#AmBitious

[angelsincity]

[classycookiexo]

[dizzybevvie]

You're the sunflower/I think your love would be too much

[expulence]

[chevroletdean]

Ambitious — Chapter 1: Hunter in the Rye

SUMMARY: It seems like the Winchesters have found themselves a rival. A mysterious huntress is one step ahead of them, whatever case they’re working on. While she’s a thorn in his side, who is Dean to say no to a little challenge?

SHIP: Dean Winchester x Original Female Character GENRE: Fluff, smut TO NOTE/WARNINGS: Rivals to lovers, miscommunication (or rather: Dean and OFC being stubborn asses), canon level violence, competitive hunting, a bit of German folklore, they're working on a case with victims and children being kidnapped, fluff, smut (MDNI!), fingering, protected p in v, Switch!Dean, not beta read WORD COUNT: 10.5k (sorry) A/N: Spice was not planned, originally, nor was such a hefty word count. But, as predicted, my love for writing about OCs took over and thus I present to you a lengthy entry for the @jacklesversebingo challenge. PROMPT: Work Adversaries CREDIT & LINKS: header by myself ─〃★ gun divider ─〃★ flower divider ─〃★ jacklesversebingo 2024 masterlist ─〃★ series masterlist ─〃★ ao3

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When it came to hunting, Dean was always ambitious.

With the exception of using every excuse to hit the local bars, flirt with the patrons, and later make it every motel guest’s problem in close proximity to his room.

Still, once he actually was locked in on a hunt, he wanted to get it done right.

“I get that this is a strange case,” the coroner muttered, both in obvious resignation from the second night-owl shift in a row and in sheer surprise. Her white coat looked worn and for a moment, the hunters were left to wonder if she even had the chance to change out of it in the last twenty-four hours. “But is a third examination really necessary?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. They were certainly used to the whole ‘I already spoke with the officers’ type of deal when it came to interrogations and such. However, this…

“I’m sorry,” Dean rasped, forcing an awkward, tight smile. “Did you say third?”

Suspicion flashed across the woman’s eyes, the brows of which were now knitted together in deep thought.

“Could I see some ID again, please?”

Begrudgingly, Sam and Dean handed over their FBI badges, which the coroner inspected a little too closely for their liking. Bobby has spent a good amount of time on getting them perfectly right though. Hence the brothers giving a confident nod as she handed them back, seemingly satisfied.

“Your colleague came in last morning, mere hours after I handed in the report,” white-coat shrugged. A quick glance towards her name plate identified her as Nora Banks. “I showed her the body, and after lunch break some municipal officers came in.”

Not again.

Dean had to refrain from rolling his eyes, despite his clear annoyance with a certain colleague of his. Oh, she was a colleague alright. Not a fellow FBI agent, but definitely a fellow hunter. A damn thorn in his side was what she was to him.

“We’re just following protocol, Miss Banks,” Sam chimed in. “We don’t want to miss any details.”

“That FBI agent went through just about every detail, if you ask me,” Miss Banks sighed, the irritation in her furrowed brows obvious. “But, sure, be my guest.”

Despite her dismay of having to go through the procedure not only twice, but thrice, Nora guided the two men down the hallway. Morgues always gave Dean the creeps and his soured mood did not help his tension. He was still dwelling on the fact that that little beast had bested him yet again.

He’s lost count of how many times that girl must’ve interrupted his leads. Lately it was just working case after case, chasing monsters and inevitably running into traces of her. The stench of her methods were all over this case.

Nora Banks mentioned some of the strange questions the agent had asked her yesterday. Key-words like ‘sulfur’, ‘cold spots’, and ‘increase in local animal attacks’ confirmed Dean’s suspicions that it must’ve been a hunter.

And he only knew one person that tended to appear at the scene of the crime — literally — before they even had a chance.

Although, knowing was putting it very generously.

Despite her being very much of an annoying obstacle when it came to jobs, neither Sam nor Dean had actually ever met her in person before. All they knew was that she was an ambitious, thorough hunter, and working faster than lightning, apparently.

As the brothers left the station, Sam sighed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. Just from that Dean could tell he wasn’t going to like what he’d say next.

“Looks like this case is already taken care of,” he shrugged, which earned him a glare from Dean.

“Don’t,” Dean interrupted him midsentence, talking over his brother’s meek attempt of smoothing over the older Winchester’s frustration. “Don’t even say it.”

“Dean,” Sam groaned back. “What’s the point?”

As if to question Sam’s seriousness, Dean scoffed at Sam. “The point is,” he huffed, “that this is our case, I didn’t drive eight hours for nothing.”

The older Winchester was as stubborn as ever, but this time around, his persistence was of childish nature. It wasn’t even about the case, it was just about this dumb competition Dean had set his mind to. A competition that was, noteworthily, one-sided — given that whoever this mysterious huntress was probably didn’t even know about the Winchesters.

“Since when are you so eager to work, anyway?,” Sam questioned, but the only reply he was met with was a harsh slam of the Impala’s door. Dean slid into the driver’s seat, clearly not taking no for an answer. He really was dead-set on solving this case first.

It was personal at this point. To him, at least.

Back at the motel, he even double-checked the newspaper articles and went through a list of witnesses to interrogate. Sam genuinely couldn’t recall the last time his brother had been so adamant about solving a case.

While Sam was trying to get ahold of Bobby over the phone, Dean was in the middle of looking up what could’ve caused the strange scarring on the victim’s body. The arms were covered in vein-like marks, like tree-branches raking over every inch of skin. The coroner had attributed the cause of death to be electrocution.

But something about it just felt off — How could a guy just drop dead in the middle of a rye field as if struck by lightning without any signs of storms nearby? That paired with children disappearing and strange sightings of what locals described as a cryptid wasn’t adding up either.

There was a reason the coroner had to answer inquires about animal attacks and such. Apparently, people have seen what they described as a black dog.

Originally, Sam and Dean thought about hellhounds gone loose, but there was no explanation for why they were visible to the general public, and not just doomed souls. A werewolf did not align with the moon cycle, for one, and while they were wolves, they appeared mostly in human-form. Thus, they scratched that off the list of possibilities as well.

“A Feldgeist, is what you’re dealing with,” Bobby said over the phone. “Or, what Phoebe is dealing with, anyway. Why are you two on this case, again?”

Dean’s ears perked up at the unfamiliar name.

“Phoebe?,” he echoed, staring the phone down as if Bobby could see him.

“A Feldgeist?,” Sam echoed simultaneously.

Clearly the brothers had different priorities when it came to solving this case. Sam was beginning to worry that Dean was hunting his new rival more so than being out for the monster itself.

“According to German folklore, they’re essentially somewhere between demonic and spirits. Some humanoid, some shaped like animals,” Bobby went on to explain. “It’s sort of a fairy tale to keep kids from messing around on farms. Except this one’s real — a Roggenwolf. Stalks in fields, feeds on children, causes lightning and rain to mess with the harvest.”

That would explain the strange dog-sightings, the missing children, as well as the electrocution.

“You’re well-informed on the details, Bobby,” Sam remarked.

“Phoebe asked me to do some fact-checking, she called me about this case just yesterday,” Bobby replied.

Again, Dean fidgeted, before finally snatching the phone from Sam’s hands. “Who is this Phoebe?”

“Does it say ‘Winchester’s personal assistant exclusively’ on my forehead? The world of hunters doesn’t revolve only around you idiots,” Bobby snarled, his humbling tone alone giving the Winchesters a good idea of the way he’d scrunch up his nose and tip back that cap of his. “Phoebe Bennett’s a capable hunter, likes to dive in solo. I’d say you boys can move onto the next one and let her handle it.”

“We read up on the case first!,” Dean protested, earning himself a slight smack to his shoulder from Sam and his brother taking away the phone once more.

“Clearly ya didn’t,” was the last matter-of-factly stated thing Dean heard on the other line.

“Thanks, Bobby,” Sam muttered hastily. “We’ll get back to you.”

With that the call ended and Dean fell back into his chair, huffing and puffing like a child throwing a temper tantrum.

He sure was acting as if Phoebe had stolen his candy or something. If Sam wasn’t mistaken, he was even pouting. Over a damn case they haven’t even looked into for longer than a couple of days.

“You wanna catch that rye wolf so badly?”

“It’s a matter of principle, Sammy,” Dean grumbled. “This Phoebe Bennett can’t just keep stealing all our leads! Is this what it feels like to have your job replaced by a machine?”

Unable to not roll his eyes at his brother’s theatrics, Sam sighed: “She’s not a machine, she’s a hunter. And from the looks of it, a decent one, too. Let’s just drop it.”

A notification went off on the laptop as Sam finished his sentence. By hacking into the police station’s systems, they were always up to date with new information. Dean skimmed over the pop-up, before he gave Sam a deadpan expression.

“From the looks of it,” he retorted in mocking fashion and turned the laptop around for it to face his brother. “Our decent hunter hasn’t finished the job just yet.”

A child had just been reported missing by a very alarmed mother. According to the testimony, the girl and her older sister had been playing near the fields, when suddenly the younger sibling was dragged away by a shadow-like creature.

That was more than enough reason to pay the family a little visit.

If what Bobby dug up was correct, then their Larry Talbot / demonic were-spirit / ghostwolf from hell — Dean hadn’t decided on a name yet — kept its victims alive somewhere to feed on them. If they wanted a chance at finding them, they had to act fast.

A fifteen minute drive downtown later, Dean parked right next to a glossy red Harley-Davidson. Amongst the family cars and amidst the idyllic picture of your stereotypical picket-fence suburbian area, the vintagey motorcycle stuck out like a sore thumb. More so than the Impala, even.

Adjusting their ties, Sam and Dean walked up the porch and rang the bell.

Mere moments later, a girl opened for them. Since she looked to be around eleven or twelve years old, they immediately figured this must be the eye-witness. That, and the subtle shell-shock look of emptiness in her eyes.

Dean gave a friendly greeting of “Hi there,” and routinely pulled out his badge. “Are your parents home? We have a couple of questions.”

The pre-teen blinked back and forth between the IDs, mumbling out a meek “Mom’s already talking to an FBI agent.”

Bingo, Phoebe*.*

Dean knew that Cruiser outside could not possibly belong to your average soccer-mom.

“Looks like our co-worker got a headstart then,” he hummed, attempting to peek past the doorway into the living room. “Mind if we come in?”

Reluctantly, the kid turned around, calling “Mom!”

A woman, eyes even puffier and more red-rimmed than that of her daughter, approached them. She didn’t seem to question the fact that more FBI wanted to bombard her with questions.

“Agents,” she nodded, voice tired and worn down, after a quick glance at their badges and waved them inside. “I’ll get more cups ready. Lily, be a sweetheart and show them to the living room?”

The girl, Lily, did as she was told, walking into the living room. Sam and Dean followed closely behind, their eyes immediately landing on the person occupying the middle of the couch.

Her red hair was tucked into a loose braid, strands of which stuck out somewhat wildly, but not messily. There was a keen, sharp look to her bright eyes. Her posture was alert, but not hostile, as she eyed the men before her with curiosity.

“Agents,” she nodded. Her voice, Dean noticed right away, was calm and smooth. Everything about the way she carried herself was.

He found it highly irritating.

For someone with the audacity to waltz about and steal cases from other hunters, this woman was too… fuck finding a right word for it, she was just too irritating.

Arrogance didn’t quite capture it. But just by her confident demeanor, Dean judged her as too prideful. To be fair, his opinion of her was rather tainted and biased. He didn’t know anything about her, aside from the vibes of a first impression.

To him, Phoebe Bennett was on her high horse, taking a sip from her cup of coffee like she had every right to be here while they had none. As if it was Sam and Dean were the ones butting in, disturbing her business.

Where Dean downright refused to even greet her back with anything else but a glare, Sam had the manners to acknowledge her with a nod and a brief “Agent” in return.

“Lily, why don’t you check if your mother needs some help?,” he suggested then, clearing his throat as he glanced down at the girl. No further convincing needed to be done. She scurried out of the room, eagerly and silent.

“Never heard of an FBI agent on a Cruiser,” Dean grumbled, to which she chuckled— What was so damn funny about that anyway?

“As if your 67 Chevy is any less flashy,” Phoebe teased back, smug smirk on her lips. She set her cup down on the table and leaned back, all nonchalance and ease, as she watched Dean’s eyes narrow. “What? You’re not exactly sneaky in that thing, following me around in four different states. Are you tailing me or something?”

Tailing her? And to think Bobby scolded him for acting as though he was the center of the world.

Sam cleared his throat and subtly nudged his shoulder against Dean’s. The tension in the room was not only palpable, it was completely uncalled for. Dean needed to snap out of it.

“Guess we’ve been following the same leads,” Sam explained. “Look, we’re after the same thing, maybe we should team up.”

“No.” Dean’s and Phoebe’s voices melted together, his voice accompanied by a loud and offended scoff, hers by a flat and unimpressed tone. While Dean stared at Sam in disbelief as if to ask if he’d gone crazy, Phoebe casually picked at a piece of lint on her sleeve as if bored.

“No offense, but I prefer to work alone,” she hummed for an explanation. “If you want to get a job done right, do it yourself, right? Plus, if I were to work with other hunters, I wouldn’t do it with someone I don’t even know.”

Fair. Blunt, but fair.

“Little Red Riding Hood hunting the Big Bad Wolf?,” Dean huffed mockingly, a crooked grin forming on his lips. “Sounds like a trashy horror movie, if you’re asking me.”

“Good thing I’m not,” Phoebe immediately retorted. Witty smartmouth, noted.

“Apologies for the mess, I didn’t expect so many guests,” came a hushed voice behind them. As the woman emerged from the kitchen, a tray of more coffee cups in her hands, she looked even more stressed than when she greeted the hunters at the door.

It reminded them all what they were trying to do here; save that little girl.

“Oh, please,” she urged. “Sit, gentlemen.”

Phoebe’s eyebrow quirked up in challenging fashion as she stared Dean down. He wanted to refuse anyway, were it not for his brother swiftly taking a seat next to Phoebe. Damn him and his will to be all civil and social.

Begrudgingly, Dean sat down as well, the trio now grouped on the couch with Phoebe in the middle.

“Mrs. Miller,” Phoebe spoke, well-mannered and sweetly. “I’m sorry I have to ask this. Could you go over the details again, for my colleagues? They’ve just been introduced to this case, you know?”

She accentuated her words with some condescending pats on Dean’s knee. The glimmer in her eyes was half mocking, half warning. Clearly she didn’t appreciate other hunters squeezing into her business last minute.

Dean fought the urge to smack her hand away. The unexpected touch nearly made him jolt in his seat and he narrowed his eyes at her, before swallowing his pride and giving Mrs. Miller an apologetic smile.

“Well,” Mrs. Miller sighed in defeat and allowed herself to sink into the armchair across the table. “Lily and Rose were out playing. I told them to stay away from the fields, but…”

Just thinking about it had the woman tear up. Her gaze dropped to her lap and she sniffled briefly.

“There was a gust of wind,” Lily chimed in, her head poking out from the frame of the kitchen door. “It went straight into the field and Rose ran after it. I know we weren’t supposed to go in deep, but she said she saw a puppy and followed it. Something grabbed her.”

Mrs. Miller waved her daughter over. The kid’s approach was hesitant, but once within arm’s reach, she found herself in her mother’s embrace.

“Did you see what grabbed your sister?” Phoebe asked.

Lily hesitated, then shook her head.

“Lily,” Dean tried. “It’s okay, you can tell us. We just want to find what took her.”

“It wasn’t a puppy,” Lily stuttered out, fidgeting with her hands while her mother smoothed over her daughter’s hair reassuringly. “It was like a wolf. A giant, black wolf.”

“And that wolf, it dragged your sister deeper into the fields?,” Sam inquired.

The girl nodded.

“The police said they will be scouting the area,” Mrs. Miller mumbled, tearing up again. “But what if they won’t find her?”

“Then they’ll have federal backup, Ma’am,” Phoebe nodded confidently and got up. “I’ll make sure Rose comes back home safely.”

Big words for someone who didn’t even know where the child was dragged to yet. Dean’s eyebrows quirked up as he shot a glance at Sam. “Can you believe her?,” his expression said.

Mother and daughter guided the trio back to the entrance. Phoebe wasted no time stepping down the porch.

“Whoa, hey,” Dean huffed and scurried over until he was blocking her way. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Catching the Big Bad Wolf, as you phrased it,” she responded with a shrug and brushed past him.

“Do you even know how to get rid of it?” Dean asked again, following her every step to her bike. “You’ll just go in there and then what?”

Phoebe raised an eyebrow at him and simply mounted her bike as if Dean wasn’t even there. She grabbed her helmet and put it on, along with her gloves.

It certainly was not her job to explain these guys how to kill that thing. However, as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t just run Dean over with her bike and leave either.

“Superstitious Germans in the middle ages went so far as to burn entire fields to get rid of the wolves,” she sighed. “By then, their harvest was mostly ruined anway. Fire usually does the trick, according to the lore.”

“So we’ll just molotov the furball?”

She snorted. “We won’t be doing anything,” she laughed and started her motorcycle’s engine. “If you wanna commit arson so badly, you guys will just have to be faster than me.”

With that, she readjusted her bike’s position and took off, leaving Dean to dart back just in time. He clicked his tongue and bolted towards the Impala.

If she wanted a tournament, she could have one.

“C’mon, Sammy!,” he urged as he slid into the driver’s seat. “We ain’t got all day, hop in.”

Sam blinked at his brother in disbelief. He could already feel another migraine coming in just seeing his brother’s misplaced enthusiasm. This guy was going to stress him out to death one day.

“Move your freakishly long limbs,” Dean groaned.

Sam barely got to close the door behind him when Dean already drove off at alarming speed.

“Hey, speed limit,” Sam argued, but Dean wasn’t even listening. The only thing he was set on was getting to these damn rye fields first. “What even is your plan, set the whole field on fire? We don’t even know if she’s telling the truth.”

Surely, he’d figure it out once he got there. Preferably before Phoebe would.

However, lo and behold, upon arrival, a shiny red bike was already waiting for them.

Dean practically flew out of his seat, throwing the door closed behind him and dashing towards the trunk, from where he retrieved a flamethrower. Sam jumped to his side just in time to shove it back.

“Dude,” he sighed in exasperation, trying to be a voice of reason here.

“Yeah, dude,” Phoebe’s voice chimed in from behind them. “Are you trying to deepfry the missing children with that thing?”

It took Dean everything to not point the damn thing at her. Although, the annoyance in his eyes resembled thrown daggers, or thrown flames in this case. Same difference.

“You guys are persistent, I gotta hand you that,” the redhead sighed while busying herself with grabbing various items and weapons, storing them in her jacket and pockets. “If you wanna be a tick on my ass so bad, suit yourselves. Just don’t get in the way.”

“What about the search operation?,” Sam brought up. “Won’t police be here in a bit?”

“Nothing a phone call couldn’t already settle,” Phoebe shrugged and secured a gun in the back of her belt. “Look sharp, boys, the wolf won’t hunt itself.”

Before Dean could even complain about her ordering them around, she climbed over the fence with ease and disappeared into the fields. The rye almost seemed to swallow her frame. Not wanting to lose track of his rival, Dean hopped over the fence too.

Swallowing his pride, he decided for once to focus on the mission. “So, how do we find this thing?”

“Wind gust should be the wolf moving through the plants, so just follow that.”

“Listen to Red, all confident,” Dean snorted condescendingly. “Have you killed these wolves before?”

Without hesitation, Phoebe gave a firm “Nope.”

“How’re you so sure this’ll work then?”

She rolled her eyes, stopping her steps abruptly. He almost bumped straight into her. “Dean, right?,” she groaned. “You’re even more annoying than Bobby gave you credit for. Please quit yapping and focus on the job, ‘kay?”

Her words left the older Winchester with a gaping jaw and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. Annoying, huh? She was one to talk— Besides, should his ego be more deflated by Phoebe’s dismissal or the fact that she and Bobby were apparently gossipping about him?

Against his better judgement, the curious question left his lips through a grumble.

“If I’m the annoying one, what did Bobby say about Sam?” He was mumbling more to himself than anything, but Sam still nudged his elbow into Dean’s side.

Undisturbed, Phoebe continued her path through the tall blades of yellow and shrugged: “When I asked him what Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum were up to following me like lost puppies, he said,” she started, before clearing her throat and lowering her voice to match Bobby’s gruff tone, “Annoying idiot’s called Dean, tall idiot’s called Sam.”

As a snort escaped his brother’s mouth, Dean glared at him as if to scold Sam for indulging Phoebe’s teasing. How could Sam not get a kick out of watching his brother get a taste of his own medicine though? Clearly Dean wasn’t used to being humbled, much less by smart-mouthed hunters.

A deep, guttural noise prompted all three hunters to a halt. The sound was unmistakably that of growling, low but broken. Broken up by rustling, that is. Cold breezes going through various directions rattled through the meadow and bent the rye into awkward angles.

“Did you see that?,” Dean whispered, instinctively reaching for his trusty gun.

“Sure did,” Phoebe hummed, her eyes zeroed in on where a large shadow had just flashed before them. Her finger has already found home curled around the trigger of her gun. “Bobby didn’t say anything about silver killing them, but I’m sure it’ll hurt anyway.”

“How sure exactly?,” Sam brought up, only to be ignored.

The huntress didn’t waste another moment, not even for an answer, hurrying after the creature.

“Hey!” Dean’s efforts of holding her back were just as for naught. “Damnit, she better be real sure.”

“What, are you getting worried about her already?,” Sam grinned.

Rolling his eyes, he retorted a gruff “shut up” as his only concern was the wolf getting a headstart at kicking her ass before he could.

She was an agile thing, he had to give her that. Were it not for the flame-like color of her hair, he would’ve lost her in the tall, pointy grass. As his luck would have it, however, she abruptly stopped yet again, causing him to almost bump straight into her for the umpteenth time. Seriously, was she doing it on purpose to mess with him?

Her hushing came before he could even think about complaining: A hissed “shh!” accompanied by her palm pressed flat to his chest. A touch that left him rather stunned. In fact, everything about her, all she did and said so far, seemed to have such an effect on him.

Those keen eyes of hers narrowed at a little opening right in front of her. She carefully pushed more rye aside with the barrel of her gun, slowly, to peek through.

“Gotcha,” she mumbled quietly and pointed at tracks on the ground, which took a sharp turn eastwards, likely out of the field. She straightened her back and blinked over her shoulder, giving Dean a once over — which he did not know how to react to, even — and glanced further back. “Where’d you leave Tweedle-Dum?”

Dean flinched, turned to check on his brother, but Sam was nowhere to be seen.

“Sa—?”

“Shush, God!” Phoebe groaned, glaring at Dean. “Are you trying to get us killed? This is a sneak-mission.”

Dean clicked his tongue, increasingly annoyed with her know-it-all attitude.

“Sorry, smartass,” he tched, voice dripping with sarcasm.

While he didn’t like the idea of leaving behind Sam, wherever the lanky guy has wandered off to, their best call was to follow the tracks while they were still fresh. If they were lucky, they’d lead right to the monster’s hideout.

What he definitely hated, however, was the fact that he had to chase this wolf with just Phoebe. Sam better had a damn good excuse to abandon him without further notice.

“You comin’ or what?”

Phoebe’s whispering had him snap out of his thoughts. Whilst he gave an affirmative nod, he could not refrain from grimacing in her direction the second she faced forward again. Still, finding the missing kid came first, even if he had to bite the bullet and team up with Phoebe for the time being.

They treaded through the meadow with haste but deliberate steps, until reaching the very edge of the field. The tracks, clearly paw prints with claws and all, lead them to a burrow. From the outside, it looked shallow, just a plain mound covered in leafs.

“Hold this,” Phoebe commanded flatly, shrugging off her coat and shoving it in Dean’s direction. He scrambled instinctively to not let it drop to the ground, then stared at her with wide eyes and disbelief.

“Quit treatin’ me like your damn assistant,” he snapped, wanting to shove her jacket back, but the girl was already crouching down, climbing into the hole in the ground. She had to squirm through the narrow opening, but managed to slide through eventually. Once inside, she dusted the dirt from her white shirt, albeit it remained stained now.

“Quit acting the part and I might,” she smirked up at him, all cocky. Upon watching her extending her arm towards him, his expression only sank further.

“If you want your stupid jacket back, why’d you give it to me?,” he huffed, refusing to return it just because she decided she wanted to order him around.

“I was gonna give you a hand, but suit yourself,” she shrugged, “just get your pretty ass down here, sweetheart. Ain’t got all day.”

Pretty ass? Sweetheart?

Dean’s mouth opened, but his mind blanked entirely, leaving him to gape like a dumbfounded fish. In a pathetic attempt to cover up his flustered state, he scoffed once more. “I don’t need your help,” he grumbled as he knelt, gripping the lower edge of the opening to give himself a push.

Phoebe’s eyebrows shot up, her eyes glimmering with amusement. “You sure you wanna go in head first and not-?”

Her suggestion fell on deaf ears, though by the time Dean’s hands slipped — and so did he —, he wished he would’ve listened. He was definitely taller than Phoebe, which did not work in his favor in this case. He struggled to make his way through the entrance thanks to his broader frame. Upon losing his grip, he toppled over, falling downwards and landing on his quote-unquote pretty ass.

He didn’t need to look at Phoebe to know she was grinning at his unglamorous performance and she didn’t need to tease Dean to make him feel like an idiot for not sliding in feet first.

Once more, she extended her hand towards him and this time, he begrudgingly accepted the offer and let her pull him up to his feet.

“You okay?,” she asked through thinly veiled bemusement.

“Peachy,” Dean uttered bitterly and wiped the dirt from his clothes.

Ironically enough, Phoebe’s jacket remained entirely unharmed and without any blemishes. Life could be so unfair. He handed it back to her, if only to glare at her while doing so as if to signal her it was the coat’s fault, because he had his hands full or some lame excuse.

Whether or not Phoebe caught his drift, she decided against bickering over it further and instead took it back. Without another word she turned around and walked ahead, Dean following close behind. Even she had to duck her head in this cramped tunnel, but Dean wondered if crawling might’ve been more comfortable.

Since they weren’t far yet, Dean tried to text his brother, but the signal was weak. He wasn’t even sure the message came through. Where the hell did Sam run off to anyway?

“Can I ask you something personal?,” Dean murmured.

Phoebe raised an eyebrow as she glanced at him. “I have a feeling you’ll ask me either way.”

Could she blame him for being curious?

“Since when’re you in the hunting game?,” he shrugged. “We’ve never seen you around anywhere and suddenly you’re everywhere.”

Phoebe remained silent for a moment, focusing on the path ahead instead of Dean’s questionnaire. It shouldn’t surprise him — they hadn’t exactly started on the right footing and she didn’t owe him any explanation, much less a biography. Banter or not though, he thought he should’ve at least heard her name before if she was that of an active hunter.

“I’m not a rookie, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she mumbled at last and if the tight tone did not give away that she’d rather not share details, then Dean knew from experience that most hunters had a tragic past that pushed them into this line of work.

The air down there grew staler with each step and darkness engulfed them. Dean did bring a lighter, at least, but even with that they had to be careful. The burrow turned out to be a large tunnel system. Perfect for any creature to pop in and out at various points. A flashlight might just attract unwanted attention

“Awfully quiet,” Dean remarked. “You think the wolf’s in here?”

“Sure hope so,” Phoebe sighed, gripping her gun just a little tighter. “I wanna get the kids out and burn this place to ashes.”

“Pyromaniac, are we?”

She didn’t respond to that. Even if she’d wanted to, their conversation was interrupted by another noise. Both hunters froze, ears perked.

Sobbing. Someone was sobbing.

“Hello?,” Phoebe called out, quickening her steps to rush towards the source of the sound.

So much for the element of surprise. Although the wolf did not seem to be within close range. For now, at least. Guided by the sniffles and crying, Phoebe and Dean turned the last corner and found themselves at the heart of the monster’s den.

The flooring was steeper, ceiling tall enough for Dean to finally stand comfortably. The same couldn’t be said for the kids within. Dean counted four of them, which matched with the recent missing person reports.

They were all cowering in a corner, little bodies curled up and shaking. Two of them, at least. The others lay there looking limp, like broken dolls.

“Rose,” Phoebe spoke and one of the girls lifted her head, tear stained eyes shell-shocked and face pale. “It’s okay, we’ll help you guys.”

It was the first time Dean witnessed a waver in the huntress’s voice. The woman swiftly approached the kids, checking up on each of them. A deep exhale followed.

“They’re alive,” she exclaimed in relief. “We gotta get them out of here. Rose, can you stand?”

The young girl stared back and forth between Phoebe and Dean and nodded weakly. She didn’t say a word, but she didn’t have to. So long as they’d get these children out of here, it would all be good.

Dean quickly took ahold of the two unconscious kids, carrying one on each arm.

Phoebe busied herself with stabilizing and encouraging the remaining two. They were terrified, clearly, and one of them had a nasty gash on his leg that looked like a painful infection. Tearing the sleeve from her jacket, the very same she didn’t want to get dirty earlier, Phoebe wrapped up the injury and picked the boy up onto her back.

“Look alive, guys, we’re as good as out of here,” she animated the group, nudging Dean forward.

“What about the wolf?,” Rose hushed, small hand in a death grip on the fabric of Phoebe’s pants.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean chimed in before Phoebe even had a chance to think about a response.

She might’ve known how to act quickly when necessary, but it seemed like Dean had the upper hand when it came to dealing with kids. She’s noticed as much earlier, when they were interrogating the Millers. Considering his tough guy act mixed with the grumpy attitude, Phoebe had to admit she did not expect it from him initially.

They made their way through the narrow space, retracing their steps carefully. While the beast was nowhere to be seen just yet, the very fact didn’t sit right with Phoebe. Worst case scenario would be for the predator to await them patiently at the exit, but she prayed her hunch would be wrong.

And for better or worse, it was.

Just as they reached the final slope, sunlight shining through the hole Dean had fallen into earlier, they heard it loud and clear. Deep growling, rustling through to their very bones.

“Shit,” Phoebe uttered and hastily pushed Rose towards Dean. “Get them out of here, now.”

Green eyes went wide.

“What?,” Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “This is no time to be playing hero.”

“Quick!,” she groaned, both annoyed and urgently, her voice leaving no room for arguments.

While Dean cursed under his breath, he lifted Rose up and helped her climb outside. Once Phoebe had handed him the injured boy, he repeated the process. In exchange, she briefly held onto the unconscious kids, though her wary eyes kept gazing around to find the source of the growls.

Reluctantly, Dean pulled himself up and climbed outside, reaching down to pick up the remaining two kids.

Once all four were secured, he extended a hand down to Phoebe, but she shook her head.

“Get them out of here,” she repeated her earlier instructions, purposefully ignoring Dean’s growing frustration.

“Are you crazy?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged, but flashed him a grin and — much to his surprise — held up his lighter in victorius fashion. She must’ve snatched it from his pocket earlier. “See you later.”

No matter how often Dean would call out her name, amongst other profanities (at least he tried to keep it PG13, considering he was surrounded by a bunch of kids), Phoebe turned on her heel and disappeared back into the darkness.

“Time for dinner, you bag of fleas!,” was the last thing he heard from her as she ran deeper inside.

She left him no choice. Dean seriously considered crawling back in and going after her, but how could he possibly leave behind an injured boy, a shell-shocked girl and two knocked out pre-teens? Whether or not you preferred to hunt solo, this was just reckless and he swore to himself he’d smack some sense into her, if the wolf wouldn’t take care of that for him already.

“Think you can walk?,” Dean sighed, sizing up the boy’s injury. Testing the movement, he gave a reluctant nod, but it was clear he wouldn’t be running a marathon anytime soon.

As long as they would get out of here in one piece, it would have to be enough.

Dean fulfilled his part of the task, taking the kids back and out of the field.

“Sam?”

His brother stood there, and so did a couple of police officers.

Excusing himself, Sam approached Dean while the officers tended to the kids.

“Dude, where the hell have you been?,” Dean groaned, clearly agitated. Almost skittishly, he kept glancing back over his shoulder, waiting for any sign from the redhead.

“I saw the cops approaching and had to buy us some time, looks like they didn’t listen to Phoebe’s request to wait it out,” Sam replied, before he too noticed her absence. “Speaking of the devil, where’d you leave her?”

“We found this burrow, she went back inside by herself,” Dean grumbled less than enthusiastically.

“You let her best you?,” Sam grinned.

“Shut it, ‘s not funny.”

Dean paced around once, twice, exchanged a couple of words with the officers, then grew too impatient.

“Screw it, I’m going back in,” he decided at last.

Sam couldn’t prevent him from hopping over the fence if he tried, but someone else was able to stop him in his tracks. A tuft of red hair appeared in Dean’s field of vision, leaving the older Winchester to yet again bump into her.

“Damnit, woman,” he groaned. “You ever think ahead? Ever?”

Phoebe blinked at Dean, unimpressed. She wiped a loose curl of red from her forehead, gazed towards Sam, then the police and the kids. When her eyes met Rose’s, her own softened, before she redirected her attention to Dean, whom she rewarded with nothing but a mischievious glint.

“You’re the one who keeps stumbling,” she reminded him and he wanted so badly to wipe that smug smirk of her lips.

Sensing from miles away that the bickering might just escalate, Sam chimed in: “What happened to the Roggenwolf?”

“Roasted,” Phoebe confirmed with a nod. “Sorry about your lighter, I had to toss it.”

Who cared about the damn lighter right now? Dean was still busy processing the fact that she’d run off by herself and returned within a couple of minutes as if nothing happened.

“You just set the burrow on fire?”

“Relax, not much down there to crumble,” she reassured. “It should go out by itself.”

An officer chimed in, thereby interrupting their conversation before Dean could further snap at the cocky pyromaniac. “Special Agents, I have a couple of questions.”

It didn’t take long for them to come up with a coherent story, and they didn’t seem to care too much. What mattered, at the end of the day, was that these children were healthy and safe and could soon return to their families. They’d have to get checked up on by doctors, but it seemed like they were unharmed for the most part.

Phoebe insisted on taking care of the rest, promising Sam and Dean that she’d handle the questionnaires and all. She stated she wanted to check on Rose and her family anyway, planning to drive after them to the hospital.

“It’s been a fun challenge, Winchesters,” Phoebe hummed, that damned playful smirk on her pink lips that had Dean’s brow twitch. “I’d say this point goes to me, though.”

“What are you—?”

Dean didn’t even get to finish his sentence, as Phoebe already put on her helmet, mounted her bike, gave a final wave, and drove off.

“It’s our point, give us some credit!,” Dean called after her, despite knowing there was no way he could still hear her.

“Seriously, dude,” Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. “Just drop it already.”

Though Dean did not drop anything. The whole ride back he kept rambling on and on about how he carried the kids outside and that he did just as much hard work as she did. At some point Sam let his brother’s complaints go in through one ear and out through the other.

Given that the night was still young, they decided to grab a final bite for dinner before they’d leave town. The local pub seemed like the safest option for a beer and some food.

Though, when Dean was still on his rampage about Phoebe, even as they were seated in a booth and nursing a beer bottle each, Sam finally interrupted him.

“Dean, the monster’s gone, the day is saved,” he groaned. “A win is a win.”

“Except you guys didn’t win this time, I did.”

Oh, that voice alone was enough to rile Dean up in all the wrong ways. Blinking up simultaneously, the brothers’ eyes met that of Phoebe’s. Her expression was as bright as ever, grin reaching from one ear to another.

“Scooch over, princess,” she hummed nonchalantly and squeezed into the two-seater, making herself comfortable right next to Dean.

“Who’s tailing us now, sweetheart? I thought— hold up, did you just call me princess?”

“I’m sorry, weren’t we just literally chasing a fairy tale like monster? Remind me, who fell on their ass like a damsel in distress and who defeated the monster again?”

“You fell on your ass?,” Sam snickered, though the death-glare Dean sent his way had his grin drop immediately. He quickly took a sip from his beer to shut himself up.

“What do you want?,” Dean groaned in Phoebe’s direction.

She was already a thorn in his side, a damn tick on his ass. Her casual attitude about their proximity was just the cherry on top, though. Of course she didn’t give a crap about personal space in the slightest. Too close for comfort, her shoulder brushed against his as she fumbled around in the pocket of her jacket.

“Clearing a debt,” Phoebe spoke calmly, pulling a small, silver item. “It’s not exactly the same, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

Dean’s eyebrow quirked up in surprise as his eyes fell on a lighter. Phoebe slid it across the table towards him. The second he picked it up he realized it was a fancy one, the comfortable weight heavy in his palm, material solid. It had a pentagram engraved on one side, too.

“What’s this?,” he asked, confused.

“Uh, last time I checked, you call it a lighter,” Phoebe chuckled teasingly. “You click this part and there’ll be a little flame. Convenient, huh?”

“I know it’s a damn lighter,” Dean grunted. “Why are you giving this to me?”

“Well, I kinda lost your old one,” she shrugged. “And I don’t like being in other people’s debt.”

Dean blinked at her, dumbfounded. Then at the lighter, which he turned in his palm once, twice and a third time. It fit in his hand oddly perfect. He usually didn’t pay attention to these kinds of things. A lighter was a lighter, just a random tool, good for salt and burns. He must’ve sacrificed dozens of them in his life as a hunter — none of them this nice, though.

“It was just a lighter,” Dean stated, matter of factly.

“If you don’t want a replacement, I can—”

But before Phoebe was able to take it back, Dean held the thing closer to his chest and shoved it in his pocket.

“I’ll take it,” he grumbled. “Consider it your compensation for being a pain in our asses lately.”

She snorted softly, exhaled through her nose and leaned back in her seat.

“You guys did kind of help me,” she muttered and scratched the back of her head. “I’m usually not the best team-player, so…”

Sam glanced back and forth between the two briefly, before mumbling something about grabbing another drink from up front. Even though the seat opposite to Dean’s was free now, Phoebe remained right next to him.

Her eyes followed Sam, if only for an excuse to not look at Dean. She purposefully avoided his gaze, glancing at anything but him. The table, the napkins on the table, the logo on the napkins on the table—

“You didn’t just follow after us for a lighter, did you?”

Dean’s voice had her head snap up. Wide eyes stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Until she cleared her throat and looked off to the side again, anyway. He didn’t think he’d see her act coyly and shy, ever, honestly. It was as unexpected as it was endearing, strangely.

“Sam was right,” she mumbled awkwardly. “We should’ve just teamed up from the get-go. Just— Didn’t exactly have the best kind of experiences with other hunters.”

Though her explanation was rather vague, Dean knew what she was talking about. He, too, wasn’t always fully on board when it came to hunting with others. Sam, of course, was an exception, but does family really count in this matter?

Casually, he leaned back, one hand still holding onto the beer while his other arm was draped around the back of their seats.

“We did some pretty good work back there, huh?,” he hummed at last and never in a million years would Phoebe have guessed that he’d be the one to bite the bullet and admit that their cooperation had been… fun.

She couldn’t help but smirk, the fire in her eyes familiar to him by now.

“Well, I did most of it, but sure,” she winked to which he barked out a chuckle.

“I carried a whole daycare out of that burrow!”

“After you fell on your butt.”

“You’ll never let me hear the end of this, will ya?”

“Never.”

Conversation flowed and even though it was mostly conversation filled with playful banter, Dean’s beer bottle was soon exchanged by a second one and she was nursing a drink of her own. There must’ve been some truth to the whole alcohol loosening one’s tongue saying.

Liquid kept flowing, as did the laughter, and their chatter.

“Scoreboard says I’m in the lead with a solid 1-0, Winchester,” Phoebe huffed with a cocky smirk. “Doesn’t matter how you look at it, I won this case, fair and square.”

“What about that vampire nest in Colorado?,” Dean shrugged and tilted his head. “I know you were there, but if I remember correctly, I wiped it out.”

“And you did a horrible job at cleaning up,” Phoebe pointed out, rolling her eyes at the memory of running into a nest, guns blazing, only to find a bunch of decapitated vampires there already. “But, if you want to count the other cases as well, I’m still ahead of you, 3-1.”

Dean regarded her words for a moment, wondering just how many cases they had been on at the same time, maybe even without the other one knowing. Again, the past couple months have consisted of running back and forth on leads that turned out to be already solved.

He shifted in his seat, fingers brushing over his pocket. The lighter still sat inside it, heavy against his chest.

“You’re not the only one who likes to settle scores,” Dean spoke, voice lowered and eyes dropping to her lips.

“That so?,” Phoebe smirked. “Sounds like you wanna return a favor.”

“If you’re up for it,” he replied, his own lips curling into a smirk. “We’ll be even before tomorrow morning.”

Words that had Phoebe bite her lower lip and squeeze her thighs together. “You’re as unbelievable as they say,” she snickered. If he didn’t know it any better, he’d say he was getting under her skin.

But Phoebe Bennett, as far as he could tell, was not easy to fluster. And just like with everything about her, he liked the challenge. The faint hue of red dusting her nose was a start, one that made him wonder just how flushed she could get.

Dean leaned closer, one arm still resting behind her. Under the table, their knees were brushing together just barely. The electricity between them had her skin feel all fizzy.

His scent was earthy and it seemed to surround her completely. Soft leather and sweetened whiskey. A smell of something warm. Of something dangerous.

“Is that a no?”

Her eyes locked with his green ones, the color of which was almost consumed by dark pupils.

Although her voice was barely above a whisper, it pierced right through the dull background noises of music and patron’s chattering: “I never say no to a challenge.”

She didn’t need to tell him twice.

“Me neither,” Dean smiled back and they both got up, grabbed their jackets and left some cash at their booth. A fast stride lead them out into the cold of the night, though their bodies were already running warm.

Dean’s hand found hers on instinct, if only to pull her closer and whisper into her ear: “Where’re you staying, sweetheart?”

It was up to her to squeeze his hand and drag him along, across the road and around a corner. It only took them a couple of minutes to get to her motel.

The bigger struggle awaited them in front of her door.

Phoebe fumbled with the keys, a task that proved to be much, much more difficult with Dean’s hands at her waist and the scruff of his beard on her neck. His breath was warm against the shell of her ear, but his fingertips were burning up her skin the second he slipped them under her shirt.

Once inside, finally, all bets were off.

Dean kicked the door close behind them and in the very same motion pulled Phoebe closer. In his embrace, she turned around, taking a confident step to push his back against said door and her mouth against his.

His taste was even more intoxicating than his scent.

Dean returned the kiss with equal fervor, those hungry lips of his exploring her soft mouth, her warm tongue.

Only two things managed to break them apart: The lack of oxygen making them so dizzy they had to catch a breath, and eager pairs of hands impatiently tugging at fabric. They took off layer after layer, jackets and shoes pooling at their feet and forming a path towards the bed.

Dean had half a mind to retrieve a foil package from his wallet before discarding his jeans.

By the time he was in just his boxers and the only thing hugging her curves was thin lace, the back of Phoebe’s knees hit the mattress and she fell back onto the sheets.

Her chest was heaving, her skin already flushed. How could he not give her that boyish, cheeky grin, all cocky and victorious? Though whatever smart remark was on the back of his mind, it died on his tongue as she pulled him down on top of her and silenced her with another deep kiss.

Phoebe’s arms fit around his neck perfectly and her nails raked down his back deliciously, the ministration earning her a small grunt from him which she drank up like honey. His whimper was thick on her tongue and sweet and they both knew then this was going to be as much of a competition as the hunt had been.

Not wanting to fall behind, Dean allowed his hands to roam every inch of her body. Her back arched neatly beneath him, silky skin pressing into his touch and permitting him to unclasp her black bra.

His kisses wandered down her jaw and across her neck, settling on the spot right beneath her ear, because that was the one that made her shiver the most. However, she wasn’t going to surrender that easily. One of her hands raked back up, delicate fingers combing through his hair and giving it a firm tug.

While it didn’t stop him from latching onto her collarbone and travelling further south, nibbling and licking down the valley of her breasts, her taste did make him feel dizzy. She swallowed hard, her head falling back into the pillows so that her messy hair framed her reddened face in a way only a halo of fiery sunrays could.

Their dance was a back and forth on who could drive the other insane better — the match being rather even.

Dean hissed through his teeth as he felt Phoebe roll her hips intentionally. Her breath hitched all the same as she felt his hardness press against the plush of her thigh.

“Careful, sweetheart,” Dean rasped, voice husky and thick with need. “It’s not a marathon.”

“Feels to me like you’re the one who’s impatient,” she retorted with a chuckle, while looping one leg around his hip and pulling him closer. Her thigh draped around his body as if to invite him in, though he wasn’t sure if she was trying to lure him into a trap at this point.

Clearly, he wasn’t the only bold one here. Two could play the game of riling up, and fuck, was she good at it.

Dean’s grip on her hips tightened, firm enough to make her flesh feel all tender and almost bruised up. His fingers were sinking into her skin as if to anchor himself, or to stop her grinding motions.

“You’re in for it now,” he huffed, crooked grin on his lips belying his attempts at teasing her.

He hooked his fingers through the waistband of her panties, tugging them down in one swift motion. She obliged by lifting her hips, though his sudden action had her gasping and chuckling all the same.

“See, that’s what I meant,” she hummed nonchalantly, bringing her own hands down to his boxers.

Dean instinctively held his breath and his eyes did not leave hers. His hands splayed over her thighs, fingers drawing closer and closer to her folds. Subtle twitches of his muscles confirmed her accusations only further.

“So impatient,” Phoebe whispered sultrily, only so much as toying with the fabric of his underwear. Her fingers ghosted across the bulge inside and her grin widened as he tried bucking his hips into the tantalizing touch. “I thought you wanted to take your time?”

Dean fought the urge to roll his eyes. That girl’s tongue was way too sharp.

“You’re all bark and no bite,” he huffed, his thumb finding her clit and making her inhale sharply. “You’re just as eager.”

There was no denying that, not with her dripping over his fingers. She bit her lower lip, opening her thighs even more while Dean gathered her slick on his digits and slowly circled them around her entrance.

“Dean—”

Before she could complain further, though he did like that whiny tone of hers, one of his fingers slid into her with embarrassing ease. She cried out softly, which only urged him to add a second finger. A breathless curse left her plump lips as he pumped them in and out of her steadily.

He flashed his teeth in yet another cheeky grin. “You were saying?”

“Get fucked,” she scoffed, expression twisted into one of pleasure and annoyance all the same.

“What do you think I’m doing here?,” he laughed heartily and Phoebe felt the shudder run down her spine thanks to it. She blinked at him through thick lashes, the relentless pace of his fingers making her toes curl.

He had barely touched her yet and already managed to make her stumble across her own words? Not fair.

Unyielding, Phoebe worked her own charms. She pulled his boxers down enough for his erection to spring free and wasted no second to wrap her fingers around him. Stroking firmly up and down, her keen eyes caught every subtle twitch of his brows.

Dean wasn’t going to give up the upper hand that easily, though. His thumb drew tight circles on her swollen nub, applying the perfect pressure to her button.

“Fuck, Dean,” Phoebe moaned. While she was already close, the warm velvet of her walls squeezing his fingers like a vice, she was still too prideful to beg for anything. Even if that meant she had to groan and whine as he pulled his fingers out of her.

The shift of the mattress beneath her prompted her to blink up at the man again and at least the sight of him rolling on the condom soothed her frustration. A little bit, at least.

Deciding to help him to speed up the process, she sat up slightly, readjusting her own position so he could settle right between her thighs, his strong hands holding onto her waist while hers gripped his shoulders.

“Are you gonna show me some bite now?,” she grinned. No matter how out of breath she was, she’d always have it in her to talk back to him, it seemed. Her and that daring attitude of hers were out for trouble.

Not that he wasn’t up for the challenge.

Dean buried his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth sinking right into the hollow of her throat and drawing a broken yelp from it. Using the fact that her jaw fell open to his advantage, he shoved his fingers into her mouth right after. She fought the urge to literally bite back, instead just blushing as she realized she could taste herself on his skin still.

Phoebe played along, sucking on his middle and fourth finger until her lips brushed against the cool metal of his silver ring. Her tongue swirled around its edge, that look in her eyes a daring one.

Her sob was muffled, sounding so broken but beautiful as Dean sheathed his length into her without warning. Her body nearly jolted, were it not for his deathgrip on her. His forehead dropped to her shoulder with a grunt. He was giving them both a moment to adjust, before rocking his hips.

“Not so witty now, are you, sweetheart? Just needed someone to stuff that smart, pretty little mouth of yours, hm?”

She whimpered, that next thrust of his sending her eyes rolling to the back of her skull. On God, she would’ve come up with a snarky remark, but alas, his thick digits pressing down on her tongue prevented her from any commentary.

But, actions speak louder than words.

Squeezing his sides with her thighs, she switched positions with him, rolling over and straddling his lap. Her lips curled into a smile around his fingers as she looked down on him.

That look of surprise in those green eyes, wide and glimmering, always made her feel so very powerful. Putting Dean Winchester in his place gave her a kick like nothing else could.

Phoebe took his wrist and pulled his hand away from her mouth, releasing his fingers with a wet pop.

“You’ve got a lot to learn, Winchester,” she hummed lowly and gave a deliberate roll of her hips.

Dean’s breath hitched and he bit his lower lip and screw all if it wasn’t the prettiest sight she had ever seen. He was looking breathtaking like this. Strands of light hair sticking out messily from where her fingers had tugged at it. Pink lips puffy and kiss-bitten. Freckled face dusted in red warmth, especially around his nose.

“Takes more than that to tame me, cowboy,” Phoebe smiled daringly, pressing both palms to his chest, one to trace over his tattoo, the other to feel the quickened heartbeat beneath his warm skin. The pitter-patter was strong and relentless, making her feel just as alive.

She felt him throb inside of her and egged him on with another grind of her hips against his. In this position he was so damn deep that her thighs were quivering at his sides.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Dean’s voice was thick with desire and hoarse, his breathing irregular as he hissed through his teeth. Not that he gave her a chance to answer. Not when he could make her gasp so prettily by just jerking his hips upwards.

“Fucking hell.”

They moaned in unison, their curses blending together perfectly.

Rough palms slid up her thighs and waist, only for her to be lifted up and slammed back down on his cock. It earned him the addicting sensation of her clenching around him, pussy fluttering as if she didn’t want to let go of him, ever.

He could get used to this for sure.

Their hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of skin. Every squeeze was meant for memorizing freckles and scars, every bounce and squirm intended to drive the other mad with lust.

When Phoebe was nearly shaking, Dean used the last of his strength to sit up and pull her close. She held onto him for dear life as he drove into her again and again and again, their skin slick with sweat and hot to the touch.

Their foreheads bumped together, noses touching, puffs of warm exhales mingling together as their dance became more and more erratic. One final thrust turned both their visions white. Liquid heat rushed through their veins with Phoebe falling apart in his lap and Dean slumping against her all the same.

Moans and cries echoed off the motel walls until the only noise left was heavy panting.

They fell onto the bed like one big mess of entangled limbs.

Once they had somewhat found their breath again, both rolled onto their backs, staring at the ceiling. What a day filled with tension could do to someone, huh?

Dean was the first to speak up, breaking the somewhat awkward silence.

Although, all he could come up with was a breathy “Wow.”

Phoebe laughed shortly and ran a hand through her tangled hair. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

The green-eyed hunter chuckled too, before turning to his side and leaning up onto one elbow. She met his gaze, raising an eyebrow as she saw the toothy grin on his face. What a stark contrast to the continuous scowl and annoyed attitude she had been met with throughout the day.

“What’re you looking so proud for?,” Phoebe snorted playfully, but not even that was enough to wipe the confidence from his expression.

“Would you say we’re even now?,” Dean shrugged, almost chirped.

Phoebe burst into laughter and shook her head in disbelief. “What, like an orgasm scores a point?”

He shrugged, again, still grinning.

“Well, then I’d say we’re at a solid 4-2 now,” she hummed mischieviously.

The way his smirk faded almost made her feel bad. Her own grin softened, if only for a split second. She reached over, ruffling his already disheveled hair gently, then smoothing it over.

“There’s always a next game, champ.”

Dean Winchester Taglist: @winchester-whiskey @whormotional @spacecowgirl126 @zepskies @calibootsgirl

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@whichwitchwanda @foxyjwls007 @lyarr24

Put a green heart 💚 in the comments to be added to the Dean x Reader taglist. Let me know, if you want to be tagged for this Series specifically. (Please note: Blogs that don't have an 18+ indicator visible on their page will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts!)

[thesirencult]

When you are serious about yourself, your goals, your routine, your morals, when you pursue your interests in a self sufficient way, that's when you invite others to treat you with the same respect and seriousness.

The Universe clears the path for you and removes anyone who doesn't have your best interest in mind.

[dk-thrive]

But anyway, I’m done with that. I’m done with self-doubt. I’m done with shame. I’m done with feeling weird about being ambitious. You know, the list is long. We all know what it is. I think for me, the takeaway is: Oh, we can be done with that sooner than we thought. We don’t have to take 60, 70 [expletive] years to come to that conclusion — I’m working on being done with self-doubt. I’m working on being done with shame. And I’m working really hard on finding joy.

— Julia Louis-Dreyfus, from: The Interview: The Darker Side of Julia Louis-Dreyfus” by Lulu Garcia-Navarro. (NY Times, June 8, 2024)

[home-for-artists]

I'm starting to see it now. A resemblance between the person I was and the person I am supposed to be.

[vertigoartgore]

"Just look at what we have made."

Professor X & Magneto by artist Pepe Larraz & colorist Marte Gracia.

From 2019's House of X #6 page 21 (words by Jonathan Hickman).

[sonumchristiana]

Keep pushing at all points, Time can never be bought ✅

[the-wanderer]

[thepersonalwords]

You will see true character after a defeated ambition

Bangambiki Habyarimana, The Great Pearl of Wisdom

[theeroticlover]

In your opinion, what makes a woman attractive?

I'm curious:)

Someone who is empathetic, kind and intellectual... Ambitious, creative and Positive...

To top it all someone who is human and considers everyone else equally human....

[y2kaee]

[stylerenders]

[chevroletdean]

Ambitious — Chapter 2: The Bunker Ranking

SUMMARY: Dean came up with 'The Bunker Ranking' to motivate their group of hunters. A little competition never hurt anybody, right? It was how he first met her, after all.

SHIP: Dean Winchester x Original Female Character GENRE: Angst & Fluff TO NOTE/WARNINGS: Can be read as a standalone one-shot, timeskip from the first chapter, established relationship, rivalry, pressure to perform, angst, anxiety, hurt/comfort, Phoebe has issues with self-worth and confidence, fluff, Dean's here to kiss it all better WORD COUNT: 3.2k A/N: This second chapter of the Ambitious mini-series marks another entry for the @jacklesversebingo challenge. PROMPT: "Of course, you're good enough, you idiot." CREDIT & LINKS: header by myself ─〃★ gun divider ─〃★ flower divider ─〃★ jacklesversebingo 2024 masterlist ─〃★ series masterlist ─〃★ ao3

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“The what?”

Everyone’s eyes were on Dean. On Dean and his wide smile, all toothy and proud.

“The Bunker Ranking,” he repeated with a firm nod and a just as firm tap of his marker against the whiteboard.

The table he had set up on there included everyone’s names as well as a currently empty kill-counter. Below, there was a rather poorly drawn illustration of a trophy, an underline within waiting to be filled out.

Castiel was tilting his head in that generally confused fashion of his, eyes squinted slightly as if he was trying to decipher the scribbled notes up front. Jack, though also looking a bit lost, sat up straight, fully alert and clearly interested. And despite the way Sam’s eyebrow was raised in doubt, it was Phoebe who was the most skeptical.

“Thanks, babe, I can read,” she sighed with a teasing smirk — a poor attempt of deflecting from her own apprehensions. “What’s it supposed to be, though?”

“Motivation,” Dean shrugged vaguely.

“Dean,” Sam finally groaned, rolling his eyes. “You already have our attention, just elaborate.”

“Fine, okay,” the older Winchester grumbled, then cleared his throat. “It’s a competition, basically. We’re on a roll, eleven cases last month. Let’s amp it up, we can top that. And the best thing about it: We can see who’ll be number one in four weeks.”

Phoebe didn’t like where this was going at all. The fact that they had been working non-stop last month was precisely why the sight of charts and data did not thrill her. To put it bluntly: She needed a break. And she thought they could all use a breather.

But not Dean, apparently. Her boyfriend was all fire and flame, pointing at the drawn trophy once again.

His voice almost sounded like that of a child on Christmas morning: “So, what do you think?”

Phoebe’s teeth were glued together. She wanted to voice her concerns, but admitting to feeling burnt out was like a death sentence.

She remembered her own words from back when they were after the rye wolf: “I never say no to a competition.”

Those words from years ago, when they first met, were hanging in the air. No, they were drilled into all of their brains, set in stone, weighing down on her now.

Phoebe remained tight-lipped. Her last hope was a glance towards Sam, but even from the corners of her eyes she could tell Sam didn’t hate the idea. She thought he might hold a speech on how they can’t afford to be careless, but instead, he gave in with a shrug.

“Sure, whatever,” he said, and while it wasn’t the enthusiastic response Dean wanted, it was no refusal either.

“How do we count the points, though?,” Phoebe asked. “What if we’re working on a case together and—”

Jack chimed in, excitement written all over his face: “We could go on solo hunts, right?”

Good grief. The thought alone had Phoebe’s stomach churn even more. Jack was powerful, but she did not like the idea of sending him out on his own whatsoever.

“I don’t think we should take any unneccessary risks,” Castiel brought up and he never was more of a God sent angel than now.

Finally a voice of reason.

“We can still team up and hunt in groups, and whoever strikes the monster down gets a point,” Cas suggested.

Nevermind.

“That’s the spirit!,” Dean beamed approvingly and that’s how Phoebe knew her fate was sealed.

They were all keen on this little competition, but to Phoebe the question of “Who can kill the most monsters this month?” equated to “Who’s the best hunter and who sucks ass?”

Lately she was feeling more than under the weather, although she’s managed to mask her fatigue just fine. This event would be quite the hassle for her, at least under these circumstances.

She has always been the feisty one and her fire was what had made Dean fall in love with her. Now, just a few years later, she has lost some of that spark. Hunting takes a toll on you and everyone has their limits, right?

She knew this was her life, and with Dean by her side, she wouldn’t trade it for the world. But it wasn’t always easy. Right now it certainly wasn’t.

Even as the others all agreed with either smiles or neutral faces, she wasn’t able to fully match Dean’s enthusiasm.

Where her now boyfriend and she had been energized by their rivalry in the past — serious at first, playful after years of being a couple — she dreads this Bunker Ranking.

Yet, she found herself nodding too, unable to tell him, or anyone. Phoebe didn’t want to sour the mood. Dean was so excited about this, so keen on coming out on top. Who was she to deny him his fun?

But within the next couple of days alone, it became torture for Phoebe. She was barely able to focus on research, to begin with. Her mind was elsewhere. It was nowhere.

The only thing that was driving her in all of this, was anxiety. It would be so awkward to lose this challenge, especially since she was usually known to be a bragging loud-mouth. Her confident attitude was biting her in the ass now.

Dean wouldn’t shut up about it for the rest of the year if he were to best her at their game.

This was the essence of their relationship, after all, no? To a certain degree, at least, they thrived on a little bit of (healthy) rivalry. It was one-sided this time, but he didn’t know that, of course.

Phoebe even considered willingly letting him have the victory, but it would be a bad look on her if she didn’t even try. She had to put in some effort, or at least pretend to. Right? Maybe it was just a bad day, or a bad couple of days. She just needed to get her head back into the game, pull herself together and perform.

There was more than just the victory and her pride at stake, too.

Jack was so hyped and this was the first time she’s seen Dean get along with him so well.

While their youngest addition to the group wasn’t allowed to go on any solo-hunts, Dean and him were working together on a case. All five of them were huddled in the library, each working on their own research. The nephilim proudly waved his findings in Dean’s face, earning him an approving pat on the shoulder.

How can she in good conscience act like a party pooper? This Bunker Ranking System seemed to glue the group together and she didn’t want to be the one to ruin it. Dean had that rare sparkle in his green eyes. No, she couldn’t possibly back out now.

“Good one, kiddo,” Dean cheered, even gave Jack a high-five. “Keep it up and we’ll outrun these sloths in no time.”

They had their differences and quarrels in the past, Jack always seeking Dean’s approval, and this was his chance to get it. Butting in felt like destroying a seedling before it could bloom.

But, even if they were meant in teasing jester, Dean’s words cut deep. A sloth. She didn’t want Dean to think of her like that — if her passion was what he loved about her, how disappointed would he be if he saw she had none of that anymore?

As silly as she knew the thought was, the doubt was gnawing at her all the same.

In a way, that did motivate her to put in more effort. But at what cost? She barely slept, fear of failure making her agitated and skittish. Capable of a hunter as she was, the upcoming days were filled with frustration.

Two weeks in and she was staring at the leader board. It was the middle of the night and the bunker was so silent you could hear a pin drop. Phoebe was sitting at the main table. Although the laptop was sitting in front of her, a news article about a possibly haunted house, all she could look at was that godforsaken whiteboard.

Castiel was already at five points — lucky him, for finding a whole group of demons and smiting them all in one go. Sam and Jack were close behind, their points even since they were teaming up most of the time. Everyone knew Sam had scored all of those six points mostly by himself, but he had insisted on splitting them up evenly, leading to three for himself and another three for Jack.

Dean currently came on top with a whopping nine kills — and of course he was not shy about it either. He kept reminding everyone, 24/7, making it his whole personality.

He had every reason to. Nine kills in fourteen days was impressive. Sure, one of them had been a vampire nest, one Phoebe and him had taken out together. Thing is, he took out five vampires all by himself, while she had only managed to decapitate one.

“Better luck next time, sweetheart,” Dean had been grinning and wagging his eyebrows at her for the rest of the day and her confidence had been crumbling ever since.

Putting aside all his boasting, Phoebe knew right then and there that she was pretty much done for. Adding that one demon she had taken care of last week, her score was rotting at a sad two.

A two. A meager, miserable two.

Dean Winchester: 9

Castiel: 5

Sam Winchester, Jack Line: 3 (Although those were a straight up lie.)

Phoebe Bennett: 2

The very bottom of the pyramid. And honestly, she had zero hopes of catching up.

All she could do was sit in this main hall and look at the whiteboard with a frown. There was a lump in her throat, forbidding her from swallowing her tears. She couldn’t clench her teeth hard enough to bite them back.

A shaky sigh escaped her lips, though it sounded more like a small sniffle, or even a whine.

The numbers weren’t lying, she felt utterly useless to the group. When did she fall behind this much?

Caught up in her own mind, she didn’t even hear the steps approaching from the hallway.

“You’re still up?”

Dean’s voice had her jolt in her chair. She quickly cleared her throat and wiped at her face, hoping with her back facing him he couldn’t see her current state. Or, that if he did, he’d attribute it to the late hour and her being tired.

It wouldn’t be a surprise — and she did feel tired, too. All she wanted was the comfort of a soft bed and Dean’s warm arms around her. But she was also too stubborn to give up now.

“Just doing some research,” she mumbled, without even daring to turn around. To emphasize her statement, her fingers started flying over the keyboard of her laptop, eagerly copying some notes from the article.

He paused for a second and she felt him staring holes into the back of her head, as if he could read her thoughts that way. In a way, she knew he probably could.

“Need some help?”

“So you can steal more kills?” She snorted, but what was supposed to sound like a light-hearted joke, felt like actual bile in her throat. Not directed towards Dean, necessarily. He hadn’t so much stolen any of her kills as she had just given them away freely.

“So you can get some rest,” Dean corrected her.

Surprised by his words, both firm in that scolding way and also gentle in that caring way of his, the movement of her hands froze. She could feel her lower lip tremble, but she bit down on it, hard, and just shook her head instead.

“C’mon, Phoebe,” Dean sighed. “It’s 3 AM, research can wait.”

“I need to get this done,” Phoebe insisted, but her voice was shaky and her shoulders slumped.

Dean wasn’t having any of it. He walked up the remaining few steps, stopped behind her and reached over, ultimately closing the lid of her laptop and ignoring her protests.

In fact, he cut right through her annoyed “Hey!”, simply taking a seat in the chair beside hers and keeping one hand pressed down onto the laptop.

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

Although she wanted to glare at her boyfriend, Phoebe still had her gaze averted, too fearful of exposing her red-rimmed eyes.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she grumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just onto something.”

“Seems to me like the only thing you’re on is on edge,” Dean hummed.

His free hand reached for one of hers and he squeezed it gently, prompting her to finally look at him. The deep worry line between her brows and the glassy shine in her eyes only confirmed his suspicions.

Dean’s eyes softened in a way that made her dam finally break. As her tears were spilling over, her face burnt up with shame.

“I don’t wanna lose this stupid game,” she cried at last.

“Whoa there,” Dean hushed. “C’mere.”

He swiftly tugged at her wrist, abandoning the laptop to circle both of his arms around her waist. Phoebe didn’t resist when he pulled her into his lap, nor did she stop him from cupping her face and wiping away those fat, hot tears that kept rolling down her cheeks.

“It’s just a game, baby,” he muttered.

The gravel in his voice, hoarse from waking up in the middle of the night, was as soothing as his touch. Her sobs eased into sniffles, though when she cast her eyes downwards again, he tilted her chin up and looked her directly in the eyes.

“I just thought it would be a fun challenge.”

There it was. Those were the words she had dreaded to hear. Phoebe didn’t want Dean to think of her as ‘not fun’ or anything of the sort. Her bottom lip began wobbling again, corners of her mouths turned downwards.

“I’m failing it. All of it. I’m failing you,” she hiccuped weakly, her words interjected by her flustered stuttering.

“What? No, ‘s not true ‘n you know that,” Dean retorted, his thumb stroking across her cheekbone again. “You’re not failing anyone, least of all me.”

“But—” Phoebe paused midsentence, struggling to find the right words. “I’ve only managed two kills, that’s like… I might as well just quit hunting altogether.”

Part of her knew that she was exaggerating. She was being dramatic, but all this pent up frustration, the pressure, the anxiety — she couldn’t contain any of it any longer. The self doubt was explosive.

Even Dean seemed to be at a loss for a moment. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her like this and it certainly distraught him. Worst of all, he felt guilty for even starting the whole challenge.

“Alright, stop,” Dean cooed gently. “You think your worth is measured by how many kills you’ve got under your belt? It’s not. And, hell, if it were, then you’d be ahead of all of us, combined, by far. So what if the past few weeks have been slower?”

“You’re just sugarcoating it to make me feel better,” Phoebe mumbled under a still quivering voice. “It’s not just the past few weeks. I just… I suck. I can’t compete with you anymore, I’m not good enough for this job and I’m not good enough for y—”

Dean silenced her swiftly by gently squeezing her cheeks together. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence, sweetheart.”

“It’s true,” she whined and wiggled free from his grip, squirming away. “You’re like the best hunter I’ve ever met, Dean, and I can’t keep up with you and it feels like we’re drifting apart, like you’re slipping away and I can’t reach your level anymore and—”

Again, her rambling was interrupted. This time by a pair of warm lips on top of her own.

Dean held her close in his embrace, allowing her to melt into him, to relax against his broad frame. A silent, but effective way of letting her know that he was there. He wasn’t going anywhere. He’d always be there to support her, just like she would for him.

He poured all of those unspoken words into the slow dance of their lips, willing to kiss her until she’d understand.

Grounded by the gesture, Phoebe’s tension eased slightly. Enough for Dean to pull back again, just enough to look directly at her. He leaned his forehead against hers, his breath still warm on her lips and his taste still sweet on her tongue.

“Of course, you’re good enough, you idiot,” he whispered.

Phoebe’s gaze flickered away from his glossy-with-spit lips, up to the vital green of his eyes and for the first time this night, it felt like she was genuinely listening to him.

“This whole challenge— I wanted you to see how you bring out the best in me. And I wanted to do the same for you,” Dean explained. “I didn’t realize the pressure I put on you. Who cares who wins or how many points you get? You’re literally the best thing that happened to me and I love you, shittily drawn trophy or not.”

Phoebe swallowed thickly, unsure of how to respond. This all got blown way out of proportion, but it had seemed so important to Dean that she hadn’t wanted to disappoint him.

Dean’s follow-up question broke her heart: “Why didn’t you tell me it was too much?”

She shrugged lamely, blinking away more tears. “You seemed so excited, I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“I was excited to do some hunting with my girl. We’re not just some rivals, we’re partners, remember?” Dean said. “It’s not fun if you’re forcing yourself.”

As dumb as she felt for it, she hadn’t thought about it that way before. She thought her struggles were her own problem, or that she didn’t want to bother anyone else with it.

Sensing she had no reply, Dean continued: “Tell you what, I’m a winner simply for scoring you, and you’ll always be the champion of my heart anyway.” He said it teasingly, with a playful half-grin, and he snorted when she rolled her eyes at his cheesy puns.

“You know that’s not what this is about,” she huffed, her annoyed act belied by the pink blush dusting her nose.

“No, it definitely is,” Dean doubled-down, voice smooth and steady again to convey his sincerity in the matter. “I mean it, you’ll always rank number one in my eyes.”

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