#spnashley

Dean smirks. “It is a…a male, right?”

Again rolling your eyes seemed fitting as you nodded yes.

“I have to ask because it immediately throws up the red flag if you’re not into me.” He smugly smiles for a second, his eyes lighting up with an idea.“Cas? I thought you said he creeped you out?” Dean quickly rebuts.

“No, Dean. Think someone a little older than Cas.” Sam hints.

Dean’s brow furrows. “Older than Cas? The dudes like 49 billion years old or whatever.” Shaking his head, Dean’s foot taps anxiously. “Let’s see there’s Bobby? Rufus?”

“Oh my god, Dean. It’s dad! Ok. Shit.” Sam blurts out, letting a deep breath of exhaust out.

You turn and smack Sam’s shoulder. “What the fuck, Sam.”

“Sorry. We would’ve been here all night waiting on him. He’s so dense, it’s insane. I would’ve been dad’s age before he figured it out.” Sam leans back in his chair, dropping his giant feet onto the table as he crosses his legs. “He’s a big boy. He can handle it.” Sam notices Dean’s expression. “..Maybe.”

Dean sits quietly, the lock of a stunned horror plastered across his face. “This is a fucking joke, right?”

Sam’s hearty laugh echoes through the library. “Does Dad know, Y/N?”

“Well… yes. We’ve kinda been seeing each other for a few weeks. We were gonna tell you when he got here but Dean’s incessant Rico Suave act finally broke me.”

Dean hadn’t said a word, just scratched his head a couple times, and huffed under his breath.

“Well, If you guys are happy, I’m happy. You’ve been floating around here for the past two weeks, I knew something was up.” Sam smiles, patting you gently on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Sammy. This is just so stress relieving, you have no idea. I’ve been bending over backwards—”

“Oh my fuc—have you fucked my dad?” Dean stands quickly, his chair clanging loudly to the ground. “You’ve fuc… you’ve had sex… my dad? I just…” Dean stomps off down the hallway.

Sam laughs softly, patting your shoulder again. “Welcome to the family, I guess. He’ll get over it eventually.”

“Probably not after he finds out that we did it on his bed last time your dad stayed here.”

Day 11 without a case and the boys are officially driving me nuts. With the darkness gone, Crowley in charge of hell, and Lucifer zapped to wherever, life was pretty dull in the hunting world.

I, on the other hand, have buried myself  into my writing. Finally putting some much needed thought into my  novel, adding bit and pieces to my screenplay, and dabbling in some prose that was a little ‘less dignified’. I spend way more time thinking of synonyms of penis, than I’d like to admit.

The Winchester’s weren’t prepared for the sudden onslaught of nothingness and since I’d taken up permanent residence in the bunker, I was now their sole form of entertainment.

“Y/N, whatcha writing?” Sam asks from behind a giant stack of previously read books , slurping loudly at the remnants in his glass of a green concoction.

Dean perks up, dropping the pen he had been endlessly clicking for the last hour. “Oh shit, are you writing in a diary? Never pegged you as the ‘Dear Diary’ type.”

“Journal.” You slam shut your notebook. “It’s a journal. And for the last time Sam, the drink is gone. Throw. It. Away.”

Look at those lips though.

Dean starts to chuckle, poking fun at Sam getting in trouble. He moves to pick up the pen off the table and you grab his wrist without looking. You turn your attention towards the older brother. “Pick up that pen, Dean Winchester, and I will make sure they never find your body.”

That manly, solid body.

Dean’s eyes widen. Sam stands, glancing your way with an almost salacious smile.

“What is wrong with you two? If it’s not the prank wars, or the continuous fighting, it’s this whole kids on week two of summer break thing and it's horrible. You’ve gotta do something, please. Anything. For the love of Chuck, you’re the Winchesters.”

“Alright, Ms. Bossypants, what are you doing today that’s so productive?” Dean quips.

“Actually, Dean, I'm going on a supply run. In case you didn't weren't aware of this, the toilet paper, laundry detergent, trash bags; they don't refill themselves.”

You hadn't noticed Sam strutting off to kitchen to throw away his cup until he returned back into the library. “We’ll go with you. It's the least we can do, Y/N.”

You usually enjoyed the free time away from the boys, living with anyone is difficult, but you could use the help carrying all the heavy stuff. “Alright. I'm leaving in five. Be ready.”

“I like when she gets all dictator-y. It really works for me.” Dean jumps up, throws on his faded leather jacket and heads for the garage, that sly smile never leaving his lips.

Sam grabs your arm as you turn to leave. “Y/N, wait. I want to apologize. I know it's been trying--- for lack of a better word--- around here lately.”

How can someone so massive have such a delicate touch?

“I just need some fresh air. Hell, we all need some. Don't worry about it, Sammy.” You half smile, turn again for your room but Sam's grip doesn't relinquish from your wrist.

“I think it's more than fresh air you need.” Sam's hand slides from your wrist to your elbow as he pulls you into his lips.

His lips are soft, precise, and you feel his tongue slipping past your teeth to start tumbling with yours. You succumb to him, letting all the pent up anger melt into his lips. You run your hands wildly up his rippling back, only stopping when you had fistfuls of long brown locks intertwined in your fingers.

Just as soft as it looks, this hair.

Sam's hands seem to be everywhere, the sheer size of them taking up a lot of real estate on your ass and lower back, and just as you felt his fingers playing at the button of your jeans you hear a voice.

“What the fuck, Sam?”

God damn it, Dean. Wait, something is familiar here.

“I thought we agreed on tonight? You're jumping the gun, you horny, impatient bastard.”

Agreed on what now? Is this something I wrote?

“I couldn't help it. She's so cute when she’s feisty. Figured she needed some cheering up.” Sam’s smile is smoldering as you looks at the undone button of your jeans.

Put that thing away, sir. That smile could melt me. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard this scene before.

“Guys, I don't wanna know what sick Winchester skit I'm in right now. I need to go to the store before it gets too late. Whoever wants to go, let's go.” You tidy your hair, button your jeans, and give Sam a peek over your shoulder as you walk out of the room.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Focus. Focus. Focus. There is no way they read your journal. There is no way they've been fucking with you on purpose.

Dean didn't bother to try to talk you out of driving, he trusted you with Baby. Hell, he trusted you with everything he had: his life and Sam’s. It did come as a shock, however,  when Dean plopped down in the backseat and let Sam sit passenger.

This is word for word now. They have to be messing with me. ‘It was easy to access your neck from behind, Dean’s lips expertly nipping away it. Sam's large hand slipping under your panties, a lustful groan falling from his lips at the touch of your warm wetness.’

A voice dangerously close to your ear, snaps you into reality. “Y/N, earth to Y/N.” Dean's breath causing goosebumps down your back.

You mutter your best sorry and rumble off distractedly down the road.

It's incredible how fast you went from wanting to murder them to wanting them to murder your vagina. Or mouth. Or assho---regardless, your mind is wandering hard, sister.

The parking lot was empty per usual. This small town had seen its better days. You grab a cart, squeaky wheel and all, and head inside the double doors. The boys stuck alarmingly close to you, usually they'd wander off in their respective directions only to return a minute before check out.

“Ah, grocery shopping. So domestic.” Dean grumbles, tossing something of the shelf into the cart.

“It's kinda nice; being somewhere knowing there's not an apocalypse about to happen.” Sam jokes, also dropping something into the cart.

You laugh in agreement, still distracted by all the flat surfaces you could be anger fucking Sam on.

That table. Those check out line belt thingys. Up against that wall. I bet the freezer section would add a little something, something.

Before you knew it you were in the bakery section, and the boys were standing shoulder to shoulder.

“Do you want the long and skinny one---” Sam asks.

“---or the shorter and thicker one?” Dean finishes, Dean serious looks on their faces as the clutch tightly to the French baguettes.

Ok. Code red. Direct quote from journal. Abort. Abort.

“Alright. Ha-ha, guys. You read my journal. I get it. I'm leaving.” You abandon the cart and jet towards the Impala. You fumble with the keys, your sexual nerves riding high, and Dean catches up to you.

“Y/N, c’mon, we were just messin’ around. Relax.” He slides the key into lock for you and turns it. “I'll drive, ok? You seem pretty wound up.”

You fall into passenger seat, cheeks stained a shameful shade of lobster red, panties moistened with sexual frustration. You rest your head against the window, firmly avoiding eye contact with Dean at all cost. The silence is only broken by Sam loading the groceries into the trunk and hopping into the back seat.

“You ok?” Sam questions you.

“Fine. Completely violated. Angry. And, quite frankly, horny.” You feel that blush falling over your cheeks again. “And all for a joke.”

“Oh no, honey.” Dean’s hand falls to your knee. “It was a joke, but we really are gonna fuck you six ways from Sunday when we get home, but we wanted to mess with you first.”

Floor it.

______