again. Just act normal. You hear me?"

"Yeah," you nodded, voice barely audible. 

Her voice remained steady, but you could hear the sharp urgency buried just beneath the surface, that tactical edge you had only ever seen emerge when she was in protective mode. 

You opened your mouth to speak again, to tell her the street you had just turned down, to confirm the direction you were headed.

But then you felt it.

A hand — rough, broad, and cold — clamped over your mouth. A cloth pressed hard against your lips, soaked in something sharp and sickly sweet. 

Your scream caught in your throat as your body instinctively jerked away, but it was too late. The world spun violently, and your limbs grew leaden. You heard Natasha’s voice shouting your name through the phone, which now lay somewhere on the pavement, forgotten.

The man chuckled. A low, pleased sound, the kind that settles in the pit of the stomach like ice.

You watched, barely conscious, as the heel of his boot ground your phone beneath it with an almost casual brutality. 

The last thing you saw before the darkness took you completely was his silhouette turning, dragging you backwards, and the soft, indifferent buzz of the city continuing around you as though nothing at all had changed.

***

“What the fuck do you mean she’s gone?” Steve’s voice exploded, shattering the tension that had settled over the room like a storm about to break. The words came out strangled, disbelief and rage wrapped around each syllable like a noose.

Sam flinched. “She was at a coffee shop studying when she called Natasha saying someone’s following her. And then the signal—just cut. She’s not picking up. She’s not—”

Bucky didn’t wait for the rest.

His chair scraped back so violently it slammed into the floor behind him, but he didn’t so much as glance at the damage. His movements were all instinct now—sharp, clean, lethal. 

A practiced hand disappeared beneath his tailored jacket, retrieving the sleek black pistol holstered under his ribs. The steel glinted coldly under the chandelier, a flash of silver fury. His face was a mask of ruin. Something feral cracked through his carefully restrained calm—an expression so raw and wrathful even Sam backed up a step.

“I’m gonna fucking kill Vincest.” Bucky snapped, more to himself than to anyone else, and then he was moving.

Steve was right behind him, fury giving chase to fear.

“Where the fuck was her tail?” Steve demanded as they reached the foyer, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles blanched. “Who was watching her?!”

“She didn’t want anyone accompanying her,” Sam shouted after them, breathless. “She said she just needed a minute alone.”

Steve’s face twisted with fury, veins bulging in his neck. His voice rose, sharp and unforgiving, cutting through the room like a blade. “And why the fuck would anyone let her go alone?!”

He slammed his fist into the wall, the sound reverberating like a gunshot. “I don’t care if she’s stepping across the goddamn street to buy a damn coffee. You watch her. You accompany her. You make sure she doesn’t become someone else’s goddamn target. You keep her safe—or so help me, I will tear this entire operation apart piece by piece.”

His gaze burned into every single man standing there, his voice lowering but no less dangerous. “This isn’t just some fuck-up we can sweep under the rug. This is her life. And if any of you think for one second that you can just screw around and let her slip through your fingers—”

He cut himself off with a growl, his breath ragged. Then, with cold steel in his voice, he screamed, “Go! Go fucking search for her. Take orders from Natasha, from me, from whoever the hell. I don’t care how messy it gets, how many streets you tear apart, how many lives you burn through—she must be found.”

The room fell into a tense silence broken only by the sound of men scrambling, shouting confirmations, and the sharp clicks of weapons being readied.

Just then, the door slammed open with force, and Natasha strode in, face pale but determined.

“We found the warehouse,” she announced, voice steady despite the urgency. “She’s being held hostage by Vincent.”

Natasha was there, pacing like a caged panther, voice low and razor-sharp as she barked into her earpiece. Her eyes snapped to them the moment they appeared. No words, no pleasantries. Just a nod that screamed move.

“The last ping was five minutes ago, outside the library,” she said tightly, already handing Bucky a tablet with the paused CCTV footage. “Someone tailed her out. She clocked it. Called me scared out of her fucking mind.”

Steve snatched the tablet out of Bucky’s hands, eyes scanning like a man possessed. “Find him,” he growled. “I don’t care if you have to torch the whole goddamn city to do it.”

“We already are,” Natasha said, her voice like ice over flame. “I have four cars on standby and air support tracking the streets. But if they laid a trap—”

“They fucking won’t touch her.” Bucky’s voice was death itself. Cold, final. “They won’t fucking get the chance.”

Steve grabbed Bucky’s arm, pulling him toward the nearest car. “Come on. We’re not waiting.”

The engine roared to life, the tires screeching against asphalt as Steve pushed the car beyond its limits, his jaw locked in grim determination. Bucky sat beside him, fingers tightening around the gun, every second that passed fanning the rage consuming him.

The city blurred past in streaks of steel and concrete. Their hearts beat to the same rhythm of dread, every red light ignored, every corner taken with reckless precision. The silence between them was not empty but charged, a storm waiting to break.

When Natasha’s voice crackled through the comm, announcing she had traced you to Warehouse 14, neither man hesitated. Steve swerved sharply into the docklands, the car jolting as it tore across the uneven ground.

They did not pause. They did not plan. Bucky leapt out before the car had even fully stopped, his weapon raised, his movements mercilessly efficient. Steve followed, his own gun drawn, his shoulders squared in lethal resolve.

The first guard did not even have time to shout before Bucky’s bullet split the air and sent him crumpling to the ground. Another man tried to run, but Steve’s shot tore through his leg, dropping him instantly. The warehouse echoed with gunfire, shouts, and the thunder of boots as they moved forward, room by room, door by door, leaving no corner unchecked.

They were a tempest of violence and precision, their eyes cold, their fury a sharpened blade. Every obstacle was dismantled with terrifying ease, every man who stood in their way silenced before he could even raise his weapon.

And still, underneath the steel and blood, there was one thought alone, thrumming through their veins like a war drum: find you.

As Steve and Bucky surged through the final corridors of the warehouse, a tumult of thoughts collided in their minds. 

They had been here before, in the shadows of power, surrounded by the evidence of their own ruthlessness. They had commanded fear, taken lives without hesitation, and navigated a world where weakness was punished without mercy. 

And yet, despite all the blood they had shed, despite every crime they had committed and every advantage they had wielded, they felt something entirely alien now: helplessness at the thought of what state they might find you in.

Bucky’s jaw tightened as he imagined the worst, his hands curling around his gun until the metal creaked under the strength of his grip. Steve’s eyes narrowed, every instinct screaming that every second you were in the hands of another was a second too long, that the slightest delay could undo everything they had built to protect you.

Then, as they burst into the final storage room, their eyes locked on a figure standing directly before you, an audacious smirk twisting his face. 

Tall, lean, and cruelly composed, the man’s dark clothing clung to him like a shadow. In his hands was a gun, leveled squarely at Steve’s head. His name was Vincent Karras, a man whose reputation for sadistic cunning rivaled only their own histories.

Before Steve could even blink, before the air could carry the threat of a single word, Bucky’s finger tightened on the trigger. 

Two bullets tore into Vincent’s knees, each one precise and deliberate, forcing him to collapse in a howl of pain. He fell hard to the ground, still alive, still aware, a pawn left for the retribution yet to come. Bucky’s eyes did not waver; he had no intention of mercy, only the certainty that the threat to you would be extinguished swiftly.

Steve acted instantly. He shoved Vincent’s screaming, writhing body aside with a strength born of desperation and fury, his heart hammering as he lunged toward you. 

He crouched beside your bound form, hands moving expertly to free you from the ropes that bit into your wrists and ankles. The gag fell away from your mouth, and your muffled cries erupted into full, heart-wrenching sobs.

In the next instant, you were in his arms. Steve held you against his chest, pressing you close as though the very act of holding you could undo the horrors you had endured. Your sobs shook his body, each one a dagger to his own heart, and he whispered fervently, words tumbling over themselves in his urgent need to reassure you.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re safe. You’re okay,” Steve murmured, his voice low and steady, every word soaked in tenderness. 

His lips brushed gently against your hair, then your forehead—anywhere he could press them to make sure you felt his presence, his unwavering protection. “Fuck. Are you hurt? Did he do anything to you, baby? Please talk to me. Please tell me what happened.”

You hiccuped against his chest, shaking your head violently, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt. The sobs wracked your body like a storm barely contained. “I’m not hurt,” you managed, voice trembling between the breaks. “I’m not hurt. I just… I was so scared. I thought you wouldn’t find me. I thought you were never coming.”

Steve’s hands cupped your face, pulling you gently but firmly back so his eyes could meet yours. His own were glassy, heavy with a raw mixture of relief, anger, and a fierce, aching protectiveness. 

“Hey, hey, baby. Listen to me, okay? I will always find you. Always. No matter what. I swear to you, I will never fail to find you. If I have to tear this entire world apart, I will.” His voice cracked, thick with emotion. “I am so, so sorry you had to go through this. None of this was supposed to happen. Not to you.”

Bucky knelt down beside you both, gun still poised and ready, his eyes darting across the room, scanning every shadow. 

But even as his gaze searched for danger, the tension in his jaw softened when he looked at you. His hands twitched, longing to hold you, to pull you close and never let go. The weight of the terror and helplessness he felt twisted inside him, but he masked it behind that cold, calculated exterior—the shield he wore for you.

Steve tightened his arms around you, pulling you as close as if sheer force could erase the nightmare you’d endured. “You’re safe now,” he whispered, voice fierce and desperate. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I won’t let this happen again. I swear it, love. You hear me? Not ever again.”

You nodded, burying your face deep into his chest, your tears still flowing but your body beginning to still, soothed by the warmth and strength that surrounded you. You could feel the electric pulse of fury radiating from both men, a silent promise etched in every tense muscle and guarded breath: no one would ever hurt you again.

Steve carried you gently through the warehouse doors, your trembling form clinging to him as though letting go would mean the end of the world.The black-shaded cars waited silently, engines idling like predatory beasts, their sleek frames reflecting the cold glow of the streetlights.

Just as Steve approached the nearest vehicle, the moment he had intended to set you down, your sobs returned in a fresh, violent wave. Your head pressed into his chest, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as though it were the only lifeline left in existence.

“No, no, no,” you whimpered, your voice cracking. “Please, don’t leave me alone, Steve. I don’t want to… I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Steve froze for a heartbeat, startled by the raw panic in your tone. Then he pulled you even closer, adjusting his hold so your trembling body could feel the full measure of his arms. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he murmured softly, his lips brushing against the crown of your head. “I am right here. I am not leaving you. I just have to go for a minute to deal with something, alright?”

You shook your head frantically, the motion urgent and insistent. “No, Steve. I don’t want to be alone!”

His lips pressed against your chest, just above your heart, in a tender, grounding gesture. “Bucky will be here with you, yeah? I will not let you be alone. He is not going anywhere.”

The mere mention of Bucky’s name brought an almost immediate relief, a shiver of hope that ran through your body. You lifted your gaze and saw him standing a few feet away, his broad frame illuminated by the pale light, eyes locked on you with unwavering concern. 

He began to close the distance, and as he wrapped an arm securely around you, your shoulders began to relax, the tension of terror easing into a fragile comfort.

Steve and Bucky exchanged a brief, loaded glance. Steve gave a subtle nod, one that acknowledged the mission still waiting for him inside, and then turned back toward the warehouse, likely to confront Vincent or ensure no other threats remained.

Bucky, meanwhile, pressed a kiss to your hair before pulling you fully into his chest, the warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing acting like a balm on your frayed nerves. “You okay, sweet girl?” he murmured, his voice husky but gentle.

You nodded, still letting your face rest against him. “Mhm. I just… I just want to go back home.”

He smiled softly, the kind of smile that held both relief and quiet adoration. “Yeah. Let’s go, doll. Steve and Natasha will be following us shortly. You’re safe. I promise you that.”

Bucky led you to the car, holding your hand as you climbed into the passenger seat. He helped you buckle your seatbelt, making sure you were secure before pressing a tender kiss into your temple. 

“You’re such a strong girl, you know that?” he said, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek as his gaze lingered on you. “Even when you’re scared, you never stop being strong. And I will always make sure you are safe. I swear to you, nothing will hurt you again while I am here.”

You leaned back against the seat, letting yourself sink into the reassurance of his arms and words. 

The ride back is silent, except for the occasional rustle of Bucky’s jacket as he shifts the wheel with white-knuckled precision. His jaw is clenched so tight you’re surprised his teeth haven’t cracked. The streets blur by in a haze of golden light and dust, but all you can see is his reflection in the window—stone-faced, lethal, ruined.

When you get home, he doesn’t say anything. He just lifts you gently from the car like you weigh nothing, carrying you through the front door and past the wide marble halls of the estate. 

In the bathroom, he sits you on the counter. He kneels to untie your shoes and slips them off with reverent hands, as if even your shoelaces had been bruised by the day. He’s quiet. Too quiet.

Then, the water starts. Warm. Steaming. He helps you undress, moving slowly like you might shatter if he rushes, and washes away the dirt, the blood, the dust of the place you were kept. He doesn’t speak—not when he rinses your hair, not when he runs a cloth over your back. But his hands shake. Like he’s barely holding it together.

When you’re finally dry and warm again, wrapped in one of his shirts, you follow him to the bedroom. He sets you down on the edge of the bed and disappears for a second, returning with a small medical kit.

“Hold still, doll,” he murmurs as he kneels in front of you.

Your wrists are red and irritated. Rope burns in angry circles. He takes his time cleaning them, brushing ointment over the raw skin with careful fingers. You wince once, and he pauses immediately, looking up.

“Sorry,” he breathes, voice breaking just a little. “I’ll be gentle.”

You nod, throat tight.

He finishes bandaging the last wrist and kisses it. 

Then comes the conversation you’ve been dreading.

“From now on,” Bucky began slowly, his voice soft but resolute, “you don’t leave the house without Natasha. Not for a second. Not even to step outside the door alone.”

You blink, caught off guard by the suddenness of his words. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said again, his tone firmer this time, though still gentle. “You don’t go anywhere unless Nat is with you. I mean it.”

A tight knot formed in your stomach, twisting with frustration. “Bucky, that’s insane. I’m not a child.”

He stayed kneeling before you, looking up with those steady eyes that always seemed to see right through you. “You’re not a child, no. But you’re ours. And after what happened…” He swallowed hard, the weight of those words hanging heavily between you. “We can’t afford to take that risk again. Not ever.”

You let out a sharp breath, the frustration bubbling up from deep inside your chest. “Natasha has better things to do than babysit me. She’s not just my bodyguard. She’s your partner—your right hand in this whole business, this mafia world you live in. She probably wants to be out there, running things, making moves. Not stuck following me to classes or running errands or… whatever boring stuff fills my days.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Boring?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “I know her. She’s the kind of woman who thrives on action. On plans. On missions. I don’t want her to feel trapped just because she’s with me.”

He reached out then, his rough hands enveloping yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “Doll, trust me when I say Natasha wouldn’t get bored with you. Not for a second.”

You looked away, embarrassed by how vulnerable you felt.

“Besides,” he continued, his voice dropping to a softer, almost reverent tone, “you didn’t see what she was like when you went missing. She was just as frantic, just as desperate as Steve and me. Maybe even worse.”

His thumbs brushed lightly over your knuckles. “She sees you as her little sister.”

A sting burned at the corners of your eyes, and you blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

At that moment, the door creaked open. Steve stepped inside quietly.

He looked clean now, the dark clothes he wore fresh and unblemished—not like the bloodstained ones from before. You realized with a cold knot in your stomach that those had belonged to someone else.

Without a word, he walked over to you, cupped your face gently, and pressed a kiss to your temple. Your eyes fluttered closed at the simple touch.

Then he settled beside you on the bed. For a long moment, he said nothing, only resting a steady hand on your thigh. 

“You scared the hell out of us,” he says finally. His voice is rough. Almost hoarse. “I thought I was going to kill everyone in that building.”

You open your mouth, but he’s already shaking his head.

“Don’t apologize,” he whispers. “Just... promise me you’ll be more careful.”

“I didn’t choose this,” you say quietly. “I didn’t know he’d grab me—”

“I know, baby girl.” His hand tightens on your leg. “It’s not your fault. None of it is. But it’s why we need to protect you. Even if you hate it.”

You turn then, shifting on the bed so you’re facing Steve fully. Your hands come up to cradle his face, thumbs brushing over the stubble lining his jaw. His eyes—those stormy blues still heavy with worry—soften just a fraction under your touch.

“I know you won’t let me be alone again,” you murmur, voice small but steady. “I know that. But don’t you think… maybe it’s a little too much, having Natasha follow me everywhere?”

Your sentence cuts off when Steve exhales sharply, a sigh heavy enough to sag his shoulders. His big hand comes up to cover one of yours where it rests against his cheek, holding it there like it’s his anchor.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, voice low and rough around the edges. “I don’t care if it sounds like too much. You have to understand… when we didn’t know where you were, when Sam came in and told us you were gone—I swear, I couldn’t breathe. I thought I’d already lost you. And I can’t—” His voice catches, and he swallows hard, shaking his head as if he can banish the thought. 

“I can’t ever feel that again. So if that means Natasha shadows you every second of the day, then that’s what’s happening. I need you safe. I need you here.”

Your chest tightens at the rawness in his tone. He presses his forehead to yours, his breath shaky as if he’s still pulling himself back from the edge.

“I can’t lose you,” Steve whispers, softer now, almost like a prayer. “So just… let me take care of you. Please.”

Before you can respond, Bucky’s voice rumbles beside you, quiet but firm.

“He’s right, doll.” You glance over at him, and the sight of him—still crouched near, still watching you like you’re the only thing that matters—makes your throat ache. 

You bite your lip, looking down, but Bucky tips your chin up gently with his finger, forcing you to meet his eyes. They’re bright with conviction, but also unbearably soft.

“We’re not asking for much. Just… let us keep you safe. Let us breathe knowing that Natasha’s there when we can’t be.” His thumb strokes over your jaw. “That woman would tear down the whole world if it meant protecting you.”

Steve hums in agreement, his hand still cupping the side of your face. “Natasha wants to do this. Don’t take that choice away from her.”

Your eyes flick between the two men—the desperation in Steve’s, the fierce devotion in Bucky’s—and the resistance you’d been holding onto starts to crumble.

“I just…” you whisper, voice cracking. “I don’t want to be a problem. I don’t want to drag either of you.”

Bucky shifts then, slips an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his solid warmth while Steve still holds your hand. Sandwiched between them, you feel cocooned, your protest melting beneath the weight of their care.

“Love,” Bucky says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You could never be a problem. You’re the best damn thing that’s happened to any of us.”

Steve presses a kiss to your temple again, lingering. “All we’re asking is that you let us do our job—keeping you safe. That’s it. You don’t have to carry the weight of whether it’s too much or not. You just have to be here with us.”

For a long moment, you sit in silence, wrapped up in the warmth of their words and their bodies pressed close on either side. Slowly, the tightness in your chest eases, and the tears you’d been fighting finally spill, but this time they’re softer—relief instead of fear.

Steve wipes them away with his thumb before they can trail down your cheeks. “There she is,” he murmurs, smiling faintly. “There’s our girl.”

You let out a shaky laugh, muffled as you bury your face against Steve’s chest, Bucky’s arm tightening around your back.

It’s movie night in the Avengers Compound, and you make sure you arrive first so you can sit in the armchair – there’s only one armchair, the rest are couches and the Avengers who arrive last will have to sit on the floor. Last time you’d been late you’d been relegated to the floor, and Peter had sat down just slightly too close to you. After ten minutes of being completely unable to concentrate on the film you’d made your excuses and retreated back to your room. Ever since then, you’d made sure you were the first to arrive so you could steal the solitary armchair.

Soon the room fills with the others as they begin to filter in, and your eyes are immediately drawn to Natasha and Wanda as they come in, holding hands and laughing quietly together about something. You can’t help watching them as Natasha takes a seat at the end of the already crowded couch, pulling Wanda into her lap. Wanda beams as Natasha wraps her arms around her waist, pressing a loving kiss to her cheek.

No one’s ever touched you like that and it makes your cheeks heat up as you imagine yourself in Natasha’s lap, Wanda sat next to you, their hands running over your body in a warm, intimate way. Their gentle kisses against your face, your lips… You have to grip the armrest, quickly turning your attention towards the movie. Even though Natasha and Wanda aren’t sat near you, you’re hyperaware of any movement they make. Wanda looks so comfortable in Natasha’s lap, warm and safe – like she belongs there. It makes your stomach twist with envy and longing.

You’d never really been attracted to anyone before. But when you’d joined the Avengers a few months ago your attraction to Natasha had been instant. You’d told yourself that was normal – surely most people are attracted to Natasha. She’s just so beautiful and badass… You’d never met anyone like her before. Still, it would fade in a few weeks when you got to know her better, when she didn’t seem so mysterious and dazzling. Weeks had turned into months though and you still wanted her.

Finding out she was dating Wanda had felt like a physical punch to the gut. It wasn’t like you were ever going to act on your feelings for Natasha, but finding out that she already had a girlfriend was still painful. Still, you’d hoped the reality check would help weaken your feelings for her – she was taken, end of story. Actually, the opposite had happened – you’d fallen for Wanda too. There was something about the soft, cautious way that she spoke to you, the way she moved when she was practicing her powers… Both of them were so beautiful. No wonder they’d gotten together.

In the background the movie continues, but it’s clear that Natasha and Wanda are more interested in each other than the events unfolding on the screen. Eventually Tony makes a teasing comment about them, and they giggle, completely unphased, too preoccupied with their own world. Natasha kisses Wanda again and you swallow, gripping the armrest harder. If only you hadn’t blown your chance.

You’d finished your workout and were preparing to leave the gym, when you’d felt a tap on your shoulder. You’d practically jumped out of your skin, putting your hand over your shoulder as if your skin had been burnt. Wanda had looked alarmed, holding her hands up defensively, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No!” You’d heard how loud your voice was and cringed, immediately lowering it. “No, it’s okay, I just… Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, um… Natasha and I are going to try out this new ramen place tonight. I saw it online; it looks really cute on instagram. The food looks incredible. We were wondering if that was your thing and if maybe you wanted to join us?”

You glanced over her shoulder where Natasha was talking to Steve, and then looked back at Wanda. Her eyes were on you, her smile soft and expectant. That was the first time that anyone had invited you anywhere in a smaller group. Although you’re friendly with everyone, you hadn’t really properly made friends with anyone on the team yet. You’re invited to movie nights, parties, whole group activities that take place in the compound, and you always make an effort to go, but this is the first time you’ve been invited out in a small group. And by Natasha and Wanda! Your heart soars, your cheeks heating up as you open your mouth to answer.

Sam had bumped your shoulder as he walked past, turning back and calling ‘sorry’ absentmindedly. It was clearly an accident but you still flinched like you’d been shot, and it had thrown you completely off. You’re always hyperaware of where everyone is in the room, how close they are to you, what they’re doing. You’d been distracted by Wanda though and he’d taken you by surprise. The touch felt like fire against your skin, and you had to resist the urge to burst into tears. For Goodness sake, you’re an Avenger; your job is one of the most dangerous in the world. You should be able to cope with someone bumping your shoulder, especially someone as kind and friendly as Sam. But it had made you feel sick with anxiety, no matter how much you tried to squash your feelings down.

Wanda had mistaken your expression and hesitation for rejection, “Don’t worry about it. Maybe next time.”

You’d opened and closed your mouth as she’d walked away; watching helplessly as she’d pressed a kiss to Natasha’s shoulder and then said something to her. Natasha had wrapped an arm around Wanda’s shoulders, both of them heading out of the gym together whilst you’d stood there, rooted to the ground. That had been two months ago. Neither of them had asked you to hang out again.

As soon as the movies over you practically leap up from the armchair and head back to your bedroom, unable to bear being near Natasha and Wanda for a second longer. There’s no way either of them would’ve ever been open to dating you but if you could’ve just been their friend… Maybe they told the others because no one else had asked if you ever wanted to do anything either. Every day you’d overhear the others making plans that sounded fun but you were never included.

You climb into bed still fully clothed, pulling the pillow over your head. Touch has always been an issue for you. Ever since you were a teenager you’d learnt to keep tabs on who was in the room, where they were, making sure no one ever got close to you. If you close your eyes you can still remember being a kid, the feeling of your older brother holding you down as you’d squirmed desperately beneath him. Tormenting you was his favourite hobby and your parents hadn’t protected you, assuming it was usual sibling rivalry. You still haven’t forgiven them for that, and you’re not sure you ever will. You’d run away from home at fifteen, and hadn’t looked back.

It was one of the reasons you’d trained so hard. As a kid, no one had protected you. You’d been too little to protect yourself. You’d sworn to never rely on anyone else’s protection or care ever again.

Time passes as you lie in bed, remembering the way Natasha and Wanda had giggled together, the way Wanda had turned away from you in the gym, and you cry until you feel empty. You don’t feel any better but your tears have completely dried up, there can’t be any left to fall. Sleeping doesn’t always come easily for you, as it doesn’t for most of the Avengers – if you go to the medbay there’s usually someone around who can give you a sleeping pill, or there’s a stock of chamomile tea in the kitchen. You’ve been trying to wean yourself off the sleeping pills so you decide to make yourself a cup of tea, and drink it outside. It’s a warm night and you enjoy being outside, especially at night time.

You’re surprised to find the kitchen lights on. Someone else is clearly in there so you’re about to leave when a voice calls out, “Y/N?”

It’s Natasha, wearing a pair of pyjama shorts and a white tank top, looking absolutely stunning even in such a simple outfit. You feel self-conscious in your own crumpled clothes and you fiddle with your sleeves awkwardly, “Hey… Couldn’t sleep?”

Natasha shakes her head, “I was making a cup of tea. Do you want one?”

You nod, taking a seat at the breakfast bar and watching as she pulls out another mug. Chamomile tea isn’t your favourite drink ever but you’re hoping it’s an acquired taste. Natasha works on the tea in silence, something which you find comforting. Small talk doesn’t always come easily to you and you’re pleased that Natasha doesn’t feel the need to fill the quiet. If Natasha notices that you’ve been crying she doesn’t say anything, just finishes making the tea and then slides your mug towards you.

Both of you take a sip in comfortable silence. Just as you’re about to leave her in peace and follow through on your plan of sitting outside, she speaks up, “We didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” You blink at her, not sure what she means so she continues, “When Wanda invited you out for ramen, we just thought it would be fun. I guess socialising isn’t your thing, we shouldn’t have-”

“I- No, I- I wanted to come, there was just…” You clutch the mug, ignoring the hot sting against your hands. “Is that what everyone thinks? That I don’t want to socialise?”

“Well, yeah.”

“I come to everything anyone invites me to though.”

“Yeah but you don’t really get involved,” Natasha says. “Most people think you don’t want to be there. You always seem to want to be alone, like at movie nights or the parties. Even during training, you do it alone; you never ask to spar with anyone else.”

You look down at the counter, your cheeks heating up again with embarrassment, “It’s not like that.”

Natasha studies you for a moment, looking you up and down. It makes you feel self-conscious, almost like you’re naked in front of her. “What’s it like then?”

“I… It… It’s hard to explain.”

“Okay… Well, if you did want to do something with me and Wanda, we’d be thrilled. We only didn’t ask again because we thought you didn’t want to.”

You nod slowly, “Yeah… Yeah, I’d like to do something.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll let Wanda know. Is there anything that you’d like-”

“You’re really pretty.”

Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire now – where on earth did that come from? God, she’s going to think you’re so weird. Everyone must already think that you have a high opinion of yourself, that you don’t want to spend time with them and now you’ve freaked out the first person who’s actually bothered to get to know you. When you finally raise your eyes to glance nervously at Natasha, you’re surprised to see that she’s smiling as she takes a sip of her tea.

“Thanks. So are you. I’ve always thought so.” Her smile turns almost smug. “So does Wanda.”

It hadn’t occurred to you that Wanda and Natasha must’ve talked about you at some point. They’d probably talked about you when they went for ramen. It makes you equal parts thrilled and horrified. Before you even realise what she’s doing Natasha reaches out and puts her hand on your shoulder. You tense up, meeting her gaze. Most people immediately pull away when you react like that but Natasha gently rubs her thumb over the fabric of your t-shirt, “How does that feel?”

You swallow, not entirely sure what’s happening. It’s been so long since anyone touched you. Every little bump from someone else makes you want to curl up into a ball, so you’ve always kept people at arm’s length. Natasha’s hand on your shoulder is like fire but not in a bad way this time. It’s warm, comforting… Wordlessly, you just nod, hoping that will convey everything you want to say.

“Do you know what really helps when I can’t sleep?” Natasha asks. You look up at her and she smiles, “Cuddles. Wanda’s still awake, I’m going to go back and climb into bed with her. Maybe you could join us?”

It must be a joke. A cruel, nasty joke. But Natasha’s hand moves along your shoulder to cup your cheek and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to stop yourself from moaning. Before you can over think anything you find yourself nodding and Natasha’s smile widens, as she takes your hand in hers and pulls you to your feet.

You’ve never stepped foot in Natasha and Wanda’s shared room before but it’s exactly how you thought it would be. It’s so cozy, dimly lit by fairy lights hung above the bed and along the walls. It actually looks lived in unlike your bedroom, which only holds your clothes – you haven’t even bought your own bed sheets, just using the plain white ones that had been there when you’d arrived. Natasha and Wanda’s bed sheets are red, and look silky. Wanda’s propped up in bed scrolling through her phone and she looks over, raising her eye-brows when she sees you walking behind Natasha almost in a trance as she guides you towards their bed.

“Is everything okay?” Wanda asks.

“Of course, I just thought Y/N might want to join in our cuddling session,” Natasha says. “That’s okay with you, right?”

Wanda nods, pulling back the duvet, “Of course. Climb in.”

It’s as if the two of them have put a spell on you, and you climb into bed, wishing that you’d changed into a pair of comfortable pyjamas like they were both wearing. You don’t have any pairs of pyjamas, always choosing to sleep in your underwear or an old t-shirt. Come to think of it, you can’t think of anything nice that you’ve ever bought for yourself. You don’t own anything that brings you comfort.

Wanda’s arm instantly goes around your waist whilst Natasha climbs in on your other side, wrapping her own arm your midriff. It feels so good that you have to suppress a whimper. Nobody has ever held you like this before. Your parents must’ve hugged you when you were a child but you can’t remember it. You only remember the arguments, the screaming, the pain from when you were a teenager. This is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced and you’re confused, and maybe a little bit frightened, but mostly you’re just… Relieved.

Wanda nuzzles her face into your hair and mumbles, “I’ve wanted to hold you like this since the day I met you.”

“Really?”

“Of course. We both have,” Natasha says, leaning her head on your shoulder. “Neither of us really cared about the ramen place, we just wanted to hang out with you. Get to know you better.”

“But… Why me?”

“Because you’re beautiful and smart and intriguing, and we want to get to know you better,” Wanda replies.

“Try to just relax,” Natasha murmurs. “You’re safe with us. I promise.”

It’s difficult – their touch, though it feels so good, also feels foreign. And part of you feels undeserving of their attention even though you’ve been craving it ever since you met them. You open your mouth to voice your thoughts when you feel Wanda press a feather light kiss to the top of your head. Natasha takes your hand in hers, pressing her own soft kiss to your knuckles. It’s just like your fantasy from earlier, only softer, gentler.

Their warmth washes over you, comforting you in a way that you hadn’t thought was possible. Natasha’s hand moves to cup your cheek again, her thumb stroking lightly over your skin as she presses a kiss to your nose, then to your other cheek. You ache for her to kiss your lips and she does. Natasha first and then Wanda, their soft lips meeting yours. It feels so good; better than you’d ever hoped for.

“We won’t rush you,” Wanda says quietly, her fingers moving slowly beneath your shirt to run soothingly over your bare stomach. “Just relax. We can talk in the morning.”

“You can try and get some sleep if you want,” Natasha says. “You look exhausted. We’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Sleep is the last thing on your mind but against your will you feel your eyelids start to flutter. They suddenly feel so heavy that you can’t possibly keep them open. In the darkness you can still feel their arms around you, the occasional kiss to your skin. It soothes you into a deep, peaceful sleep. Natasha and Wanda exchange a pleased glance. They’d wanted to talk to you for so long. The attraction had been mutual, and they’d been hoping to ask if you wanted to join their relationship but had mistaken your hesitancy for disinterest.

The fire in your hearth was the only warmth for miles in any direction. The men laid across your blankets by that very fire were there oh so willingly.

One whose hips you climbed onto, straddling like the stallions you had tamed out in the corals. The other whose lips you claimed, hand digging into his trousers to satiate his need as you rocked over the other.

The pleasure was slow-building, the feverish need revealing a starvation in both men that made them vulnerable. As if your very touch was a brush to their beating hearts.

The one beneath you, with the blue eyes and softspoken voice reached four your hand, entwined your fingers and pulled you down towards him for your kiss.

This left the green-eyed beauty to stare after you in longing, his kiss swollen lips agape. Your hand slipped away from him to hold yourself over the other, your hips swirling to elicit a groan.

You bit into his lip, released him just long enough to say, "don't you dare come until I say so."

Your gaze shifted back to the other who had settled in behind you, trousers shed.

You had great plans for your own storm. And as he kissed your shoulder and entered you from behind, your lungs prepared to challenge the roaring thunder.

You pressed a soft kiss to Sam's cheek, lipstick smudging against his skin.

"C'mon Sammy" You whined playfully "Don't go" You kissed his temple "I want you to stay" Another to his forehead.

"I'm sorry baby but I have to, Dean needs my help and it's too dangerous for you to come"

"I've been on hunts before" A peck to the outer corner of his eye "I'll be fine"

"I just don't want you getting hurt" He turned the puppy eyes up to eleven, charming bastard.

"Fine" You huffed, littering your final kisses to his jaw and down his neck before pulling away.

You rifled through your makeup bag, pulling out some cotton rounds and makeup remover.

"The least you can do is let me clean you up then" You smiled softly, not really wanting to see the dark red marks disappear, but knowing they had to.

"No" He grabbed your wrist as you reached to swipe away a mark "Don't"

"Baby, I just wanna wipe the lipstick off"

"Nu uh"

"Nu uh? What are you, five?"

"Maybe" He smirked pulling you in for a bruising kiss, surely taking the last remnants of pigment from your lips.

"You sure baby? Dean'll see"

"Let him, he knows I can't get enough of you"

"Yeah? You talk to him about me?"

"He won't stop, now hurry the fuck up!" Dean's voice rang from outside the motel room door, at least you got separate rooms this time.

You laughed, leaning into Sam, his arms wrapping around you as you buried your face in his neck.

"God, I didn't know he could hear that well"

"Motel walls, honey" He murmured, hands rubbing along your arms.

"Y'think he could hear everything?"

"Sure could, now we have to go!"

"He's an ass, don't worry about him" Sam kissed the top of your head, hands cradling your jaw as he pulled back to look you in the eyes "But I really do have to go, I'm sorry"

"It's okay" You sighed "I know it's part of the deal, just be careful, okay? I'm the only one who gets to mark you up"

"Yes ma'am" He grinned.

You brushed your thumb lightly over the mark by his eye, red catching against your skin, a whispered "Mine" escaping your lips.

"All yours, baby" He took your hand, pressing a kiss to your thumb, then your knuckles "Only yours"

"Yeah yeah" Dean burst through the door, dragging Sam out by the collar "You're her's and she's yours, real sweet, we got demons to kill Sammy, shift it! And wipe that crap off your face, you look like you're in bad theatre makeup. Again"

"Again?" You questioned "What do you mean again?!"

Taglist for all of my Supernatural writing - 46

@dianawinchester03 @fmlariel @i-dont-have-ideas @fanficreader476 @flintn0tf0und

@foggygentlemenprincess @perhaps-just-june @luvv4j4ybe11 @fmdijdjcyhdjcidbsjsv @soullessambs

@suchybadyl @jusbear @russopalette @fury-under-night @whydosnakesnotdance

@solomontheslime @imnotwarofthegod @supernatural-love4ever @l0ca1ax010t1 @cannibalcaiman

@florafauna-and-fae @rulesareshadesofgrey @eleniblue @kye-co @fluffydevilgaypanic

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@puccigucii

★sam winchester is immediately drawn to you. He’s used to being the tallest one in the room, always having to crank his neck when talking to everybody, making himself smaller. So seeing you, standing tall, the room melting around you– not because you cower to it– but because it molds itself to your presence? Yeah, he’s whipped. ★sam winchester doesn’t make some half-assed comment about your height. (No bullshit ‘wow you’re so tall’) Instead, he’ll point out smaller, more unique things about you– your smile, the shirt you chose, your reading habits– the quiet things that make you, you. ★sam winchester who knows first hand that buying clothes is an absolute Hell, so he’ll go out of his way to find cute things for you to wear. Also, taking his flannels is a given– his closet is your closet too. ★sam winchester loves resting his head on your shoulder. It’s not something he could ever do before, the angle being awkward with the gaping height difference– but once, he fell asleep sitting next to you, his head tilting into you (he swears it was the best nap of his life) and ever since then he can’t help but lean into your side whenever you’re sitting together. ★sam winchester who despite what you might think, actually loves sharing crappy motel beds with you. Sure, it’s cramped– but he likes the feeling of being tangled together, holding you to his chest and legs intertwined.