Supernatural Imagines

Season Of The Witch

~Loosely based off a dream I had and the premise for the hunt was too good to ignore.
~⚠️THIS IS GONNA BE TWO PARTS (maybe 3)
~And remember when I said "first person povs"? Yeah, well, fuck that for this chapter. Throw it out the window. This bitch is a 2nd person narration. It makes more sense to me for this chapter I guess.
~Let me know if you like the pov. If you want more I would be willing to write like it
~One other thing... I know this chapter is long. I hope you all don't skip it. It has a lot of valuable info for the upcoming parts. think of this as the set up to a mini fanfic story.

And most importantly... enjoy!!!!

You grumble to yourself as small voices from down the corridor wake you from your slumber. You slowly sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, looking around your room, still half expecting to wake up in motel rooms with your friends. You couldn't help but smile, slowly starting to come to terms with the idea of the bunker being home.

You crawl out of bed and pull on a sweatshirt that was once Sam's, then mosey through the halls to the voices becoming louder and clearer. Once you make it to the kitchen, you see Sam and Dean sitting across from one another eating cereal and looking at Sam's laptop for a potential case.

"What's doin'?" You ask, your voice still groggy and low, and take a seat next to Sam, landing your head on his shoulder, your eyes closing from not enough sleep.

His arm wraps around your shoulders, and his long wingspan makes him able to place his hand on your thigh, pulling you closer to him. "Just looking for a case."

"Hmm, nice."

You couldn't help but fall in love with him over the few years you've known both of them. After watching Interview With The Vampire about a million times, you've saved yourself and your best friend back in the apartment you shared from a man who actually wanted to kill her. You cut off his head with a katana you kept over your bed while fangs were about to sink deep into her neck, and since then you've been hunting. You've heard a lot about the Winchesters once you started gaining a name for yourself, and one day you received a call asking for help to kill a God they needed to.

You were the one to go to about any religious mythology or anything to do with witchcraft and the occult. And since then, they just kind of took you in. They liked having their own little personal witch that really liked to do mushrooms and talk to plants. Well, you did work with gods, and you've learned very quickly which ones to keep on your altar and which ones were your enemies. But aside from that, you've made countless hex bags, projected into the astral on numerous occasions to see where your prey lies, and so much more. You were family, and you were more than willing to let them take advantage of your abilities.

But Sam... you loved him. Dean knew. He whisked you away a few nights ago, asking why you always seem to be gazing at Sam in some way he's only experienced when in love. He knew. He just wanted you to tell him. Sam was always so kind to you. And as much as you hated when Dean treated you like a child that needed saving, when Sam did it... you never minded. You let him. You liked the way he smelled. Something like pine bark, and a musk. His fingers were always so smooth, cautiously braiding your hair out of your face while you sat on the floor in front of him between his legs. He would walk outside to find any assortment of small flowers because he knew how much you liked them in your braids when he was done. On the nights off, you would always find yourself curled into a ball, hidden under blankets while watching movies with the both of them. And just like clockwork, ten minutes into the movie, he would start reaching for you, pulling you into him.

"I think this one's in your wheelhouse (Y/n)," Sam hummed as his fingers grazed up and down the side of your waist, your muscles twitching under his touch.