The Devil Really Does Wear Prada by balefully (NC-17)

[cathybites.livejournal.com]

Fandom: SUPERNATURAL
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Author on LJ: balefully
Author Website: fic tag
Why this must be read:

This fic, I love it like a loving thing that loves a lot. It's an AU where Sam is, as Lucy notes in the summary, 'a little more fabulous' and lands a job at a posh fashion magazine as an assistant to the editor-in-chief, Miranda (yes, *that* Miranda). Dean shows up, much like in the pilot, to get Sam to help him look for their father, but the boys soon get sucked into another case. The characterizations are spot on (it may be an AU, but if Sam were canonically more fabulous? This would be him 100%), the storyline is tight and fast-paced and kind of brilliant, and, seriously? Two of the hottest, HOTTEST, sex scenes I've ever read. EVER. I re-read this fic all the time and it never ever gets old.

Sam shook his head and rummaged around in his olive-drab Diesel bag, coming up with a tortoise-shell clip. He swept his bangs back and to the side, snapping the clip shut to keep them out of his face. He had to stay professional, removed. "I think we need to take a trip to the morgue and have a look. There's just. Nowhere near enough to go on from this. It's starting to look more and more like Dad just skipped out in the middle of the job. He's obviously nowhere near figuring it out, and now I'm thinking it doesn't have anything to do with where he is."

Dean was clearly trying not to stare at the clip. "Are you. Wearing—" He cut himself off. "You know what? Never mind. You wanna look like a brain-damaged pansy, that's your prerogative." Sam tried to ignore that this was the second time in less than twelve hours that he'd been called brain-damaged. It was becoming a disturbing theme. Although not quite as disturbing as the fact that he was repeatedly comparing Dean to Miranda. He figured if Miranda knew, she'd probably expire on the spot. Pleasant thought. "The morgue it is. Get your purse and let's book, Sammy."

"It's a bag, Dean, not a purse. And my name. Is Sam." By the time he'd finished his retort, Dean was already halfway out the door.

The Devil Really Does Wear Prada