#Dean Fanfiction

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Chapter 2 - Under My Skin

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: If you're mad at me for getting any lore or myths wrong through this story, consider that Supernatural themselves cannot track their own lore, and I'm doing my goddamn best.

Chapter title from Akaska Sad by Rina Sawayama

Word Count: 15.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean and John take on an odd, difficult case, and you try—and fail—to avoid them. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, monster of the week.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 3

Read on A03!

Lately, Dean’s life was fucking lonely. It was made of long car rides where Dad wouldn’t speak to him, countless cases where he felt almost useless, and restless nights where he’d get up to use the bathroom, look at the couch, and feel a little piece of him die again when Sam wasn’t there.

Every town looked the same. Every girl did too. He didn’t try to talk to them—he never had—but there was still something in him that was so furiously lonely, he was burning through chicks night by night in a desperate plea that they’d offer him something. Sometimes they’d talk to him, and that would become enough. He was never really all that interested—they all had the same voice and same words and same boring, apple pie lives that Dean would never get to be a part of—but it carried him over until the next one. Until he and Dad got the monster, left town, and nobody there would have to spare Dean a thought for the rest of their lives.

He tried to make them remember. He poured all he had to spare into the sex, and making it good enough that maybe—when each woman was married with kids and some sort of boring office job—they’d still use the memory of him to get off. They might not remember his name, or his voice, or his face, but they’d remember how he made them feel. And that did a little more to curb the loneliness. The pit like feeling of uselessness.

But sometimes he’d strike out, and be forced to wake up on an empty, stiff motel mattress. Dad would already be gone—getting coffee or working there leads or just fucking sick of Dean not being Sam—and it would only be Dean in the whole world. And that wasn’t enough. It couldn’t just be Dean. It’s never supposed to just be Dean. When it’s just him, everything gets too loud and too quiet and so hot, but also massive and empty and cold. Corners are shaper and knives are duller and colors are all muted, because only Dean can see them and he doesn’t deserve to. 

And when that happened, sometimes he’d grab his phone and consider calling Sammy. He’d stare at the number—hidden from Dad with a fake contact, just in case—and allow his thumb to hover over the call button, but never press it. He couldn’t. He’d have no way to get to California, Sam probably wouldn’t want to see him, and Dad would freakin’ kill him for even considering it. Dean couldn’t even say Sam’s damn name without Dad’s jaw ticking and an unsettling tension falling over the room.

So Dean stayed lonely. He worked every case lonely, found every bed lonely, and woke every morning lonely. 

But he wasn’t lonely in his dreams. It didn’t matter why he wasn’t, but he wasn’t. That, at the very least, was something Dean could count on. When he slept, he’d never be lonely, because-

It didn’t matter. They were just dreams, and dreams didn’t mean shit. Even it had been the same person starring in them every night—the same beautiful, twisted salvation to the pit that had formed inside of Dean, that he loathed and craved and couldn’t figure out how to get rid of—for the past year, Dean wasn’t some crystals and tea leaves chick who was going to try and find meaning in his freakin’ dreams.

This lady seemed to be, though. She was dressed like she belonged at Woodstock, there were dreamcatchers and random dried plants all over her house, and she kept trying to offer Dean a palm reading. Telling him his aura was strong. That didn’t fucking mean anything, because that shit wasn’t real, and Dean should know. His whole life was figuring out what things were real, and what was fake.

This magic, witchy bullshit was fake. 

The ghost haunting Woodstock Chick’s house was very real.

“You know,” Woodstock frowned at Dean and Dad from across the table. “I’m a little surprised you’re listening to me.”

Dad shrugged. “Well, ma’am it’s routine to investigate complaints. It ain’t our job to judge, just hear what you’ve got for us. Now, we’ve got the objects flyin’ around-“

“It’s just,” Woodstock let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head slightly. “I’ve been filing these complaints for weeks, and all I’ve gotten is made fun of by my neighbors. Then, suddenly, you’re taking me seriously? Sending three officers to talk to me-“

Dean cleared his throat, shooting Dad a weary look. “Sorry, did you say three?”

“Yeah. You two, plus the one yesterday. Young woman, with the rings and lip gloss. She was gorgeous, good skin and hair, bright aura, just like yours.” she smiled at Dean as she continued. “She kind of looked like a,” Woodstock frowned, tilting her head. “Like a cat.”

Dad scowled. “A cat.”

Woodstock nodded. “You know, just like how he,” she nodded at Dean, and he frowned. “Looks like a puppy. It not about their faces, it’s about their energy-“

“And you’re saying this chick had the energy of a cat?” Dean asked, not allowing himself to dwell on the puppy thing. He had too much shit to worry about already. “Ma’am, we-“

“We’re takin’ your complaints seriously, ma’am.” Dad’s voice was firm over Dean’s, and Dean felt a cringe of shame in his chest. “Now, tell us about the lights, and we’ll let you keep goin’ with your day.”

Woodstock continued, Dad asking more careful, smart questions as Dean sat in silence, and the lady’s problem was pretty obviously a ghost. Kind of a douchebag of a ghost, but just a ghost. The hard part was just gonna be figuring out who it was, because Woodstock was insisting nobody had ever died in this house, that she had no dead relatives, and that she’d never even killed anyone.

That last question did get them kicked out, though.

“We ain’t accusin’ you of anything, ma’am.” Dad remained in the threshold of Woodstock’s door, holding the angry woman’s gaze. “It’s a just part of our report-”

Woodstock let out a dry laugh. “Nice try, officer, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but I do know that’s a lie. If you come back, come back with a warrant, or-“ Woodstock paused, looking between Dean and Dad. “Send Officer Brown. She was nicer, and didn’t ask me stupid questions.”

The door slammed, Dad groaned—running a hand over his face before stomping back to the Impala—and Dean was frozen in place as Woodstock’s words rang a loud, clean, golden bell in his brain. When Dad shouted at him to haul ass he managed to move, but barely. Everything was far away, because things that were supposed to be trapped in dreams were starting to follow Dean into the real world. They weren’t supposed to. Dean had promised himself he’d keep Her trapped down, where he never had to think about her until sleep dragged Her back to the surface of his brain.

And that hadn’t really been working. Sometimes he’d smell fruity perfume on a woman, and She’d flash in front of his eyes. Sometimes he’d have some random girl next to him or over him or under him, and they’d moan, and it would sound like a siren. The worst was when someone would look at him and a tiny, traitorous asshole voice would whisper She’d look at you better. She’d be better. You’re a piece of shit, Dean Winchester, because She’d been the freakin’ best and you left her.

He hadn’t left Her. He’d escaped her. Outsmarted whatever bullshit she’d been trying to pull on him, whatever scam She’d been running. And it didn’t fucking matter that his brain was clinging onto every piece of Her he’d gotten to see that day—that the bells were made of Her beautiful voice saying Brown’s a cop—because she’d probably stopped hunting. Realized it wasn’t the fun little rush She thought it was and crawled back home to her fancy, stupid life. 

But She’d told him she’d been hunting since she was fifteen.

That had probably been a lie too.

It hadn’t sounded like a lie. 

Well, maybe She’d just been an awesome liar. 

Dean needed to snap the hell out of it. He’d tread down this path countless times, the voice—it seemed to live in his chest, a little to the right of his heart—trying to work out what that whole thing had been, and a good reason for Dean to track Her down and ask if She’d felt it too. 

But She’d been playing him, and he never wanted to see Her drop-dead gorgeous face again. It didn’t matter what he’d felt, because Dad was right. It had probably been some sort of trick, made of all those pretty lies and words She’d been using on him. So Dean didn’t mention to Dad that Brown had been one of Her aliases, because he wasn’t supposed to remember anything about Her. Dad was seething in the driver’s seat—grumbling about lone, stupid hunters interfering in their case—but She wasn’t here, probably, so it didn’t matter anyway.

Another three days passed, and they still couldn’t figure out who the ghost was. Everyone Woodstock knew was clean—and claimed she was too—and everyone in this town died of old age like a bunch of freaking suckers, so they had nothing. This ghost couldn’t chill the fuck out, Woodstock had been telling anyone who would listen about how it had started to throw plates at her head—how she didn’t feel safe—so Dad had them on rotating watches. Keeping an eye on the house from the forest in case Woodstock started screaming while the other kept working it, searching for just one goddamn idea of who the ghost could be.

They hadn’t figured out who the other hunter was, either, but Dean was growing more and more certain it might be Her. He could’ve sworn he saw a flash of perfectly styled shiny hair on the street. He was either going batshit crazy, or he’d heard Her voice in a corner store while he was buying aftershave. And a feeling like gravity had reformed in his eyes, bringing his attention to shadows that might be Her and making his every nerve flare when he smelled something sweet. Most of all, he’d been in the motel parking lot a handful of times and felt it. That odd, light feeling that had surrounded him when he’d met Her, making it so easy to breathe he’d been certain he’d been doing it wrong before. That he’d started to do it wrong again, after She’d left. It had felt so good and been so impossibly to duplicate—Dean had really tried to, as well, in body after body after body—but it was back like a fucking asteroid, crashing into him and obliterating everything he’d thought had been right.

But he hadn’t told Dad. To start, Dad would look at him like he was a fucking idiot, and ask if Dean had watched a chick flick while drinking one too many beers. Then Dean would mumble no, and Dad would roll his eyes and tell him to get his shit together, because they had a job to do.

Dean could’ve told Sammy. He would’ve listened, made a little fun of Dean, and then started to ask a bunch of  questions about what made Dean think it was Her. Maybe Sam would have found an explanation about how the vampire baby made men go crazy or something. Maybe She’d been a monster, and Sam would figure out what kind the moment Dean explained it.

But Sam wasn’t here, and Dean didn’t have any real evidence. He hadn’t seen that fancy car She’d been driving, and when he’d very casually asked the front desk of their motel—the only one if town—if anyone with Her name was in a room he’d gotten a no, but she’d probably be in a real hotel. With good water pressure and room service and little shampoo bottles that she didn’t need. 

She hadn’t been in a fancy hotel last year. But that had probably just been another part of the scam.

So he didn’t tell Dad. Dean just took his shifts to watch Woodstock, worked the case, and fucking prayed they’d wrap this up and he could forget the whole thing. Dad would find something soon, they’d gank the ghost, and it would be done. 

Dad had even said he had a new lead, when they’d swapped the watch. Dean had dropped off the car and gotten orders to stay here until Dad got back, to call only if it was an absolute emergency, and to message if he thought of anything new. 

He’d been trying to. Dad was off working the lead, and Dean really wanted to help, but no matter how long leaned against the trees—watching Woodstock’s house and frowning into the air—he couldn’t think of shit. His brain felt numb, because this was freaking boring, and none of it made sense. It was just a ghost, it shouldn’t be this hard. Shit, with another hunter on the case, the asshole should’ve been ash days ago. Maybe it had been Her, and she’d realized they were in town, and She’d left. Been worried they’d try to turn her in for her bullshit, even though She had no way to know they’d figured her out. 

Maybe She hadn’t wanted to see Dean. Which shouldn’t bother him at all, but the thought made his stomach turn and heart split down the center. He didn’t get it. It shouldn’t hurt, because he sure as hell didn’t want to see Her. He was looking everywhere for Her, but he didn’t want to see Her. He didn’t. He didn’t-

He did. He could. That was fucking Her. Walking up the steps of Woodstock’s house with a large bag, knocking on the door and being welcomed in with a warm smile Woodstock hadn’t offered Dad or Dean. 

She looked hot. Dean wasn’t sure it was possible for Her not to—She’d even looked sexy covered in blood—but she’d somehow gotten hotter. She wasn’t wearing that horrible jacket anymore, but well-fitting, casual clothing that She moved so easily in. Clothing that suited Her, that She looked comfortable in, that Dean wanted to touch to see what fabric She liked. It would tell him more about Her, about what she deemed suitable for herself, what she enjoyed, what she wanted. And if She allowed him close enough, maybe Dean could rip it off Her body-

Fuck. It was happening again. Dean had just looked at Her and she’d dragged him under some sort of trance. The feeling had returned in full force, like an inevitable kind of cancer over his brain that Dean didn’t know how to cure. Part of him didn’t even want to cure it—it felt right and natural and filled up that pit with a shifting light that was shaped like Her—but he had to. He was useless like this. Useless to the hunt, useless to himself, useless to Dad. Dad would smack him on the head and tell him to get a goddamn grip, because a girl wasn’t worth falling down for. Dean’s job wasn’t staring at pretty things and trying to make sense of them, it was creating ash and spilling blood. He was a solider, not a prince who was going to save the damsel. 

And She wasn’t a damsel. She was a bitch. The prettiest, funniest, smartest bitch Dean had ever met, who seemed like Cinderella but was really a stepsister. Dean didn’t need Her, and he shouldn’t be sparing Her a single thought at all. He should just text Dad that She was the other hunter, that She seemed tight with Woodstock, and that She’d been in the house for a long time.

A really long time. 

Too long. It had been almost an hour since She’d disappeared off the porch, and unless she was there for a sleepover, she should’ve been out by now. Maybe the ghost had gotten the jump on Her and Woodstock. Maybe Dean had to go in and save Her, not because it was Her, but because that was his job. And maybe She’d thank him, and kiss him because She was so grateful he’d put his grudge aside to save her life, and it would be awesome and She’d taste like sugar and be soft under his hands-

“Dean Winchester.” 

He nearly leapt out of his goddamn skin, spinning around with wide-eyes and clenched fists that couldn’t seem to remember how to fly and land square in Her pretty, mocking face. She was standing barely three feet away, Her arms crossed and brows raised, her bag nowhere in sight.

“Fucking hell, Princess.“ The nickname slipped out of him without thought, because She really did look like royalty. He knew why that was now—easy to look smoking hot and fancy when you had the money for it—but it didn’t change the fact. Her lips were glossy, her eyes seemed to shimmer with that pretty color that washed over his dreams, that causal clothing really did look like it was made to touch Her, and Dean couldn’t believe he was jealous of a fabric-

“What are you doing here.” Her voice still had that haunting, angel-like quality, but it was flat. Bored. Almost dead.

He gave Her a smirk, and he wasn’t sure why it hurt that She barely even blinked back. “Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing. What could a bitch like you be doing in a place like this?“

Her eyes narrowed, and Dean could’ve sworn She curled a little into her body. “I asked first.”

Dean shrugged. “I asked louder.”

“I- You know what? I don’t care.” She stood a little taller, her voice somehow growing colder. “Whatever you’re up to, stop. This is my hunt. I got here first, I’m handling it, and you’re only going to slow me down.”

Dean let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Ghosts aren’t really gonna respect dibs, sweetheart.”

Her eyes flashed with something Dean didn’t really understand. “They don’t, but I’m not that worried about it, De. Like I said, I’m handling it.”

He glared at Her, ignoring how something in his chest was humming, trying to get Her to call him De over and over again forever. “Sorry,” he drawled Her name, leaning forward and trying not to think about how she didn’t flinch away. How he could smell that same, fruity perfume and sugar from before. “I guess we’ll just have to let the better hunter win.”

She raised Her chin, holding his gaze. “I’m warning you, Winchester. Leave.“

He chuckled. “I’m good, Princess. Think I’ll pass, but trying to warn me was cute-”

“Listen to me.” She hissed, leaning close enough that Dean could pick out every small bump on Her face, isolate every color in Her eyes. “I’m not asking. Go back to Sam and John, tell them you figured it out and it’s done, and get the fuck out of my way.”

Something brittle snapped in Dean’s spine, his jaw clenching as the words pushed out of him like vomit. “Sam’s not with us. He left.”

He didn’t know why the fuck he’d tell Her that. She wouldn’t care. She seemed to hate Dean as much as he hated Her—probably bitter he’d got the up on Her, didn’t want him to mess with whatever scam she was trying to pull on Woodstock—and She’d met Sam twice. He shouldn’t have told Her that, because Dad hated even talking about it. Hell, Bobby barely knew about it. It was family business, and She wasn’t family, and that perfume had to be some sort of pheromone because it was making Dean a freaking dumbass-

“Is he okay?”

Dean blinked at Her, and her expression wasn’t soft, but it wasn’t empty. She didn’t seem like a statue anymore, and whatever was behind Her eyes looked real. Just as real as it had been last year, like there was a whole universe inside of Her that Dean had wanted to explore. To find out what She was made of, and if it was as similar to heaven as it seemed.

It wasn’t. Dean knew that, in his working brain—rather than his heart that stretched for Her and his dick that ached for Her to be just a little closer—She wasn’t heaven. She was temptation in a beautiful form, determined to make Dean weak and pathetic and soft, everything he couldn’t allow himself to be. But he still told Her the truth. His voice lower and without any venom, his body tensed slightly, his brain spinning as the strange look in Her eyes seemed to glow, dragging the words out of him. 

“He’s fine. Off at college. Decided he didn’t want-“ Dean cut himself off with a small shake of his head. He wouldn’t be that weak or dumb, exposing a gap in his armor she’d use to make him crumble to his knees. “He was done hunting. Wanted a normal life.”

She was just looking at him. Scanning over him carefully, holding one of Her own hands and just fucking staring, like Dean might be an illusion or his words might be a lie, and She was trying to look for evidence of it.

“That sucks.” She finally said, and it sounded so real. Like She might actually give a shit that Dean was lonely. That Sam had left him. “Sorry.”

 “I don’t need your pity, sweetheart-“

“I don’t pity you.” She snapped, Her features growing harsh once more. “I’m saying that fucking sucks, I know you cared about him. I’m apologizing because it’s probably complicated and messy and not all that fun to deal with.”

Dean scowled, something raw snapping along his heartstrings. “I’m doing just fine, Princess. I’ve got my dad, and Sammy’s safe in California. He’s still my brother, and it’s not like he’s fucking dead. So I’m good.”

She raised her brows, an amusement that made Dean’s gut boil written over Her face. “Yeah, you really sound it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Watch it-“

“Or what.” She hissed, leaning forward until Dean was almost drowning in Her. “You gonna run to John and tell him that the little moroi bitch is bullying you? That you need to hurry up on the hunt, because you can’t stand that I’m going to get this thing all by my fucking self-“

“All by-“ Dean stared at Her. “You’re still hunting alone?”

Her face twisted, her words hushed and furious. “That is none of your fucking business-“

“It is if you’re going to get yourself killed-“ 

She snorted. “Shut the fuck up. Don’t pretend like you give a shit about me-“

“I give a shit if you end up monster chow.” Dean sneered, pretending something wasn’t cracking along his ribs at the certain, settled hatred in Her voice. “The job is saving people, not choosing who. You try and jump in front of that ghost, I’ll stop you-“

“Please,” She scoffed, narrowing her eyes. “I’d like to see you fucking try.”

Dean’s breathing was ragged. His heart was violent in his chest, and his hands were curled at his side, and She was so fucking infuriating. Dean shouldn’t give a shit about Her, but his skin felt like it was being flayed at the thought of Her in danger or pain, and She shouldn’t sound like she was wounded by being the little moroi bitch, because She was, and Dean wanted to grab Her by the neck and slam his lips to Her’s-

“Stay out of my way, Winchester.” She hissed, still so close, and looking so warm and soft, and Dean was so close to figuring out what the hell that fruit was-

She was gone. She leaned back in a rough, sharp movement—like Dean was a magnet and She was only just strong enough to pull herself away—and just walked away. 

He might be stuck here forever—on the edge of the woods outside Woodstock’s haunted house—his body trying to cling to her and his brain trying to erase Her forever. It was something he’d been trying to do for a year, something he’d never managed, and something that was made so much more difficult by the fact that She looked back. That their eyes met one last time, and it was like lightning through his blood.

He would have chased Her in Dad hadn’t called right then. He spent the next two days trying to convince himself he wouldn’t have, but it was a fucking lie. He wasn’t sure what he would have done when he caught Her, but he would’ve chased Her. Rushed after Her and asked why had She lied, why did She look like she wanted to punch Dean when She’d been the one to hurt him, if She had looked back because she could feel it too. Feel the gravity, feel the drug, feel the storm that threatened to consume Dean in Her name. Ask if She dreamt of him, ask if She saw him in shadows, ask if She was a monster and beg her to set him free.

But he hadn’t chased after Her. So it didn’t matter. Dad had picked Dean up—long after She’d been gone, Dean still rooted in place, his head still spinning—and he hadn’t seen Her since, so it didn’t matter. Maybe She’d left. Maybe She’d just skipped town, and Dean would never see her again.

That shouldn’t feel horrible. It should be relieving, the idea that he’d won. That he’d gotten the hunt, gotten Her away from him, gotten a justification for why he hadn’t told Dad he’d seen Her. It would mean that She was gone, and Dean could pretend that had never happened at all. But it still felt like fucking shit, and Dean couldn’t figure out how to stop it. It ate away at his brain as the days blurred together, and they hit dead end after dead end. She remained at least out of sight, Dean still didn’t tell Dad that She’d ever been in town, and the hauntings just fucking stopped. No more lights, no more temperature drops, no more screaming Woodstock. 

It couldn’t have been Her. There were no graveyard disturbances, She hadn’t entered the house since their conversation, and it wasn’t like the EMF was gone. On the second day of no activity they’d had broken into Woodstock’s house, checked to see if it was gone, and it wasn’t. It had just stopped haunting.

Dad was losing his mind. He was barely speaking to Dean, shooting down all his ideas, and mostly just reading book after book and grumbling that it didn’t make any goddamn sense. Ghosts just didn’t stop, they still didn’t know who the hell the son of a bitch was, and they couldn’t leave until this thing was dealt with.

Dean suggested drinks—the motel room was starting to feel like a cage, they both needed it, and maybe the answer would be one or two bottles deep—and Dad had grunted an agreement. It was a small victory, but a victory all the same. Maybe Dean could find a woman there to distract from this disaster, distract him from Her-

He didn’t need to be distracted from Her. There was nothing to distract from. Dean might be dreaming about Her still—dreams where he did grab Her and kiss her, She fell to her knees and he went right down with Her, and it was fucking awesome—but She wasn’t anywhere real around him, so it didn’t matter. Every shadow on the darkened street was shaped like Her, but shadows weren’t real. That gravity in Dean’s chest was trying pull and pry Dean open so She could take a look, but that was just an emotion, and Dean wasn’t about to be some sort of pussy about his feelings. The whole bar seemed to smell like that strange fucking fruit and sugar, but Dean could just be losing his mind. The woman in the booth looked exactly like Her, and sat with her knees tucked up like she did, and was wearing the same shirt-

Shit.

“Dad, I don’t feel great, maybe we could-“

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

Dean felt the blood drain from his face. Dad had seen Her. His face was drawn in a scowl, the glare he used during hunts was furrowing at his brow, and there was a glint in his eyes that set everything on edge.

He was fucked. She was going to tell Dad they’d run into each other, Dad would fucking murder him for not mentioning it, and She’d just fuck off and get herself killed with the ghost. Dean didn’t know why that last one felt just as terrifying as Dad’s wrath, but it might actually be worse. Dad wouldn’t actually kill him. He’d get yelled at and probably banned from driving for a month, but Dad would never hurt him. 

Dad would hurt Her. He was already stalking over to Her booth—She hadn’t even looked up, which didn’t increase Dean’s faith in Her lone hunting abilities—with white-knuckled fists that would have probably collided with Her face if she wasn’t a chick. Dean barely ran after him in time for them to reach the booth, to stop at Dad’s side right as he slammed his hand on the table.

She flinched slightly as she looked up, and the air around them became wired and electric.

“What the hell are you doin’ here, girl.” Dad lowered himself down to Her eye level as he spat the words out. “Ain’t no way you’re in town just by fuckin’ coincidence.”

She huffed a dry laugh, holding Dad’s gaze as she answered. “Not a coincidence. Just me, having the worst luck in the world.” Her attention finally turned to Dean, he felt alive, and Her words remained just as flat as before. “Hiya, Deano. You look like shit.” She looked back to Dad, her pretty lips curling into a smirk. “You both look like shit.”

“You think you’re smart-“

She snorted, cutting Dad off with a bored grin. “I am smart. Sit down, you’re drawing attention.”

She waved a loose hand around the bar, and She was right. People were wide eyed, watching them nervously, and they didn’t need that. Attention was bad in this line of business. It was downright dangerous. And Dad knew that, so he gave Dean a curt nod to listen to Her, and slid into the booth once Dean was settled across from Her. 

It was a little freaking insane, how She only got prettier. How in the low, golden light of the bar she seemed to have a halo around Her head. But it wasn’t real. Nothing about Her was real, and Dean would have to remember that. Dad was real, was looking at Her like she’d tried to key the Impala, and Dean needed to figure out where that hatred for Her had gone and bring it back. Convince Her to skip town—because She’d get in the way, not because the idea of Her being thrown across a room by a spirit made him sick—and cover his own ass, because he was still in danger of Her snitching on him. 

But She was hardly looking at him. Her attention was divided between Dad, her own hands, and the neon red, cherry and ice and paper umbrella drink in front of Her-

“Are you drinking a fucking Shirley Temple?” Dean spoke before he could stop himself, and She shot him a glare.

“You got a problem with that, Winchester?”

“Nah,” Dean shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I just didn’t know you were that much a prissy little princess-“

“They’re good drinks, dick.” She snapped. “It’s called having fun. Something you two buttheads,” She gestured between Dean and Dad. “Clearly know nothing about.”

Dean learned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “I know plenty about having fun, sweetheart. Some might call me a master at it.“

She snorted. It was freaking adorable. “Some might call you a manwhore-“

“Watch yourself, girl.” Dad snapped, and Dean’s whole body tightened. Everything was rigid from the fury on Dad’s face—all directed at Her, all sick in Dean’s stomach—and raw from Her words. 

Manwhore. She wasn’t wrong, and he’d been called a lot worse, but it still stung like a freaking hornet along the cavity of his chest. There was no way for Her to know that, unless Dean’s whole face just screamed lonely. Lonely fucking trash to be used up and forgotten. It didn’t. He was so goddamn careful to ensure it didn’t. Even Dad didn’t know the extent of that pit, so it was impossible for Her to, and why did it feel like She’d just punched him in the gut-

“Listen to me,” Dad hissed Her full name, and it was a low threat that snapped Dean back into his body. “Skip town. This is our case, and we don’t need some fancy brat gettin’ in our way.”

She glanced at Dean, and he almost didn’t catch the small frown on Her face. It was fleeting—barely a flash on Her gorgeous features—but strong. Reaching all the way to Her eyes and filling them with an emotion Dean didn’t understand.

But then it was gone. And when She looked back to Dad her face was in bored and taunting once more. 

“I’m hate to break it to you, buddy, but ghosts don’t care about dibs.” Her lips curled into a smirk, and this was it. She was going to rat Dean out, he was dead-

“Lucky for you,” She picked up Her drink and leaned back in her seat. “It’s not a ghost. So maybe if you ask it really nicely, it’ll refuse to be killed by anyone but you.”

Dad scowled. “What the hell are you talkin’ about, girl. This ain’t another moroi thing, this is a fuckin’ ghost-“

“It’s not.” She grinned at them from around Her straw, and shit She had nice lips. They were a little puckered, Dean could still remember how soft they’d been, and they’d probably look even better wrapped around Dean’s-

“Whatever game you’re playin’,” Dad hissed at Her, snapping Dean out of his thoughts. “Cut the shit and say what you mean.”

She hummed, still wearing a bright, mocking grin. “You think it’s a ghost.”

“It is a ghost,” Dean muttered, watching Her carefully. “You’re not stupid, Princess, EMF plus random flying plates equals evil Casper.”

“That’s true.” She dropped Her empty glass on the table, leaning toward with a shrug. “But it’s still not a ghost.”

“You heard Dean, girl, it’s a ghost, plain and goddamn simple.”

“Have you seen it?” 

Dean glanced at Dad, and he’d bet a lot of money that their expressions were identical in pure freaking confusion.

“We don’t have time,” Dad grunted, his voice low and edged. “For fucking riddles. You-“

“It’s not a riddle.” She raised her brows, picking a cherry out of the glass. “Have either of you actually seen your alleged ghost? Did Maggie Rose tell you she saw it?”

Maggie Rose. Woodstock. The woman who would’ve definitely seen the ghost by now.

And who hadn’t mentioned it a single goddamn time.

“I’m guessing you haven’t found remains either.” She hummed, picking the cherry off the stem with Her teeth. “And you’ve been looking for who the ghost could be, but you’re not finding anything. You’ve been looking in the wrong place. Poltergeist’s don’t have to haunt the places where they died, and they often have little to no connection with their victims.”

Dad’s eyes narrowed. “This thing ain’t nearly violent enough to be a poltergeist-“

“That’s because it’s been getting enough attention so far. Maggie’s been screaming about it, and it’s found that satisfying enough.” She spun the stem between two fingers, looking between Dad And Dean with a triumphant grin. “Poltergeist.”

Dean was pretty sure Dad was going to leap across the table and strangle Her. His jaw was clenched, his body stiff at Dean’s side, and his words—when he finally spoke—were pushed through his teeth. 

“Dean.” He grunted, not looking away from Her. “I have to make a call to your uncle. Deal with her.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean nodded, and Dad slid out of the booth without another word. Leaving Dean.

But not alone.

Dean blinked at Her. Dad was gone, and She hadn’t mentioned that they’d seen each other before. Shit, She hadn’t even mentioned Sam, and his obvious absence. Dad would just chalk that up to Her being a bitch, but Dean was clinging to it. She should’ve said it. She had every reason to. But She fucking hadn’t, and some part of Dean was desperate to know why. To know if it was because the idea of him in trouble made Her feel like her skin was being ripped to shreds. It felt like that for Dean, whenever he was reminded that She hunted alone. Whenever a memory of Her covered in blood flashed through his brain. 

And he could still feel it. Feel the electricity in the air that was so different than before. It was charged and tense, but in a way that made Dean feel like he was breathing. He could feel things that didn’t make sense, but they were right. She was right. Across the table, running Her hands over her calves and watching Dean like he might try to take a bite of Her, She still felt like she could fit against him like another piece. 

“You’re not going to deal with me.”

Dean frowned at Her. She wasn’t meeting his gaze, poking the paper umbrella around the glass. “What?”

“What your dad said,” She muttered. “He told you to deal with me. You won’t.”

“What makes you think that?”

She finally looked at him. Really looked at him, for the first time since last year. On the curb She’d seen him, but not looked at him. Not like before. Not like that. Where Dean felt like She was seeing right into the pit—how empty and fucking pathetically worthless he was—and filling it up with something peaceful and silver and molten in his gut, like a melted star lighting him up from the inside. He wished it was real. Dean wished, more than almost fucking anything, that he didn’t know that this was part of Her scam or game. That She was looking at him like that because he made Her feel stripped and raw too. Because She saw something in him she wanted, and just kept digging for more without fear of him breaking Her.

But he also wished he wasn’t so fucking lonely that he could care about that. That he could get a hold over himself and just deal with Her. That She wasn’t giving him a strangely soft smile, and he wasn’t caving from how it made his heart freaking glow like a night-light. 

“Because,” She said, like it was simple. Like Dean should just know what she meant. “You won’t.”

“I might.” He leaned forward, holding Her eyes on his as he smirked. “You’re putting yourself in danger, Princess. Dealing with you would be the responsible thing to do.”

“Really.” Her voice was dry, disbelieving. “How would you deal with me, Dean Winchester?”

God, She was trying to kill him. She was looking at him like that, and there was a smug smirk on Her full lips, and Dean had spent the last year hating Her but now all he could think about was how the universe that existed in Her eyes, and how he wanted to see every inch of it. Bare skin and brilliant eyes that had been phantoms in is sleep, now real and touchable. He had a million ways he’d like to deal with Her, and all of them started with those blinding fucking eyes. Rolling back in Her head and fluttering under him and sparkling on his. Her voice saying his name like it was more than just a breath, like it was the blood in Her veins-

“I’m afraid that’s top secret, Princess.” Dean dragged himself together to shoot Her a wink, and he could’ve sworn she flushed. “But I’ll tell you if you give me that answer you owe me.”

She gave him a strange look. “We were even.”

Dean shook his head. “You had asked me two questions. I only asked you one.”

There was a small, frowning pout on Her lips, and Dean realized She might be trying to work out if he was lying. He wasn’t. That conversation lived in the corners of his brain all the goddamn time, he couldn’t forget it if he tried. And he had. He’d bet his life that he was right. She’d asked him two questions about Dad and Sam, called him De, and his whole brain had short-circuited. He’d only realized on the drive back, and he’d been planning to use that to try and get Her to do the game again, but-

But She’d been tricking him. A con-woman and spoiled bitch who had been planning to use him. He’d seen the evidence. He knew that’s what was real. That between them, Dean wasn’t the liar.

He should care about that more. He should stand up and leave, or threaten Her to get the hell out of Dad’s way, or at least stop fucking smiling at Her. But She’d nodded, dropping Her knees down to lean closer, and he was drugged on Her voice and smell and face.

And he stayed.

“Fine.” She said, and Dean felt a thrill-like rush through his body. She was so pretty. “Go.”

He didn’t have a question ready. He hadn’t really expected Her to agree. But She had, and now he was staring at Her, trying to find something. Anything at all that didn’t make him look like a gaping dumbass, lost in Her eyes and high on her smell. He should ask everything he’d wanted to scream at Her on the street, and throw in a shout of why the hell didn’t you tell my dad I knew you were here. It didn’t make any goddamn sense that She hadn’t, and Dean needed to know why. That’s what he should ask. He should just freaking ask why.

“Where are you staying?”

Son of a bitch. That wasn’t what he’d meant to ask, now She was staring at him like he was some kind of creep or asshole, and Dean had to figure out how the hell he could justify asking that.

“For the case,” he added quickly, his voice drained of most of the artificial, cocky arrogance he prided himself on. “Ya’ know. In case we need to find you.”

“You won’t.” She said, Her finger running over that scar on her palm. “This is my case-“

“Yeah, and you’ve got it handled.” Dean drawled, raising his brows. “You gonna answer the question?”

She sighed. “Same motel you’re at. Down the road.”

He shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen your car-“

“You remember my car?” 

He felt a little heat rush to his face, only worsened by how there was a little, dancing light in Her eyes that was trying to draw him into Her, as if he was only a moth and she was the freaking sun. And of course he remembered that car. It was Her car. He’d felt something seize in his chest every time he’d seen one like it for the last year. 

“I like cars,” Dean grumbled—hoping She wouldn’t see it for the half-lie it was—and a small smile pulled at her lips. It looked a little too real.

“Like your dad’s.” She nodded, starting to fish ice cubes out of Her glass. “The Impala.”

It was Dean’s turn to grin. “You remember my car?”

She definitely flushed that time. “Yeah,” She mumbled. “It’s memorable. Shut up and answer my question.”

Dean raised his brows, remained silents, and tried to bait Her into saying it again. It worked.

“You’re such a-“ She cut herself off with a sigh and roll of Her eyes. “How would you deal with me.”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Dean drawled Her name, feeling his grin overtake his face, every bit of his confidence returning—stronger than before—as She swallowed under his gaze. “I’d deal with you however you’d like.”

She blinked at him, and he was certain Her voice was higher than before. “I don’t, um, I-“ She glanced down at his lips, Her tongue poking out between her teeth. Dean wanted to bite it. “What?”

“However you tell me to,” he winked, and She looked like he’d shot her. Good. “I’ll deal with you. My question is how?”

“How-“

“How would you like me to deal with you, Princess?” 

Dean was pushing it. Shit, he didn’t even know what he was saying anymore, or why he couldn’t bring himself to sneer at Her, or mock her, or deal with her the way Dad had definitely meant. But he did know that Her eyes were wide and blown out, and Her lips looked soft, and he wanted to know if could get Her to be speechless. To gape at him all needy and dumb, so he could show Her exactly what fire She’d been playing with. That he wouldn’t roll over like a puppy, that whatever spell She’d cast on him—whatever aphrodisiac she’d been using—Dean might not be immune, but he could give better than he got. Maybe he’d get Her to bend enough that She’d admit what she’d been doing last year, and Dean would forgive Her because he didn’t know how not to. Because She was like tattoo on his brain that he didn’t want to get rid of.

Maybe he’d get to keep Her.

Maybe they could start over.

“I…” She trailed off, and Dean wanted to smash his lips to Her slack, open ones and start over. She was still gaping at him with a wide, open expression, and fuck he wanted to start over so bad. Against every bit of willpower and intelligence he had, Dean wanted to give into this strange instinct and start over.

“C’mon.” He drawled Her name, shooting her a wink. “Use some words.”

She glared at him, something hot flashing in Her eyes. “Pass. Ask me a different question.”

Dean scoffed under, dropping his voice to under his breath. “Who’s not fun now-“

“I heard that.”

“Course you did.” He rolled his eyes. “Fine, party pooper. What do you like?” 

She blinked at him. "What do I like?"

"Like you said, sweetheart, I like cars." Dean said, trying to make his words sound casual. Like he wasn't desperate to learn everything about Her that she'd offer. "What's your thing?"

"My thing." She said slowly, still looking at Dean like he was insane. "That I like."

He nodded, watching Her carefully, and she frowned into the air as she continued. 

"I don't know. Books? Movies and music?"

Dean gave Her an amused, flat look. "C'mon, you can gimme more than that-"

"No, I can't." She snapped. She was really hot when she snapped. "Movies and music is my answer, Winchester, deal with it."

Dean drawled Her name. “Everyone likes movies and music-“ 

“That doesn’t make it any less important to me.” She said, narrowing her eyes. “How would you like it if I said everyone drives cars-“ 

Dean scoffed. “They don’t drive them like I do, Princess-“ 

“And you don’t watch movies and listen to music like I do, Deano.” 

He chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright. Point proven.” He titled his head at Her. “What’s your favorite movie?” 

She laughed. A real laugh, and it sounded like music and rain and a soft summer breeze that shot right into Dean’s blood like a drug. “It’s my question, De. But nice try.”

He grinned at Her, clicking his tongue. "Bossy-"

"Shut up." She tilted her head at him, and Dean just grinned. "What's your favorite movie?"

"Untouchables." He said with a shrug. "Your turn."

She just looked at him with a small, teasing grin, and Dean realized she was waiting for him to repeat the question.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Fine, sweetheart. What's your favorite movie?"

Her face split into a wide, full grin, and God, he was fucked. Nothing in the world seemed to matter more than that smile, and the way it made him feel like he was circling the sun, crashing down to Earth in a ball of fire, and turning to steam as She swallowed him in her gravity. He really didn't give a shit if it was real. Maybe Dean could get himself to be bloody and bright enough to match Her, and she'd feel this too. She'd feel this, and stay, and offer an explanation about last year. An explanation that would prove it wasn't all that bad, and that She was just as fucking empty as Dean was, and he'd fill Her up-

Fuck, he couldn't think that. Not right now, when She looked like that—beautiful in a way that might be deadly—and was smiling at him, and he couldn't get a damn grip and just hate Her. He wasn't supposed to be crashing back up into Her. Dad would be so freaking disappointed that Dean was dumb enough to fall for this act again.

But he was. His jeans felt tight, he couldn't stop grinning at Her, and that siren-like voice kept Dean in her orbit, with absolutely no desire to leave.

She had a million favorite movies. And She hadn't been lying. She watched movies differently than Dean did. Differently that anyone did. He'd never heard anyone use so many big art words in a row, followed by about twenty, very creative swears at a speed he could only describe as frantic. Like if She didn't get Dean to understand exactly why Indiana Jones was the perfect adventure movie, why chick flicks had irreplaceable cultural value, and sitcoms could be the best medium of television, the world might end.

And it should be reminding him that they weren't the same. That Dean was trapped in the mud—he'd been born here, he'd die here, and he belonged here—because it was the only place for things like him. Gut covered weapons, made of rust that would crumble to dust before they made it out alive. And She was just visiting. Using the mud to make Her feel alive or important until she could return to a world of people with ivory and marble who all spoke like this. She was using Dean to do the same, maybe more. Maybe worse. Maybe trying to pry him open and steal what little he had inside him. 

But, son of a bitch, She could have it. He'd stay right here with Her for a million freaking years, just as long as She kept smiling and rambling and giggling at Dean's small jokes between Her breathes. Maybe he could take that bite out of Her. Taste sugar and fruit and whatever else he was starting crave. He could take Her flesh and blood and call it even for what She’d done, because She was still so pretty, and Dean felt like he could be valuable under Her bright attention.

He’d repay Her for that bite by offering himself. He'd be that smeared, dulled weapon for Her. He shouldn't be. Dad would kill him. But he wanted to be. He wanted to stay here forever. And when the waitress came over—with plastic tits and syrupy words—he didn't even fully realize until She cleared her throat and jerked her head to the side. Even then he just frowned at Her, a drunken trance of her voice and smile still clouding his attention, because what the hell could possibly be more interesting—more important—than listening to Her talk?

Then the waitress leaned down, almost blocking Her from view, and Dean frowned.

"What?" His voice was irritated, impatient, but he didn't really care. He needed think lady to freaking move, before She somehow vanished like a dream through Dean's fingers, and he was alone again.

"You want anythin' to drink, handsome? The waitress asked, and Dean nodded. He could use a beer—it might help dull the raging wildfire inside him, trying to tear him between his hatred of what he knew She was and the raw, feral instinct to latch onto Her and never let go—and Her glass was almost out of ice cubes. If he got Her another glass, he could keep Her here just a little longer. As long as he could.

"Beer for me," he raised two fingers, pointing between Her and himself. "Virgin Shirley Temple for the lady."

The waitress blinked at him for a second, but got the message. Dean had Her. He didn't need to company of another pretty face, because none of them could be prettier that Her's. Shit, it wasn't even a fair comparison. Leaving this booth for anything—leaving Her for anything—would be like trading a burger for a fucking salad. Insane and pointless.

When the waitress finally moved, She was gaping at him, her words suddenly soft. Almost nervous. 

"You, um-" She shook her head slightly. "Thanks."

Dean shrugged. "Not a big deal, you blew through that fancy girl drink in like a second anyway-"

"No, that's not-" She frowned at him, and Dean realized she was touching that scar again. "You remembered. That I don't drink."

"Oh." Dean stared at Her, his tongue almost glued into his mouth, his brain a little warm and soft from Her almost vulnerable gaze. "Yeah."

They were just staring at each other, and all Dean could manage to do was clear his throat, scratch the back of his neck, and force himself to speak. 

"You, uh," he swallowed, fidgeting with the cuff of his jacket. "Never mentioned why."

"Why-"

"You don't drink."

"I'm not twenty-one yet, Winchester, I don't think I-" She cut herself off, leaning a little away from Dean with a small frown. He waited, the silence resuming for a long, heavy second that sat and froze in Dean's lungs. She wasn't looking at him anymore, twisting a ring on Her finger, and when She spoke again, her voice had dropped to a mumble. "I want a clear head. It's safer."

"Safer?"

"For our job." She curled a little into herself, like Dean was trying to peel her apart. "I mean, I can't really afford to get drunk. It could end, uh, badly."

Something became sharp over Dean's skin. That wasn't it. It wasn't a lie, but Dean could read it all over Her—he wasn't sure how, but he could—that there was more to it. But that's not why there was a sore prickle rooted in his muscles. 

"Because you hunt alone."

She nodded, bringing Her knees up to her chest, and the ache worsened. 

"You could drink." He muttered, leaning back with a slight slam of his hand on the table. "If you'd hunt with a partner."

She sighed. "I'm not going to hunt with a partner-"

"Why?"

He'd snapped. He hadn't meant to, but the ache moved to his mouth and he needed Her to understand. To get that hunting alone was fucking dangerous, and would get Her killed, and he cared about that so goddamn much for no real reason. He shouldn't care. But the thought of Her covered in blood make his gut twist and his heart burn in his chest, so She needed to get it. Now.

She narrowed her eyes, finally looking at him. "Why what."

"Why won't you hunt with a partner." He grumbled, holding Her gaze. "What would make that so fucking bad, sweetheart?"

"Because, as I've told you all week, I don't need to.” Her words were firm, dropped to a hushed sneer. "Anyone else would get in my way."

"I haven't even seen you since the freaking house," Dean said Her name with a low huff. "How could that be getting in the way-"

"I'd be fucking babysitting." She hissed. "I don't need a bunch of assholes tell me what to do, how to fight, how to kill something, how to-"

"Be safe?" Dean cut Her off with a sneer. "Not act like you're too good for anyone else?"

"I never said that, you asshole." She was starting to hug herself, and Dean felt ill, but he wouldn't be the one to break. "I am not too good, I just refuse to be a little hunter fuck-doll beating bag."

Dean blinked. "What?”

She sighed in flat, unamused disbelief. "Hunter's don't have great track records with women. I mean, be fucking real, dude. It wouldn't be the monster's that kill me."

"You," he shook his head. "That's- There are assholes out there everywhere, that doesn't mean you just roll over and accept death-"

"So what should I do?" She raised Her brows. "Be your partner? Be you and your father's little fucking toy until one of you puts a bullet-"

She cut herself off, and Dean gaped at Her, fire crawling over his veins.

"I-" She swallowed, and Dean wished he didn't give a fuck how She suddenly seemed so small. "I'm-"

"Do you seriously believe," Dean muttered, unsure if the fire in his voice was for himself, Dad, or how She looked like a wounded animal. "That we'd- Shit, are you fucking kidding me-"

"It's- I-"

"Save it," He snapped. "We are not killers or fucking savage trash-"

"That's not-"

"You listen to me, Princess-"

"No! I just-" She sounded panicked. Cornered. "I’m sorry, I didn't mean it like that, it's complicated-"

He scoffed. "Not that complicated, sweetheart, you think I'm just as bad as that shit we hunt-"

"No I don't-"

"You do," he hissed Her name. "Drop the act. And, just so we're clear, I'd never hurt you-"

She laughed, shaking Her head. "You can't be fucking serious. That’s-“ She tensed, her face twisting slightly as she scratched at Her skin. "You don't get to tell me what I should and shouldn't do, Winchester. You don't get to act like you give a fuck if I hunt alone."

Dean's hand curled into a fist. "Nobody should hunt alone, it's, fuck, it's stupid-"

"I am not stupid-"

Dean huffed a dry laugh. "I got that, Princess. But you know what? I think," he leaned forward, letting the words fall out of his mouth before he could think about them. Before he could stop them. "That you're just too much of a crazy bitch to have anyone stick around."

It was silent, and She was just staring at him, her features moving through a million emotions that Dean couldn't understand. He'd won. She looked like he'd taken a knife right to Her heart, and she wasn't fighting back, so he'd won. And he couldn't fucking breathe. He felt sick, and faint, and freaking awful-

"Choke on my dick, Winchester.” She snapped, but there was something weaker in Her voice. Something that told Dean he’d hit on something fragile. That he was a piece of fucking shit that went for the killing blow because he couldn't help it. Because he was the very fucking, lower-than-the-sewers trash She'd just accused him of being-

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, to take it back or say they'd both gone too far, and he felt like shit and still wanted—despite literally everything—to start over. To at least ask Her to tell him the truth, to at least tell Her how hating her like this made him feel wrong-

But She was gone. She'd left the booth and stomped out the door before Dean could even make a sound, and he just goddamn sat there. She wouldn't come back, but he was still just sitting there. Dad was probably waiting for him, ready to demand a reason why he'd taken so long, but Dean still just sat there. Shit, they might have a poltergeist to deal with, but Dean wasn't freaking moving.

What finally got him was the waitress, making her way back to the table and saying some snide comment about his girlfriend not appreciating him. Dean didn't even spare the woman a look as he shot up, shoved past her, and marched out into the parking lot to find Dad and get the hell out of here. If Dad asked, Dean would say he'd taken care of it. Not of Her—She'd looked like he'd torn Her to shreds with his teeth—but the situation. She'd probably be gone by morning, not wanting to be anywhere near two mud and gut covered hunters. Near Dean.

Dad was still on the phone when Dean saw the Impala. Sitting in the front seat with a frown, the windows rolled down to combat the flat heat of air, speaking in a low, gruff voice to whoever was on the other end of the line.

"I don't care," he was muttering as Dean approached, his voice carried on the wind. "I can get the asshole no problem, Bobby, the poltergeist ain't my issue."

It was a poltergeist. If Bobby said it was a poltergeist, it was a poltergeist. She'd been right. And as Dean got closer, Dad obviously couldn't see him in the shadows, so he should probably say something to alert Dad that he was here

"Obviously it's the fuckin' girl." Dad snapped, and Dean froze. "Shit, she just shows up again? On another weird fuckin' case, bein' right about what it is, sinkin' her claws into Dean-"

Dad stopped talking—Bobby was probably saying something Dean couldn't hear—and Dean's breathing was shallow. He shouldn't be eavesdropping. Dad would kill him, and he just shouldn't. He trusted Dad, and if this wasn't something Dad wanted to hear, it wasn't something he had to hear. But She hadn't sunken Her claws into him. She'd just scratched him over his brain and scarred him, but Dad couldn't see that. She just haunted him, and drove him mad, and made him want to-

"She's the one Dean's obsessed with."

Dean frowned. He was not obsessed with Her. 

"She's a hunter alright. That moroi case me and the boys worked-" There was a small pause. "Yeah, moroi. Freakin' nasty little vampire baby shits. She-" Dad huffed, and Dean could hear the muffled sound of Bobby's voice. It sounded urgent. 

Then Dad said Her full name into the speaker, and Dean could hear his frown. "You heard of her, Bobby?"

Bobby must have said no—there was no reason for him to know Her—but whatever he did say made Dad's hands grip the wheel with white knuckles.

"The hell you mean you have to go- Bobby-" John groaned, the click of his phone being closed snapping through the air and Dean swallowed. The call was over. Time to pretend he wasn’t a piece of fucking shit that had been invading Dad's privacy.

Dean moved out of the shadows and opened the car door, Dad barely waiting for him to be seated before he started talking.

"We got a poltergeist." He grunted, turning on the engine. "Let's go."

Dean blinked. "Go? Like, now?"

"Damn right, now." Dad shot him a raised brow. "Why, you fuckin' waiting for somethin'-"

"No, sir." Dean shook his head, and Dad nodded, still watching him carefully.

"You take care of the girl?"

"Uh, yeah." Dean hated that the words tasted rotten in his mouth. "She's gone."

Dad nodded. "Remember, son. No pair of tits are worth more-"

"Then family." Dean finished. He'd heard that sentence enough to recite it in his sleep. It didn't matter. She didn't matter. Dean felt like a fucking asshole, but She didn't matter. "I know, Dad."

"Good." Dad muttered, pulling out of the lot. "Let's kill this fuckin' poltergeist and get the hell out of here."

—————————

Bobby doesn't know you're here. He thinks you're in Louisiana still, dealing with the kelpie.

You're not. You're in Illinois. Trying something on a poltergeist.

You'll tell him when you get home. Explain that you'd just wanted to test your ghost ritual again, and if you'd told that him before, he would've snapped that testing that stuff was dangerous, and the thing had already worked once, so there wasn't any goddamn reason to risk it again. 

And he was right. The rituals and spell and curses that had started to come to you in the dead of night—when it was just you and the White in the world, and the darkness became consuming—weren’t exactly safe to test on hunts. Not because of the rituals themselves, but because of the exposure. The danger of using magic where you could be discovered by another hunter. But you had to test them. You didn't know where they were coming from or how to stop them, but they always worked. You wake up and know that, if you said all these words and mixed these things together, you could make a veil between dead spirits and the living. A barrier that didn't kill the ghosts, but stopped them. A blockade that could be torn down, but bought you plenty of time and minimized any casualties. 

It was why Bobby wasn't stopping you. He insisted you stay far away from other hunters, and update him after every test to make sure you hadn't blown yourself up or worse, but he wasn't trying to hold you back. Convince you to just drown in the darkness until it eroded the White, and you lost control forever. But he still wouldn't be happy about the second test. And you could've justified it by pointing out that this was actually a poltergeist, so you'd had to figure out how to alter the ritual, but then you saw the Winchester's Impala in your motel parking lot. 

Which meant this it would be stupid to keep working the case. It meant you were in danger, because they were probably hunting the same poltergeist you were trying to do magical experiments on. 

Worse, it meant Dean was here.

And you're going to fucking scream.

He'd never left your brain. You haven't stopped moving, you never stop moving, but Dean has followed you everywhere. Into your head every second, still circling around his handsome face and pretty face and beautiful smile. Into the darkness when it started to slip out of you, fueled by an echo of unworthy and sick, edged with the phantom feeling of his body at your side.

He was in countless, lonely motel beds where you looked to the side and expected him to be there. He was on the curb when you were covered in grime and monster guts, and you looked up to find the shadow above you only a shadow. He was in your bag, because you’d never thrown out his shirt. It didn’t smell like him anymore—he was there too, in wet grass in the spring and the spice of cheap aftershave on a man in a bar—but you were still holding onto it. Holding onto Dean.

You weren’t sure what could make you let go. You’d even started to fish for information about him from Bobby with careful questions about the Winchesters. What they usually hunted, so you could avoid them. What Sam and Dean were like, in case you ever ran into them, so you’d know what to expect. If they always hunted with John, or if they ever went off on their own. Bobby would always give you a strange look and a short answer—whatever they ran into, they’re good boys in the same shit situation as every other hunter, and John never let them hunt alone—but you’d pieced more from what you already knew. Sam hated hunting, and Dean loved it, their relationship with John was complicated—you could’ve gotten that one yourself—and Dean was what Bobby called eager with women.

He slept around. He’d probably been trying to sleep with you, and given up when he realized that you weren’t easy. That you were tired and rough and so, so angry all the time. That you might be beautiful, but the same was a thunderstorm is beautiful. The same was a statue is beautiful.

Something you shouldn’t touch. Something you shouldn’t try to hold, even for a night.

Something that wasn’t worth Dean Winchester time. Something he’d seen, turned away from, and then left you. He’d left you because he’d seen you for what you were, and he hadn’t wanted anything from you in the first place, but he’d still fucking left you. And you hated him for that, because you’d been ready to offer him whatever he wanted. Against all reason and logic and caution, you’d wanted him more than you could describe. 

And against all your willpower, you couldn’t let go of him. Because you’d seen the Impala in the parking lot—the one you’d been searching for on every highway, in every small town and city—and the force of Dean is here had hit you like a hurricane. Everything had felt so fucking big, and you couldn’t hold onto the darkness in your body as your breathing became heavy and you attempted to keep yourself together. Nails digging into your skin as the wind howled through your room, the peeled paint on the walls cowering from you as your attention became vigilant, everything crashing back down into you when you bit down, and a lightbulb shattered across the room.

You’d avoided him. You’d hidden in crowds on the street when you saw him, and ducked behind shelves when he entered the corner store. You’d kept your shades angled so you could see the parking lot, and pushed down the way the White howled at the sight of him coming and going. You’d planned to handle the hunt in silence, and then just go.

The house owner was a sweet hippy who agreed to let you do the ritual when you told her she had the aura of a swan. You’d give it a few days after to ensure the barrier could hold, get rid of the poltergeist for good, and then leave without the Winchester’s ever even knowing you were here.

Then you’d seen Dean in the woods, and you couldn’t resist talking to him. He’d seen you anyway, so there wasn’t anything left to lose. And he’d still been so pretty, and your knees still felt weak, and the White still whined for him no matter how much of a dick he was being. It was insufferable, you’d left with darkness eating at your blood, and you’d looked back. You couldn’t stop looking back. Every time you had run on the street you’d turned around to see if he was frowning in adorable confusion around the busy sidewalks. When he was in the parking lot you’d checked to see if he was still pretty, even though you knew he would be. Of course he would be. He was an asshole like that. 

You’d looked back outside of the poltergeist house because you had to. You had to see if he was real or just another flickering dream, and you couldn’t resist the desire to see him—staring at you on the street and suffocating you with that same smell from last year—one more time. It’s why you hadn’t skipped town right after. It’s why you’d stayed so long in the bar. You just fucking had to. You could fight against his winks and grins and smooth words, making you smile when you hated him, making you laugh when you should’ve been running. It had seemed—for whatever strange reason—that Dean hadn’t told John you were here, but he definitely knew now, and you were certainly in very real danger. But Dean had carved you open again, and you’d stayed in that stupid booth until he’d given you a good reason to leave.

And it was a great reason. It would’ve been kinder to shoot you in the temple than say that. At least he would’ve killed you, and you wouldn’t have had to wage this war in your body. The war between your hatred of him, and how you want to go back. He’s such a fucking asshole, but you still want to turn around and go back. To ask him why he left, why he cares, how he seems to know your every raw nerve and if he's still feels this too. If he felt it before. 

You don't really want to know that last one. Because if he felt it before, that means he felt it and left. That he can feel it now and hates you for it. 

Because he does hate you. If it wasn't in his words, it was all over his face. How he’d laughed like you were just a silly little girl. How he’d looked right into you like he could see the darkness. How he’d grinned at you like a wolf, like he wanted to rip you apart. He sees what you are, and he despises it.

And you were fine with that. You despise him. He was an arrogant, smug, dickish, charming, controlling, annoying, handsome, caring, selfish, funny, sexy, adorable, funny, strong, sweet-

God fucking damnit. He was an asshole. He'd left you, he hated you, and you wouldn't fall for the cowboy-in-shining-leather thing again. You were going to take care of this poltergeist now, and leave town right after. Dean and John could be here another week trying to figure out if it was even dead for all you cared. You just had to go. Before this all got worse.

You've barely parked when your phone starts to buzz. You don’t look at the contact when you decline it—you don’t have the time—but then it just starts buzzing again. 

It’s Bobby.

You still don’t answer. If he’s in danger, he wouldn’t call you. If it’s an urgent question, he can handle it himself. If it’s a non-urgent question, he can wait for this to be done. If he was dying-

You almost pick up the phone. The thought flashes through your brain, a small stone grows in your throat, and you reach for the phone with a frantic movement. You’re about the dial him back when the first message comes through, and you sigh in relief.

You better call me back now, kid, we need to talk.

Not dying. Can be dealt with later. You’ll call him back when you’re done, because this will be quick, and you’ll get through it. You always do.

You’d convinced the homeowner to get out of town for a few days, to stay with her sister until you were done. The purification ritual was in the trunk of your latest stolen car—you’d meddled with the ingredients, giving it an extra kick—and this would be quick. 

There’s no blur as you start. You’re alert for your barrier to break—keeping in iron poker in your hands—but there’s no disturbance, so you just go through the motions. The basement is finished in five minutes, the first floor in ten, and you’ve only got two bags left when glass shatters downstairs, and the blur starts to cloud your head. Something cracked in the ritual, maybe because you’re almost done, but now you have to fight-

“Dean, you got the guns?”

You freeze as John Winchester’s voice sounds from down the stairs, and everything becomes too sharp. There’s a creaking sound from downstairs, the darkness is starting to spread up your spine and over the white popcorn ceilings of the house, you’re fucked, and the White is reaching out to-

“I got it, Dad, but I thought poltergeists-“

“Son of a bitch wants attention.” John snaps over Dean, and you might crush the bag in your hand. “We’re gonna give him some until he shows himself, and we find the asshole’s remains and burn them.”

This is bad. That’s not how poltergeists work at all—you’re a little shocked John thinks it is—and they’re going to fuck up your barrier, and you can’t tell them they’ll fuck up the barrier or John will turn one of those guns on you-

“Is the hippy chick home?” Dean asks, snapping you out of your panic as the White howls inside you. “I can deal with her while you take care of-“

“No need. Car ain’t in the driveway.” There’s a pause, and you can hear them shuffling downstairs. “Plus I know how you deal with the vics, Dean. We don’t need that right now.”

Something’s bitter in your mouth that has no right to be there, and no right to vanish at Dean’s grumbled words.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Dad-“

“I don’t care how you meant it. Focus up so we can get this shit done.”

There’s another few muffled sounds, an unmistakable click of a gun, and you’re moving before you think better of it. 

“Stop!” You’re almost shrieking—dropping the poker and shoving your last two bags into your pockets as you run down the stairs—and barely stop your body from colliding with Dean’s in the entrance hallway.

“What the fuckin’ hell are you doin’?!“ John’s roar makes you flinch, his rifle aimed right at your head. You take a stumbling step back as darkness wraps around your hands and your heart kicks into a rapid, frantic rhythm you can hear in your ears. John can see you. He’s going to kill you. You going to die, and they’ll burn your body, and shit you never called Bobby but the darkness is going to burst out of you and John’s going to kill you-

A hand steadies you by your shoulders, grass and spice and leather ease the darkness down, and you wish you didn’t relax into the warmth of behind you, that the pretty, rolling voice a little over your head didn’t soothe your panic.

“Woah, Dad, it’s just-“ Dean says your name, and John scoffs, not lowering his gun.

“I know who it is, Dean, that ain’t my issue.” John’s eyes narrow on you, hatred painted all over his face. It’s worse than Dean’s somehow. There’s something pure about it, like John didn’t have to look into you to see what an atrocity you are. He just senses it. “Why the fuck are you here, girl.”

“I’m hunting my poltergeist.” You snap, forcing your voice to sound angry and not terrified, your face to be a mask of annoyed and not painted in dread. “What possible other reason could I have.”

“Could be looking at real estate.” Dean mumbles with a shrug, and he’s still touching you. You can’t help but glance back as you jerk away from him, and the expression on his face is unreadable. Guarded but cautious, like when he’d watched you and John snap at each other in the booth. Like he’s waiting for a bomb to go off. “I hear this is a good neighborhood.”

You give him a flat look. “This house is haunted.”

He shoots you a wink, clearly fueled by you not just ignoring him. “Won’t once we’re done with it-“

“Once I’m done with it.” You narrow your eyes at him. “This is my hunt, Winchester. I was here first.”

“Poltergeists don’t respect dibs, Princess.” Dean snaps. “And you don’t even have a freakin’ gun.”

“I don’t need a gun-“

Dean lets out a dry, shouting laugh. “I take back what I said earlier, you are stupid if you’re about to try and kill this thing without a freakin’ gun-“

“You’re stupid if you think I’m just going to let you fuck this up-“

“We’re saving your ass from getting whacked by a poltergeist, some gratitude might be nice-“

“You’re getting in my fucking way-“

“You’re-“

“Enough!” John’s shouts over Dean, and you both freeze. You hadn’t realized you’d been shouting, or how close Dean had gotten. You can see his every freckle, every shade of green in his eyes, how his lips are slightly parted so his breath fans over your face-

“I don’t want you two talkin’ unless it’s telling me where the poltergeist is.” John hisses, and you force your body away from Dean’s. “We’re killin’ this thing right fuckin’ now, got it?”

Dean nods, bowing his head slightly, and you just glare at John. All you have to do is get upstairs place the last two bags, and you’ll be fine. If agreeing to work with them does that, you’ll do it.

You split up. John goes to the basement, Dean takes the first floor, you rush upstairs. The bags are in your pants, and you’re so close, but John and Dean are waving around guns and talking about ganking the poltergeist, and it can definitely fucking hear them. The paintings shake on the walls as the temperature drops, and it’s trying break through. You get the first bag just as the lights begin to flicker, and you sprint down the hall to the last wall. Just one more and it will be done, and you can leave-

“Fuck-“ Dean shouts right as you reach the spot, and your blood goes cold. “Dad! It’s on me- shit-“ 

Then he roars your name, and you’re moving before you can think. Grabbing the poker, half-falling down the stairs, and reaching Dean just as his gun is yanked out of his hands by nothing at all. His eyes widen as they meet your, his mouth opens to say something and-

“Dean!” You can barely hear your own scream as he flies across the room, his head knocking on the counter. 

His body slumps, and you’re not in a blur. This is a rush. Everything is wide around you, there’s an airy chill in your lungs, and the darkness is pouring out of you as the lights grow too bright and the windows bang on a windless night. The darkness starts to ignite over your hands—a phantom flame you’re not sure is real, burning and stinging at your skin—you whirl around, and, on instinct alone, shove the air. There’s a high, shrill, horrible sound of pain as the air goes up in flames, and then it all comes down. The room grows warm, the house goes quiet, and the darkness returns to you without a fight.

And Dean’s still slumped on the floor. 

“Dean!” You fall to your knees at his side—rolling his face to the side, grabbing his hand to take a pulse—and only notice John as he silently joins you, taking Dean’s face between his hands with a set jaw. 

You don’t know how long he’s been there.

You don’t know what he saw.

“What the hell-“

“Poltergeist.” You whisper, watching John examine Dean’s head. “Threw him across the room.”

John scowls. “You just let this shit happen-“

“I didn’t- I got the asshole.” You hiss, clawing at the skin near your nail until it stings. “House purification ritual, which I was already doing before! Nothing would’ve happened at all if you didn’t jump in with fucking guns-“

“Just-“ John raises his hand, and you fall silent. You’re still holding Dean’s hand. You don’t let it go.

“He’s okay.” You mumble, mostly for yourself. Mostly to fight the bile in your throat at the sight of him, sweaty and pale, not bleeding but moving, eyes fluttering but not waking up. “He’s gonna be okay.”

You almost miss John’s strange look. You almost forget about the axe over your head, and how he might know what you are. All you can really think about is Dean. You barely hear John order you to stay here while he grabs the car, and it feels a little pointless. You would’ve stayed here no matter what. 

He’s groaning. Dean keeping making low noises of pain, and his hand keeps flexing in yours, but he’s breathing. Shallow breathes, but he’s breathing. And he’ll be okay. He has to be okay. It’s just a Poltergeist, not even a strong one, and he’s young and strong, and he’ll be okay. Your breathing has become a little uneven, and you can feel the White rioting and bellowing inside you as he shudders slightly, but he’ll be okay. You won’t let him not be. He feels clammy when you press your hand to his brow—your fingers brush his hair, and it’s soft, and that’s not important but you’re going to think about it for a million years—so you shrug off your own jacket and toss it over his body. He’s still holding onto you, so you don’t drop his hand. When John gets back you loop his arm over your shoulders, your own arm around his waist, and haul his dead-weight up until John grabs the other side. 

When you reach the Impala—you working in silence with John to slide him carefully into the backseat—he clings to you. John drops his arm and it shoots over your stomach, his head falling onto your chest as he makes another low grunt of pain. And there’s such little color on his face, and he’s still shuddering when you move the jacket back over him, and you could fix this. You’ve never healed anyone before, but you could. You can feel the darkness moving into the tips of your fingers and over your heart as Dean takes a stuttered breath, and you have to-

“Get out.”

You look up and find that John has walked around the car and opened your door. “I-“

“Leave.” John grunts, not even sparing you glance as he speaks. “Now.”

You shake your head, and it’s a weak movement. There’s that feral instinct of survive still in your bones, but it’s not bigger than Dean. Nothing’s bigger than Dean. “No, I-“

“I ain’t askin’-“

“It’s not up to you-“

“My car. My rules.” John’s words sound pushed through his teeth. “Out.”

“I,” you swallow, glancing back down to Dean. “I could help-“

“You’ve done enough.“

“I could fix him!” You shout, and your sounds pleading. You feel like you’re pleading. It’s pathetic, and you don’t care because Dean makes a low, strained noise and you feel like you’re choking. “I could-“

“Listen to me very fuckin’ closely.” John sneers your full name, finally lowering down to meet your gaze. “The out of my fuckin’ car, and stay the hell away from my son. I don’t need you fixin’ him, because he’s not broken, and if he was the last thing he needs is some high horse brat making him weak.”

There’s a high ringing in your ears, and your voice is soft. “I-“

“He’d be fine if you hadn’t interfered with our work.” John snaps. “You’re out of your little pond, girl, and if I ever see you distractin’ Dean or fuckin’ with his brain again, I’ll put a bullet in yours. Got it?”

You nod, something vast and numb spreading over your chest as you carefully climb out of the car—making sure not to disturb Dean, or make his head worse—and leave John without another word. But you look back. You can’t help yourself from turning and watching the Impala pull away, from digging your nails into your skin as you cling to yourself until their headlights vanish around a corner. 

You’re already packed. Everything’s in your car—clothing, tools, books, makeup and hygiene products, first aid kit—and you could just drive out of town, but you don’t. You toss the last purification ritual bag into the truck, sit behind the wheel, just stare into the darkness.

You need to call Bobby. You need to go. John wouldn’t kill you with an injured Dean to care for, but he’d seen. He had to have seen. And not leaving now would be a death sentence. 

But you just sit in the car. Sit in the cancerous darkness that’s alight in your body, the image of Dean’s pained features burned into your eyes, flashing in front of you whenever you blink. All that boiling hatred for Dean is gone. Evaporated into thin air, leaving you ill and pained and empty. John was right. You hadn’t been fast enough, and Dean got hurt. Your barrier against the poltergeist made it violent, and Dean got hurt. You’re the sick one. It’s why he left to begin with. 

He was better for it. He didn’t need you—no one needed you—and John’s threat hadn’t been empty, so you need to drive away and never look back.

And yet you end up in the motel parking lot. Hunched in your seat as you wait for just a little proof that Dean’s okay. That you hadn’t held him and shattered him, like he’d shattered you. You’re there until the sun breaks the sky, until it’s beating over your head and you have to crack the windows. 

You’re there when your phone starts to ring, and you realize you’d forgotten to call Bobby.

You’ve barely picked up when he starts shouting, and you flinch away from the speaker. 

He uses your full name. First, middle, and Singer. He only uses your full name when he’s proud of you, or furious. And this feels more like the latter. You’re in trouble.

“You wanna tell me,” he hisses. “Why John fuckin’ Winchester knows who you are?”

“I, uh-” You swallow, twisting a ring with your thumb. “I don’t-“

“And I ain’t gonna buy your bullshit, kid, that shit doesn’t work on me.”

You sigh. “Bobby, look-“

“No, you look. I didn’t teach you to be a goddamn idjit dumbass,” he snaps your name, and you curl a little further into your seat. “You know what he’d do to ya’. Shit, what are you plannin’ on doin’ if you have a slip? If he sees that hoodoo shit happen?”

“Um, he might have already seen it.”

There’s silence on the other end for a long second, then a low, “What.”

“We just finished a poltergeist case.” You mumble, hoping he’s too angry to catch onto the why are you on a poltergeist case part. “And it attacked Dean. And I killed it.”

Bobby says your name slowly. “How the hell did ya’ kill a-“

“With my hands. I just, um, burned it.” You take a long breath. “And I think John saw.”

“And he just let ya’ off the fuckin’ hook-“

“Dean got hurt.” You whisper, and the words sting your tongue. “He was focused on that.”

“Balls.” Bobby mutters, and you can picture the frown on his face. “Well, you’re outta there now, we can-“

“No.” You sigh. “I can’t go, I have to-“ You cut yourself off, because it sounds stupid in your head. You do not have to make sure Dean’s okay. He hates you, everything logical in your brain says that you should be remembering how to hate him any time soon, and he’s not yours tocare about. John made that clear with his threat. Dean made it clear by leaving. But you’re still in the parking lot. And you still have to make sure Dean’s okay.

Bobby says your name through the phone, his voice slow. “You gonna tell me what happened last year. On that moroi hunt.”

“I ran into the Winchesters-“

“I ain’t slow, kid, I worked that part out. What happened that made you call me and flop around the house like a widowed fish for a week.”

You bring your knees up to your chest, shaking your head. “It’s… I can’t-“

“What if I ask if that was Dean’s shirt.” Bobby grunts. “That you were wearin’.”

“Yeah.” You drop your head back on the seat, letting out a heavy exhale. “It-“ 

You freeze, watching Dean finally step outside like he’s been summoned. He’s walking slowly, but walking, and he seems really okay, and he’s looking around the parking lot with a frown-‘

Shit.

You drop down in your seat, out of the view of the parking lot, and pray he didn’t see you.

“Bobby, I gotta-“

“You ain’t goin’ anywhere, we still got some shit to sort out-“

“I’ll come right home.” You keep your voice hushed, in case it could carry on the wind. “And you can yell at me there.”

Bobby sighs. “I wasn’t gonna yell-“

“Yeah you were-“

“No-“

“Lying is a sin, Bobby.” You smile, carefully pulling the car keys out of your jacket. “You’re not a very good role model-“

“Well, I’m gonna fuckin’ yell at ‘ya now!” He snaps, but you can hear the slight amusement in his voice. “Get home quick, and we’ll deal with this. John don’t know you’re with me, and unless Dean needs a week after your hunt-“

“I think he’s fine.” You mumble, craning your head up to see Dean gone from the lot. “I’ll be safe at home.”

“Not if I kill ya’ for pullin’ this shit on an old man.” Bobby grunts, and you grin he falls silent, a long moment of static before- “You okay, kiddo?”

“I’m okay.” You mumble, and you’re not, but you will be. You always are. “And I’m really sorry for-“

“Apologizin’ ain’t gonna help us,” Bobby mutters. “Get home, and keep outta trouble till we sort this.”

You nod. “I will.”

You’ll try. Dean’s still pulling at you in your chest and consuming your head, but you’ll try. If only for Bobby’s sanity, you’ll really try.

You’ll pretend you don’t stay in the lot for a minute longer to watch Dean walk back to his room, that you don’t glance back at the room as you drive away, and you’ll keep yourself away of trouble. 

Away from Dean.

End Note: I’d say this story is about to be John vs Bobby on who’s a better dad, but that would be like making a mouse (John) fight a dragon (Bobby).

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[redbird-tf]

Leftovers

Dean x half little sister x sam

Summary; the brothers find out their younger sister has a bad habit of sneaking food sparking concern and tension between her and the brothers.

Word count:1.1k

Warnings: food issues, mention of child neglect

“Y/n you can't be serious”Sam said sarcastically, staring at you holding three bags-two duffles and a backpack. “What?” You retorted defensively with a shrug. Sam let out a sigh “It's a two-day job, there's no way you need all of that” he stated gesturing to your bags. “Can we get moving” Dean's voice came from behind you as he walked towards the door. “Dean, tell y/n she doesn't need all that stuff” Sam looked to his brother for backup and you scoffed. Dean gave you a once over and furrowed his brows, “Why all the stuff kid?” He asked confused. You gave another dismissive shrug “It's just my stuff, get off my back!” You snapped, pushing past them to the door But before you could get far, you felt a grip on your backpack. “Hey!” You shouted against Sam's grip. Dean could only roll his eyes at his younger siblings ' fight.

A loud zip echoed as Sam opened your backpack. “Granola bars? We’ve been out of these for three days.” Sam dug deeper “A half-eaten burger? Is this from the diner yesterday? I thought you finished it”Sam's frustration melted into confusion. You broke from his grip and snatched the food from his hands “It's just the food I'm saving” Your voice was low and hinted at humiliation. “Saving for what-“Sam was cut off by Dean's sharp cough. “Let's knock it off for now”Dean said firmly, trying to defuse the situation. Sam, however, wasn't ready to drop it “your sneaking food y/n? Why?” His questioning sounded more like an integration, making your gaze drop to the floor. “You think we’re gonna let you go hungry? You've lived with us for over a month and still don't trust us? I mean why-“his voice rose as his questions came faster “i said knock it off!” Dean’s voice bombed Making you both flinch.

Dean looked between the two of you and let out a sigh. “Y/n go to your room,”he said quietly but with authority. You opened your mouth to argue, but one look at Dean's stern expression made you back down. Pouting, you shoved the food back into your bag and trudged toward your room. Dean waited until you disappeared before turning to Sam. "Dude, you need to chill," he said with a raised brow. “Chill? Dean, she's sneaking food, still!” Sam argued throwing his hands to his side. “It's just a bad habit, we used to take food from the store and Bobby's house all the time” Dean shrugged. “Three months Dean, she's been living here for three months. She doesn't have a reason to be sneaking food anymore”sams frustration was clearly mixed with concern . “You think i don’t remember-“ he started “you don't” dean coldly cut him off. Sam froze, caught off guard. "You were just a kid, Sammy," Dean continued, his voice steady but intense. "I remember having to save every scrap of food we got because I didn't know when we'd eat next. I had to keep you fed." His voice was monotone, it often was in these moments to keep his composure.

Sam stared at his brother for a moment before his gaze dropped. “I didn't know” he muttered as silence filled the room. The tension broke with the sound of a chuckle, sam furrowed his brow and looked up at his brother in confusion. “What?” Sam asked, dean shook his head, leaning against the wall. "When we brought her here-and you insisted on taking her in—i was pissed. Hell, I resented her for it. I thought, 'Great, another mouth to feed!" He paused, running a hand over his face. “now i look at her and resent Dad. I mean- why didn't he let me take care of her, uh? I know I've screwed up with you before but, she didn't have to go through this life alone” dean clenched his jaw, he could feel Sam’s sympathetic eyes on him. “Dean it's not your fault” Sam tried to comfort him, but he knew Dean had been Big Brother a lot longer than him and the responsibility weighed heavy. Dean pushed himself off the wall with a sigh, “Find a way to apologize” he pointed at his brother before disappearing down the hall.

——————

"Knock knock," Dean said, peeking into your room.You sat at the edge of the bed cleaning your gun, with a sour expression. Dean stepped inside, hands tucked into his leather jacket. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "You know, kid, Sammy was just worried," he tried to explain.You lowered your gun with slumped shoulders "It's not a big deal... it's just food" you repeated, you knew it was much more than that but couldn't confront the embarrassment of your habit. Dean made his way to the bed and sat across from you "i know...but" Dean let out an awkward chuckle, then looked up to see your puppy eyes staring right back at him. "I used to do the same thing.Sammy was too young to remember, I just need you to understand something: I'm never gonna let you go hungry. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you before, but I'm here now. You don't ever have to worry about food again." Dean watched your eyes grew watery before quickly blinking them away. "Ok," you muttered with a quivering lip. A small sympathetic smirk tugged at Dean's lips "ok" he echoed and opened his arms. "Bring it in" you couldn't help but smile back, moving into his embrace. After a short moment dean pulled back and stood up. "Meet me at the car, we got a job to do" he stated and waited for you to nod back before leaving.

————-

Out by the Impala, Dean leaned against the car while Sam loaded the last of the bags into the trunk. When Sam turned, he saw you standing there, one bag lighter. He let out a relieved sigh but still looked guilty. “Y/n, I shouldn't have pushed you…im so sorry” his voice was gentle in comparison to just a few moments ago. You bit your check before giving another shrug “It's alright Sam” you mumbled with a weak smile. Sam stepped closer, bowing his head to meet your eyes “No, it's not fine. I didn't mean to make you feel bad. I just... I get caught up in wanting everything to be okay for you. I'm sorry i shouted." His apology was earnest, his hazel eyes full of regret. You hesitated, but his sincere tone melted your defense. "It's just something I'm used to doing. I guess it's hard to stop." You admitted quietly. Sam nodded his expression understanding."I get that. Habits like that are hard to break,”he said, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly.“I'm going to try, i promise” you stated seriously. Sam grinned and held out his pinky. "But Not alone. We're a family now, We'll figure this out together." You giggled softly and hooked your pinky with his. "Promise," he whispered butting his head against yours.

Dean clapped his together from his spot next to the car. “Are we done yet, ladies? We got a job to do” he teased. You rolled your eyes handed your bags off to Sam to load up and walked toward Dean. He opened your door for you and whispered a “proud of you kid” quiet enough for only you to hear. Settling into your seat, you looked out the window, a small, genuine smile playing on your lips. For the first time in a long time, the weight on your shoulders felt just a little lighter. With the rumble of the engine, the Impala roared to life, and the three of you set off down the road, ready for whatever the next hunt would bring.

[aylacavebear]

A Golden Thread

A/N: I don't have chapter 35 for Soulmates done, so I wanted to give you guys something. I hope you like this one.

Your life was normal. Some would even go as far as calling it boring. The small one-bedroom trailer on the outskirts of town was nothing special either, but it was home. Five years ago, your husband had left, due to the problems between the two of you. So, you had taken it upon yourself to fix things up, make this place more yours than the ours it had been. It took you a couple of years, but you healed and, in that time, grieved the loss of your marriage and husband. Even though he was on the fence about working things out, you had to find a way to keep going, so that meant believing things were over, even though you stuck to your vows.

Dean Winchester x OCF Reader/You

Word Count: 10,669

Warnings: Fluff, Angst (a little), Your World Getting Flipped Upside Down. Pretty sure that's all.

----------------------------------------- It was near autumn, the leaves already changing colors with the season. The oranges, yellows, and reds painted a beautiful landscape behind your home. The greens that mixed into it all made you smile on the mornings you’d sip your coffee from the couch, enjoying the quiet. Sometimes, you’d spend the day working on your home. Others would be spent working outside.

Then, there were days like today when the storms moved through. The sky was already dark with clouds. It still looked like early morning even though it was almost ten. Today, you’d relax with your favorite show, hot coffee, and in your pajamas. The weather channel had advised everyone to stay indoors if they could, as the storm would be a bad one by noon.

What you weren’t expecting was the power to go out only a half hour later as thunder cracked so loudly you had your covering your ears. Cautiously, you went to the window to look outside. It hadn’t even started raining yet. So far, just a lot of noise and a light show that danced along the dark clouds outside.

Grabbing your phone, you checked the weather. They were still calling for hail and heavy rain, possibly flooding. With a groan, you tossed your phone on the couch after turning it off. You would have found something on your phone to do but didn’t want to kill the battery just in case the power didn’t come back on. 

So, you began perusing the bookshelf in your living room, reading over the familiar titles of books you’d read several times already. Nothing really sparked your interest as a frown found your lips. “Great. Now I’m bored out of my mind,” you grumbled as you went to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. You looked out the kitchen window, bringing the cup to your lips as lightning stuck near the forest, barely missing a tree as an almost deafening crack of thunder shook the walls. “Jesus,” you breathed as the hairs on your body stood on end.

The ground had sparked where it had hit, but there was still a faint glow of something you couldn’t quite make out from this distance. You barely got your cup set down on the counter, your hands on the edge of the sink, trying to get as close to the window as you could when another crack of thunder startled you. Holding your chest as you attempted to catch your breath, you glanced out the window with a frown. “Stupid thunder,” you grumbled under your breath. 

Thinking quickly, you threw on your shoes, then slung your jacket over your shoulders, and out the back door you went. The wind had looked like it was blowing hard, but being in it, you had to hold your coat closed as it whipped your hair about, tangling it in knots. Shoulda put it up first. That didn’t deter you, but seeing how far away the glow was, you debated going back inside to wait out the storm.

Nah, I’ll be fine. Your curiosity won over reasoning, quickly. It was your downfall, your curiosity. With a new sense of determination after glancing up at the looming storm, you pressed on, your boots crunching over the brush below your feet. 

You swore the sky got a shade darker as you approached the glowing thing. Which to you looked like nothing more than a slightly thick golden thread. It had a golden glow to it, which illuminated the nearby area, but it didn’t really glow that brightly. “Weird,” you mumbled under your breath as you walked around it, trying to figure out what the hell it was. 

You grabbed a nearby branch off the ground with the intent of poking it, much like one would poke something to figure it out. However, it was like the end of the stick disappeared into it. Puzzled, you walked so that you could also see the back of it, and sure as shit, the part you poked it with, disappeared.

“What the fuck?” you breathed, tilting your head.

Now, any normal person probably would have chosen to use an object like a phone or a video recorder to see what was inside this thing. Not you. Nope. You decided to stick your head through it. The sounds of the storm faded away completely. On the other side of this strange golden thread thing was a beautiful old-style library. Your eyes widened as you looked through the large archway that led to another area, where you noticed a table and a staircase leading to a second floor. Well, that was what it looked like anyway.

Even in the silence of this strange place, you were able to pick up faint sounds of electricity and air through a ventilation system. You debated just going all the way through until you felt cold, wet drops making it through your pajama pants. Shit, the storm. And with that, you pulled your head out of the, well, whatever the hell it was.

The cold rain pelted your face the moment you straightened up. There was no time to think with as bad as the storm had gotten, running quickly back to your home as the wind and rain berated your body. Once you were inside, you shed your jacket, which was nearly soaked, then your shoes. “That was stupid,” you muttered on your way to your room for a dry pair of clothes and to brush out your sopping wet, tangled hair.

For the rest of the day, the storm raged on while you watched out the window in your living room. The power came back on around noon, but you didn’t go back to your show. Instead, you went to your laptop, trying to search out anything that would be remotely close to what you had found. The golden thread and the place inside it. 

There were a few times you wondered about what could pass through the thread. The stick you had held went through just fine. Your head had gone through fine as well. But when you had felt the water on your legs, you hadn’t noticed any of that on the floor on the other side of the thread. There wasn’t even a breeze or harsh wind like what had been pelting your back.

The cracks of thunder, the thudding of hail, or how the wind seemed to shake the walls while the rain pounded on your roof didn’t distract you from your task. Website after website you searched while drinking coffee. That was more for the warmth than the caffeine. 

“Nothing,” you mutter, sometime after nightfall, closing your laptop. You leaned back in your chair, feeling utterly defeated. Looking things up online and finding precisely what you were looking for had been a talent of yours for years. But this thing, whatever it was, was something the internet apparently had no knowledge of. 

After doing some cleanup and then setting up the coffee pot for the following day, you turned off lights as you made your way to your room for the night. You looked out the window one last time at the glowing thread. “I’ll figure it out tomorrow,” and with that, you headed to bed, hoping the sleep would help with a fresh start in the morning.

—-------------------------

The storm had passed, leaving quite a mess of branches and leaves all over the place. Doing yardwork wasn’t an issue for you. You liked being outside, but today, you were distracted by other things. It was only after seven, and you were already dressed, on your second cup of coffee, and packing a bag. 

The yard can wait.

It was a repetitive thought as you double-checked the items as you added them to your bag. Most of it was clothes, a few simple toiletries, and then a few items you didn’t want to accidentally leave behind. Having no clue what the thread led to or how long it might take you to get back home, you wanted to be prepared for anything.

Your laptop and charging cord were the last items you put into your bag before zipping it closed. With your phone in one pocket and your wallet in the other, you slipped on your favorite flannel, then your jacket. There were several smaller items in your jacket pockets that you thought might be handy, like a small flashlight, a lighter, a pocket knife, a lock-picking kit you’d had for years and were quite adept at using, and some snacks.

For a few moments, you stood there in your living room, glancing around at your home. Well, if I never come back, it’s not like there’s anyone who would miss me. You did decide to write out a quick note, just in case someone did come looking for you and you hadn’t made it home again, for whatever reason. 

With a smile on your face, determination coursing through you, and anxiety trying to tighten around your chest, you slung your bag over your shoulder and headed outside. One way or another, I’m gonna figure out what the hell that is and what the place on the other side is.

The storm had left quite a mess, but your focus was on the golden thread near the forest. Birds were doing their morning thing, as were the bugs, all of them flitting about as you continued walking. There were still clouds in the sky, but these were puffier, the light of morning dancing off of them beautifully as they slowly rolled across the sky. At least there won’t be rain today.

Your heart sped up the closer you got to the thread while your mind wandered to all the different possibilities. There were no windows. Perhaps it’s something underground, like a basement. Whoever it belongs to loves books. Someone wealthy, perhaps? It looked expensive, well-built. You absentmindedly adjusted the strap of your bag, the weight shifting on your shoulder as you approached the odd golden thread.

For a moment, you hesitated, glancing briefly back over at your home, the life you could potentially be leaving behind if this weird thread thing decided to lock you in that place on the other side. But, when you truly took the time to think about it, you weren’t leaving anything or anyone important behind.

Your job barely paid the bills and got you through each month. You had a husband who seemed happier now that the two of you were apart. Then there was your family, whom you hadn’t spoken to in more years than you could count. You didn’t have any children, and your home itself was falling apart.

“Fuck it,” you muttered as you stepped through the golden thread and into that weird, underground, windowless building.

The building, whatever it was, was temperature controlled, that much you could tell. The golden thread didn’t disappear, which helped the worry dissipate, at least for that. Now was the task of figuring out what this place was.

You spent a good hour attempting to explore this place, and you had barely managed to scratch the surface with as big as it was. There were all sorts of different rooms, all labeled. That staircase had led to another floor, sort of. It was the entrance, which you didn’t bother with for now. You didn’t want to accidentally get locked outside and away from the only thing that could get you home.

It had everything from a gun range to an infirmary and everything in between. The theme, you noticed, was from the forties or fifties. All that was down a maze of hallways off what you had deemed the map table room. It looked like an electronic version of the game Risk, which you found slightly amusing. Down the other side had been rooms, lots of them. What piqued your curiosity was that two of those rooms looked to be in current use. You looked at the things you felt comfortable looking at. The first one you had found looked well decorated, lived in, loved. There were weapons hanging on the walls, a few pictures on the desk of a mother and her son, then a family photo of four. There were so many little things you wanted to look through but didn’t want to intrude on someone’s privacy like that.

The other room didn’t look quite so lived it. It was more… barren compared to the first. There were things in there, just far less. Most of the other rooms looked unused. There were a few you questioned that could be used for guests with how they looked, but you didn’t want to make assumptions at the moment.

With a sigh, you set your bag on the floor next to one of the chairs in the library, then went over to the bookshelves. There has to be something here. You wanted answers, needed answers. What is that golden thread? What is this place? Why did it show up in my backyard? That and more kept playing on repeat in your head as you scanned the titles, looking for anything that might give you a clue.

—-------------------

The table in front of you was covered in books, another open directly before you, but none of them had the answers you had been seeking. The stuff in them reminded you of folklore or history, even of things in monster movies. You glanced down at your phone, then groaned. It had been four hours, and you weren’t any closer to solving this bizarre mystery.

Halfway through cleaning up, the sound of male voices pulled you from your task. You weren’t entirely sure which emotion was going to win out -curiosity or caution- as you stared at the opening of the library. Quickly glancing over at your bag, the mess on the table, then the golden thread, you made a quick decision.

You grabbed your bag, slung it over your shoulder, and stood near the golden thread. This way, if whoever it was that was heading in your direction was dangerous, you could attempt to make a quick getaway to your home. Or, at least, hide in the forest.

“I’m telling you, that spell didn’t work,” a frustrated deep male voice stated.

“And I’m telling you did. We just have to figure out where that portal opened up,” another male voice stated, not quite as deep.

“I’ll make some calls,” a slightly older male voice sighed just as the three made their way into what you had called the map table room. The moment they turned in your direction, they froze, for a split second before the shorter of the three pulled a gun and aimed it at you.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

You put your hands up quickly, not wanting to chance a bullet following you through the thread and hitting you if you tried to run. They all eyed you cautiously, just as you did them. “I’m Y/N. I came through that thread thing. It showed up in my backyard,” you explained, praying he wouldn’t shoot you.

Sam smacked his brother on the front of his shoulder, “Found the portal,” he practically chuckled. “Bet she’s the one we were looking for.”

“How the hell is she gonna help?” Dean stated, not lowering his gun, not wanting to believe.

Bobby just sighed, setting his hand over Dean’s gun. “Put it away. She’s harmless, and you’re just scaring her. Why don’t we try to get to the bottom of this before you make it worse, for her.”

For a moment, all you could do was stare at them, puzzled and curious. It didn’t help that the one in the middle, the shorter of the three, was fairly attractive. When he put his gun away, you lowered your hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I just wanted to find out what that thread was and what this place was.” You explained but had stayed near the thread.

“Have a seat, kid. We’ll explain what we know,” Bobby told you, taking a seat at one of the library tables, followed by the other two.

You sat near the thread. It was more of a ‘just in case’ for you. Plus, it made you feel a little safer. Although, you weren’t sure it really would have made a difference. The two younger ones looked like they could probably catch you if you attempted to make a run for it. They introduced themselves, then began explaining things.

“That thing you keep calling a thread is called a portal. It leads to a different dimension, yours,” Bobby explained, making you tilt your head slightly.

Sam leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as he clasped his hands together. “We needed help with the current problem we’re facing. There was a spell that would help us locate said help. At first, we thought it would show us a location on a map, but after doing some more research, we learned that if what we sought wasn’t in our dimension, it would open a portal to the world where said help was.”

Dean was just leaning back in his seat, sipping a glass of whiskey, watching you. It was hard to read his expression, but it was clear to you that his mind was working things out. The upside, you were hot, and he was having a hard time focusing on how you could possibly be the help they needed. Well, the help he needed. 

“So, what kind of help do you need, and with what?” you asked, trying not to sound as curious as you were. This was far more interesting than your life in your world. That thought alone, your world, almost made you chuckle. It felt like you were in an episode of the Twilight Zone.

The three of them looked at each other, and you quickly took note of their silent conversation. Interesting, you thought to yourself, just watching them. Sam opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, clearly unsure as to how to tell you. Bobby just got what you called his thinking face. Then there was Dean, who was staring at you intently.

His jaw was slightly clenched, his hand around his glass as it sat on the table. He looked relaxed, but there was tension in his shoulders, concern hidden in his gaze. “What do you know about the supernatural?” he asked, his tone tight.

“In your world, nothing. In mine, ghosts have been caught on film. Some say that angels are real, but I’ve never seen one. They say the same thing about demons, but I’ve never seen one of those, either. I’m a skeptic. I won’t say something doesn’t exist. However, I can’t say it does unless I have some sort of proof,” you explained, choosing to be honest with them since they didn’t seem like they meant you any harm.

If it hadn’t been for the books you’d read earlier, you might have thought the whole monster thing was crazy. They spent a good hour giving you the rundown on the supernatural in their world, and you swore you really were in some episode of the Twilight Zone. They were clearly serious about it all, and you had no reason not to believe them. Then, you furrowed your brow, confused. “So, what is in my world that will help you with whatever it is you need help with?” 

Again, there was silence, and again, the three of them shared a silent conversation. It was mildly frustration that they wouldn’t just tell you what they needed. That was when a man appeared behind the three, out of the blue, wearing a light brown trench coat.

“So, did the portal work?” he asked, hopeful.

Dean rolled his eyes, “Yeah, Cas. The portal worked.” He sighed, gesturing to you near the end of the table.

Cas looked over at you. At first, he had a completely neutral expression, then a smile slowly spread to his lips as his entire expression brightened. “Wonderful. I’ll get the binding rings,” he stated happily before Dean grabbed his arm to stop him.

“We never got to that part,” he grumbled.

You deadpanned and crossed your arms. “Will one of you tell me what you need from my world and why?” Your tone was demanding, but at least it came out as you intended, even if you didn’t understand what this Cas person was.

Without skipping a beat, Cas answered you. “You’re here to save Dean’s life. His soul is in danger of being taken to Hell due to a curse put on him by a witch. Crowley can’t even stop it. The only way to save him was to find his soulmate and then use the binding rings to break the curse. He only has a couple of days left before the curse completes itself.”

The information had you stunned, and for a few moments, all you could do was blink blankly at the four of them. You weren’t sure how long the silence had stretched before you walked over, snagged the bottle of whiskey, took a decent swig, and then returned to your chair. Dean just raised an eyebrow, finding you a little more interesting than he initially had.

“Okay. Care to explain that to me in a way I’d understand it a little better? Like, what’s a soulmate? How could that even be since I’m from a different world? What all is entailed with the binding ring thing you mentioned?” you asked, rattling off the questions that were off the top of your head.

Dean watched you sip his bottle of whiskey, finding it interesting how you hadn’t even flinched from the burn of the initial drink. He also couldn’t help the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. You were interesting, and that was putting it mildly. Perhaps being bound to you might not be so bad after all. 

Before Cas could say a word, Bobby leaned forward, “Soulmates are common here. Everyone has one. They just don’t always find each other, for various reasons. We have a feeling that the witch who cursed Dean knew that his soulmate wasn’t in our world. That’s why he got the curse instead of Sam.” 

“Occasionally, soulmates are in different worlds. It’s rare, but it happens. It just depends on what the soul has chosen for its current existence,” Cas added, still smiling happily at you.

“In your world, do you have anything like Twin Flames or something like a deep connection to someone? Kind of like, that person feels like your other half? You two just, get along really well, like you’re meant for each other?” Sam asked, hopeful that might help.

“Yeah, there are things like that in my world,” you replied, choosing not to think about your husband, who you thought you had that with, but it had clearly been one-sided. Then, the three of them just sort of stared at you, like they were expecting you to say something else. “What?” you asked, not sure what they wanted.

Cas furrowed his brow, slowly walking closer to you while the other three just stared. “Do I have something on my face?” you asked, utterly puzzled. What you were unaware of was that the portal behind you was slowly closing, and as it did so, your form of this world was taking over. You weren’t changing much. “How interesting…” Cas murmured the closer he got as your eyes followed his movements. “I thought your kind was extinct.”

“My what?” you asked, trying not to get frustrated or worried.

Catching movement out of the corner of your eye, you looked over at Sam, who was pointing toward your head. You reached up, but slowed your movements to nearly freezing when you felt them. They were soft, furry, and there was one on either side of your head. They even twitched when your fingers bruised the sensitive hairs near the edge.

“I have cat ears?!” you exclaimed, your gaze going up, wanting to see them, even though you knew you couldn’t.

“And a tail,” Cas added, intrigued. 

Your head snapped around, looking behind you. And sure enough, swaying slightly as the tip flicked in annoyance was a slightly fluffy cat tail in a shade of fur that matched your hair color. Dean couldn’t stop the smirk that found his lips. He had a thing for anime, and your appearance was nearly a dream come true.

As you stood up, turning a bit more so you could see your tail better, you realized you were far more flexible than you had ever been in your life. That was about the time you noticed that the portal was gone. With a sigh, you plopped back down in your seat. “Will one of you please just give it to me straight,” you sighed, your gaze on the space of table before you. Then, you took another long swig of the whiskey.

Cas was now standing next to you, completely curious and intrigued by you. “You’re a Touched. From the looks of it, of Bastet. I don’t know what abilities you possess, but I know the base of it is that you are like a cat.” As he explained, he walked to the other side of you, still staring at you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Will that affect the binding spell?” Sam asked, now worried a bit that his brother might still be in danger.

“No. No. She is definitely his soulmate. So, the binding spell won’t be affected at all by what she is.” he answered as you took another drink of whiskey.

“So, I’m basically a cat person,” you mumbled as your eyes fell to the wedding ring on your finger as the gold glinted briefly in the light. Should have left that behind, too.

Bobby had stayed quiet, watching you, trying to gauge what was going through your head. “Cas, Sam, let’s leave these two alone for a bit. Dean still has a couple days. She has the right to say no,” he told them as he stood, gave you a friendly nod just as you looked up, and headed toward the kitchen.

Sam gave his brother a reassuring smile, as well as a squeeze of his shoulder, before following Bobby. Cas just poofed and was gone. You just grabbed the bottle of whiskey and took another drink while Dean watched you, unable to look over at him. If you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t sure what to feel, let alone think. To top it off, you were some sort of cat person now in a world that wasn’t yours, and as far as you knew, you couldn’t go home.

Dean caught the glint of light off your ring when you took another drink, his brows furrowing as he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. Without saying a word, he got up, closed the distance between the two of you, and grabbed your wrist. It wasn’t hard or anything. It just surprised the hell out of you.

“You’re married?” he asked, far gruffer than he had wanted to. All of a sudden, this whole thing felt wrong. He wasn’t about to take you from someone who loved you. His soulmate was taken, and that almost made him feel sick.

You yanked your wrist from his grip, taking another drink of the whiskey. “Doesn’t matter, since I can’t go back anyway,” you grumbled, more at his behavior than his question.

He sighed and sat next to you, taking the whiskey bottle which pulled your attention. That was when you saw his expression soften as you frowned, your ears drooping. “I’m sorry,” he began, far gentler than he had been. “I didn’t mean to take you from your home, from…” he sighed, gesturing to your ring. “I’m not worth leaving that.”

That was when you realized what he was getting at and couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up from deep in your chest. Dean just looked at you, having no clue what you found so funny. It did take you almost a minute to catch your breath, your ears no longer droopy in any way. You were still chuckling as you slipped the ring off your finger. “This? The man that gave it to me doesn’t love me or want me. He left me five years ago but refused to send the divorce papers, choosing to string me along for a while and then not talk to me for weeks or months on end,” you explained, feeling an odd sense of peace wash over you now that the ring was off your finger.

“I… I had no idea…” he trailed off, letting his gaze fall to the bottle in his hand as it rested on the table. 

“You could of just asked,” you replied, a little softer this time. He looked like he was struggling with a lot, and you didn’t want to pry. “I don’t have anything to go back to. No friends. No family that mattered. A home that was falling apart and a dead-end job that barely got me through each month,” you chuckled a little at the end, looking up at him while setting the ring on the table.

There were so many things he wanted to ask you, but every time he allowed himself to look into your eyes, all he managed to do was get lost in them. He wanted to hold you close, tell you that he’d never treat you like that, but he couldn’t bring himself to make words. What could he tell you that might make any of this easier? “You can say no,” he practically whispered. “And, I’d find a way to send you back, if you wanted that.”

It was your turn to furrow your brow, wondering if he had even been listening. “I have nothing worth going back to.” Then you looked away from him, wondering if perhaps it was you and your current appearance. “I’d understand, if you didn’t want me either,” you mumbled, taking the whiskey bottle from him and taking another drink.

Dean frowned as he looked at you. “That’s not what I said,” he grumbled, “...and drinking won’t help.” He added, taking the bottle from you, again. He let out a frustrated sigh, but it wasn’t at you. “Look. I’ve never had a real relationship. I tried once, a long time ago, but it didn’t work out. Being a hunter… Well, it makes that sort of thing… complicated.”

You looked up at him, meeting his emerald-green eyes while your ears and tail twitched in curiosity. “Fair,” you began, then thought for a moment, wondering if you could get him to talk to you on a deeper sort of level. “What does this whole binding spell entail, and what will it do? Why don’t we get the complicated things out of the way first? If your friend says we’re soulmates, then maybe we can figure this out, and maybe, just maybe… we’ll both find something with each other that we thought we never would.” You knew it was a long shot. You barely knew anything about this man, and he knew even less about you.

He didn’t even realize that a smile was toying with his lips. You were sweet while also to the point, and you seemed to be a caring person. He just wasn’t sure he could give you what he felt you deserved. And so far, you seemed like the kind of person that deserved that fairy tale sort of love.

“The binding spell would bind your soul to this dimension and our souls together the rest of the way. The way Cas explained it was that because you’re from a different dimension, we won’t feel what soulmates feel when they meet each other. It’ll be way diluted,” he explained, trying to keep it simple while being direct. Dean wasn’t about to admit how he was loving the way your ears twitched as you listened.

“It’s really simple. We put the herbs the spell calls for, then a couple drops of our blood in a bowl. Cas holds the rings over the bowl, tosses in a match, recites the spell, then we put the rings on each other. It’s kinda like marriage but not completely,” Dean chuckled, hoping the whole thing wouldn’t completely scare you off. Hell, he had almost dismissed even looking for you when they found this solution.

Well, I guess it could be worse, you thought to yourself as he spoke, not even realizing how easy it seemed to be able to relax around him. You took a few moments to think it over while also taking in his features. He seemed like a decent person. He wasn’t pushing you to do this against your will, and it was clear he had people who cared about him. 

Then there were his looks. Typically, you didn’t go for looks, as they could be deceiving. He was more than handsome, and those green eyes of his held an intensity that captivated you. Dean had the kind of attractiveness that reminded you of a movie star or model. Typically, someone you figured wouldn’t look twice at you. 

“You’d really be okay, stuck with me?” you asked, this time being a little more serious.

Dean’s expression instantly softened, although he also couldn’t believe you’d ask that sort of thing. “I could list all sorts of reasons I’m okay being stuck with you, and I only met you a couple hours ago,” he smirked.

Charming and a flirt, and he clearly knows it. “Like?” you asked, trying to think past the thoughts his smirk made play out in your mind.

He tilted his head, but only slightly. Plenty of things ran through his head, most of them starting with your ears and tail, but he pushed those aside. “To start, you don’t freak out easily. You traveled through a portal, having no clue where it would take you, and there was a high chance you would never get home. That takes guts, determination, and confidence in your ability to survive in a strange place,” he began, being completely serious with you now. 

“Then there’s the fact that you didn’t just run back through the portal when three guys show up and start talking to you about soulmates and all that. You also didn’t freak out when Cas just appeared and disappeared,” he chuckled, as he had found your ability to keep calm and process information both admirable and attractive.

Dean smiled a little, watching your ears twitch with interest while your tail swayed lazily behind you. “You’re curious. I like that. So far, you’re sweet too. You want all the details so you can make an informed decision. That tells me you’re intelligent and think logically. That’s attractive to me,” he winked, and you were having a hard time not blushing. Not even your husband had said things like this to you. Well, at least not in a while.

“Just the fact that you’re considering helping a complete stranger in this regard is a quality that’s rare in people,” he continued as a soft, almost gentle smile teased his lips. “You care about others. There’s a gentleness in your eyes that I don’t often see, and I’ve met a lot of people over the years. You’re beautiful, both inside and out.”

That was when you felt the warmth in your cheeks as the blush depended. If he was trying to sweep you off your feet with only words, he was doing a damn good job of it. You caught movement out of the corner of your eye. His hand had twitched like he wanted to do something, and he caught how your eyes had darted to the movement and then back to his eyes.

“Then, there’s the ears and tail,” he added with a teasing tone and a smirk to match. “Those are every anime lover’s dream right there.”

You ducked your head a little, blushing deeply at that point, and you knew that if you went through with this spell, life with him was going to be very interesting. “You’re cute when you blush,” he whispered, and you hadn’t even noticed that he had leaned a little closer to you.

It was his scent that made your breath hitch. Now that you had gained the senses of a cat, you could smell things that you couldn’t before. Since he had moved closer to you, you’d been trying to ignore it the best you could. However, when he had leaned even closer, it was like it had surrounded you.

You took a shaky breath, attempting to steady your nerves again. “And you’re a flirt,” you teased back, finally meeting his gaze. Then, you had to try not to get lost in his eyes.

Dean chuckled, “There’s another one. You’re playful. I like that too.” You deadpanned playfully, unable to keep a completely straight face. He was getting to you, and he knew it. “But in all seriousness,” he began, finally reaching up and cupping your cheek. “...in the little time I’ve been around you, I like you, and not just your physical beauty. I like who you are.”

This man is seriously going to be the death of me. The way he gently rubbed his thumb on your cheek, the tenderness in his eyes, and how your heart skipped a beat while the butterflies danced in your stomach made you feel like a teenager again. Your husband hadn’t brought those feelings out in you in a long time.

You let out a shaky breath, attempting to think, but before you could manage to get a word out, he pulled back, giving you some space. Briefly, you wondered if perhaps he felt more of a pull toward you than you did with him. “Why don’t we get to know each other better?” he suggested, taking a sip of his whiskey, relaxing into his chair.

The two of you spent the next several hours in the library, lost in a world that was just the two of you. You told him about your life back in your dimension, some of your favorite foods, music, your boring job, and how much you loved baking but hadn’t done it very much since it was just you. Dean was quite interested in the fact that you could bake, but he tried not to interrupt you, no matter how many questions went through his head. He did make a mental note of the things the two of you had in common.

He shared with you his life on the road, the monsters he’d had to face and take down, how many times he had died and come back, and his Baby, which you thought was a person until he explained it was his car. Dean even promised to take you for a drive, several if you’d let him. The way you listened kept his eyes on you. You had genuine interest in who he was, beyond the hunter he had been.

“So, did you two want to have dinner with us, or should I just get a couple candles?” Sam teased as he made his way up the couple of steps into the library.

You jumped a little and blushed while Dean just chuckled, taking one more look at you before his brother. “What’s dinner? Please tell me it isn’t more rabbit food,” Dean groaned teasingly. He’d never admit that there were times he didn’t mind eating something healthy.

Sam just gave him a bitch face, and you burst into laughter. I think I’m gonna like it here, you thought to yourself. “Well, everyone knows cats are carnivores. So, no rabbit food for me,” you stated in a matter-of-factly tone, getting in on the playfulness. Sam’s expression never changed.

“Great. Now I have to put up with two of you,” he grumbled, almost glaring at Dean when the two of you erupted in laughter. Sam wouldn’t admit it, but he truly hoped you would say yes and stay there. He hadn’t seen his brother this relaxed in a while.

After managing to catch your breath, you finally looked back up at Sam. “I’m okay with rabbit, I mean, healthy food. Just don’t make me only eat healthy food, please,” you told him, a little softer as a smile began toying with his lips.

“Oh, she is so a keeper,” Sam chuckled. “Dinner’ll be ready in about ten minutes,” he added before heading back into the kitchen, still chuckling slightly.

When you looked back at Dean, all those teenager feelings washed over you. I’m a grown-ass woman. I shouldn’t be feeling like a damned teenager. It was how he was looking at you. It wasn’t quite desire, but it wasn’t quite longing. It wasn’t quite anything specific, and that was the frustrating part. It really was a little bit of everything all rolled into one.

Whether Dean would admit it or not, he knew it was over for him. You had his heart. That both terrified and puzzled him. Well, sort of. He figured he was destined to be alone. Over the years, he had met a lot of people and not once had he come across his soulmate. So, he figured he just didn’t have one. Plus, being a hunter, he wasn’t exactly guaranteed a long life. 

The moment his eyes had landed on you in the library, he felt like he couldn’t breathe, but also like, for the first time in his life, he could truly take a deep breath. It wasn’t your physical beauty, although, to him, you had looked like an angel. He hadn’t been able to find words, so he had stayed quiet. Then, when the two of you did start talking, he found his mind wandering to things he had given up years ago.

Then you got mouthy in a playful way with his brother, like you had been friends for years, and those three little words nearly slipped out when you looked at him again. God, I am in so much trouble, he thought to himself, swallowing hard and taking a shaky breath. “He still didn’t tell us what dinner was,” Dean chuckled, trying to find the confidence he typically had tons of around women, but around you, it seemed to falter.

You chuckled with him. “Then I’m gonna guess it’s rabbit food for dinner.” Dean glanced toward the kitchen, then back at you as a mischievous smile teased his lips. “Come on,” he said quickly, taking your hand in his as he stood, already moving toward the archway of the library.

Your lips parted as you let him lead you somewhere, but you weren’t looking where. Your eyes were on him. He looked how you felt, like a giddy teenager and it made you smile. Dean led you down a hallway, then another, through a door, and down a spiral staircase. His hand was warm around yours, and you didn’t want to let go, but when you saw his Baby, you did.

He watched as you took in the car, gently running your hand over her hood. “She’s beautiful,” you whispered, a soft smile toying with your lips as you made your way to the passenger side where Dean was. With his heart hammering in his chest, he opened the door for you, closed it once you were seated comfortably, and jogged over to the driver’s side. Sam’s gonna kill me. He had that boyish grin on his lips as he started the engine, glancing at you just in time to see you smile, your hand resting on the dash. I hope she decides to stay. He took a deep breath before pulling out of the garage as AC/DC Thunderstruck played in the background. You rested your arm on the open window, then looked over at Dean, smiling at his antics. “So, where are we going?” you asked, enjoying his spontaneity. 

“For real food,” he smirked, pressing down on the gas as he got to the road, the purr of the engine easing the tension in his shoulders. 

You watched him as he drove, totally forgetting about your ears at the moment and how other people might react to them. Dean looked relaxed behind the wheel, like he belonged there. Or perhaps it was a place where he could just be himself. No one around to put on a front for. It wasn’t until the wind from the open window kept hitting the sensitive hairs near your ear, making it twitch, that you remembered them.

“Umm… what about my ears and my tail?” you asked, frowning a little that he’d probably just take you back to the bunker now.

He glanced over at you, then back at the road while he considered that. “Well, I’ve got a bandana we could cover your ears with. It’s in the glove box. I can hit the drive-through, and we can eat somewhere else. I’ve got the perfect spot,” he answered as his smile only grew.

Upon opening the glove box, you found the bandana and a slew of other things. It looked slightly new, but it had clearly been used for wiping greasy hands on. Dean pulled over and put the Impala in park, then shifted so he was slightly facing you. Without giving you a chance, he playfully plucked the bandana out of your hands, then draped it over your head as you met his gaze. 

He gently tied it under your chin, carefully flattening your ears, not wanting to hurt you. “I’m okay,” you told him, watching his expression as he watched your ears beneath the bandana. 

After he adjusted it a little, he leaned back and looked at you, a smile finding his lips again, “Perfect.”

Dean got the two of you back on the road while you shifted so that your tail was against the door instead of on the other side of you. This way, if someone looked in his window, they wouldn’t see your tail. It was a comfortable day, but your gaze was on Dean as he drove, the small town shops passing by unnoticed by you. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, being bound to him. So, that was what you thought about, how life might be, with him. Dean, on the other hand, was thinking about you in ways he’d given up so long ago. Could he dare to dream again?

After Dean ordered the two of you burgers and fries, he drove to a little clearing in the forest near the bunker and parked. There was a skip in his step as he went over and opened your door, holding his hand out and helping you out. “Wait right here,” he told you, feeling giddy and nervous simultaneously, mostly because you could still say no. 

His excitement was infectious, bringing a playful chuckle out of you as you watched him. Dean grabbed a blanket out of the trunk of the Impala, then the food before setting it up like a sunset picnic in the woods. You couldn’t see the horizon to watch the sun set, but the sky above the clearing changed with beautiful shades of oranges, reds, and yellows the further down the sun got. 

By the time the stars came out, you and Dean had finished eating, sitting across from each other and talking about whatever topic came up. That was about when Dean realized you were still wearing the bandana over your ears. He slid closer to you, less than a foot away, as he carefully undid the tie under your chin. Slowly, he slipped the bandana off your ears, watching in the moonlight as they straightened out, twitching slightly with the sounds of the forest around the two of you.

You had nearly gotten lost in his eyes with as close as he’d gotten. There were so many emotions swimming in those emerald orbs that it took your breath away. When he didn’t pull away immediately, your lips parted slightly while your tail flopped lazily behind you.

If it wasn’t for Dean’s phone going off, again, he probably would have kissed you. You saw what you thought might be frustration as he tended to his phone.

“I’m fine. She’s fine. God, we’re not even that far away,” he grumbled, sitting up a little straighter with the phone to his ear.

A quiet giggle slipped out as you watched him. It was intriguing to you that you could also hear the person on the other end of the line.

“What are you two doing? And don’t say sex, Dean,” Cas stated bluntly, to which Dean groaned.

“I took her out for real food, alright? We’ll be back in a bit,” Dean sighed, not wanting to get into it over the phone. He knew Cas knew about how he was with women, but you were different. You weren’t just some hookup to take his mind off his everyday life.

“Has she said yes yet?” Cas asked, sounding hopeful.

Another sigh left Dean’s lips, “No. I’m not gonna push her either,” he answered sternly.

His friends really care about him, you thought to yourself, just watching him as he spoke on the phone. The two went back and forth for a bit longer before he hung up the phone, slumping forward a little with his phone in his hand in his lap. He hadn’t even noticed that you had scooted a little closer.

“You’d rather let this curse kill you than feel like you forced me into this, wouldn’t you?” you asked quietly, the softness of your voice nearly pulling his gaze to yours.

For several long moments, he was quiet, not quite sure how to say what was going through his head. “My life, it’s not easy. I could die on any case I go on, and that isn’t fair to you. If you go through with the binding process, and I end up dying, the pain you’ll feel will be worse because we’re soulmates,” he explained quietly. Dean never was one who was good with words, but he was trying.

You tilted your head a bit and watched him again. “Then my answer is yes,” you told him softly.

His head snapped up, staring at you as the emotions flooded his system, unable to latch onto any single one. “Why?” was about the only word he could manage to get out.

A small smile found your lips. “You’re a good man with a good heart,” you replied softly, and the tenderness in your eyes nearly took his breath away. 

It took everything in him not to just kiss you, but a smirk slowly found his lips. “You’re amazing,” he breathed out, trying to catch his breath and keep his body in check.

You giggled as a light blush made its way to your cheeks. “And you’re adorable.” He had to hold himself back, but you didn’t miss the tiny movement he restrained. You absentmindedly licked your lips, the movement catching his eyes for a brief second.

Dean took a shaky breath, forcing his mind to focus on anything other than you: your lips, the way your ears twitched, the sparkle in your eyes, and how close you had gotten. “We should, uh… head back,” he muttered, feeling like a teenager again. 

An almost disappointed feeling settled into your stomach. “Alright,” you replied, not sure what had happened or why he was pulling away. To you, it seemed like an amazing moment for a first kiss, but you weren’t going to push for it.

The two of you cleaned up in an awkward silence, which followed you on the drive back to the bunker. Both of you lost in your own thoughts of how the evening had gone. He was pulling into the bunker’s garage before you knew it. Again, he opened your door for you, and as the two of you walked into the room with the map table, your hand brushed against his. 

Before either of you could even process how it had felt, Sam and Cas were standing there. You could practically feel the worry that seemed to be coming off them in waves. “Um, is there a room or place I can sleep tonight?” you asked, trying to find a topic that wasn’t about the binding spell, even though you’d said yes.

Sam glanced at Dean, another one of those silent conversations that you mentally told yourself you’d figure out. “Yeah, I’ll show you,” Sam replied, gesturing toward the hallway behind you.

As you walked away with Sam, Cas looked back at Dean. “Well?” he asked, both curious and slightly impatient.

“Well, what?” Dean played stupid, trying to sort through what being around you did to him. He wasn’t used to having to control himself this much or having all those emotions at the surface. Typically, he kept them buried, dealing with them alone.

Cas rolled his eyes. “Dean, this is serious.”

Dean couldn’t help it nor control the smile that began taking over his lips again at just the thought of you. “She said yes,” he finally admitted, and there was hope in his eyes again and a giddiness in his tone.

Cas’s smile went to his eyes. “I’ll get everything ready.”

—---------------

“So, how’d it go?” Sam asked, finding the silence a little awkward as he walked you down the hallway toward the rooms.

“It went really good. Dean seems like a good guy,” you replied, still mulling over how different he was from in the library to when the two of you were having dinner together.

He glanced down at you, finding the height different kind of adorable. “He is. He just doesn’t always know how to let people in. So, if he tries to push you away or seems distant, it’s because of that,” Sam explained gently.

A small smile tugged at your lips as his hesitance earlier finally made sense. “Thanks. That helps. So, should I give him space or try to comfort him when he does that?” you asked, looking up at him as both of you stopped in the hallway.

For a moment he looked down at you as he processed what your words meant. “You said yes, didn’t you?” he asked, unable to hide his joy, for multiple reasons.

You giggled, “Yeah. How could I say no? I mean, he seems genuine. Plus, he’s hot,” you replied, adding the last part not only to lighten the mood but because it was true.

Sam laughed playfully, “Then you’ll probably be sharing Dean’s room.”

That made you blush and look away. You hadn’t considered that part yet, mainly because you weren’t sure what would happen after the binding spell. Not completely, anyway. “Oh,” you replied sheepishly.

He chuckled a bit more before he put his arm over your shoulders, leading you back out to the war room. “Come on. He’s probably out there smiling like an idiot while Cas is setting things up.”

The blush in your cheeks only deepened, but inside, you felt giddy, like a teenager about to talk to her crush. “He likes you, you know. You’re not just some random girl to him. I could tell when I asked you two about dinner. Then, when he took off like he did with you,” he laughed quietly. “I’ve never seen him this smitten before.”

His words warmed your heart in a way you couldn’t express. “Honestly, I’m a little smitten with him too,” you admitted shyly.

That brought a relieved smile to his lips. This could have gone so differently had things gone bad. Not only was he not going to lose his brother, but in a way, he was gaining a sister, you. 

—----------------------

Sam hadn’t been wrong. Dean was leaning against the library table where Cas was attempting to focus on the spell while talking to Dean. Dean, however, had his arms crossed with a goofy smile adorning his face, lost in his thoughts.

“Dean, this would go faster if you would help,” Cas told him, slightly frustrated as he placed another amount of another herb into the bowl.

“Sorry. Just thinking about getting to kiss her,” he replied dreamily.

Cas rolled his eyes, “That’s at the end.”

The smile on Dean’s face only got bigger, “I know,” he sighed just as dreamily.

“What’s this about a kiss?” you asked, your tone a little teasing as you and Sam entered the library, instantly pulling Dean from his daydream.

He straightened up, clearing his throat and trying to compose himself. “Um, we have to uh… kiss, after Cas does the spell,” Dean answered, trying desperately not to sound nervous or too eager.

Sam went to help Cas, barely keeping his amusement in check at his brother’s behavior while you went over and stood in front of Dean. You didn’t miss how he took a shaky breath when your eyes met his. For a brief moment, you wondered if, to him, it was like he was marrying you, but you didn’t want to ask.

“Are you nervous about kissing me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, but your tone was playful, drawing a larger smile from him.

“No,” he replied, trying to sound confident as the butterflies danced to a rave in his stomach. Dean was having a hard time not giving in to the feelings of pulling you into his arms just to be that much closer to you. He wasn’t entirely sure how much stronger it would get after Cas did the spell.

You smiled up at him, “Good. I’d hate for my soulmate to be nervous of something like that.” 

The playfulness of your tone had Dean biting his bottom lip, instantly drawing your attention to the movement. You absentmindedly licked your own, and you swore you heard a faint groan slip from Dean. 

“Are you two just gonna stare at each other, or are you ready?” Sam asked, trying not to let his amusement get the better of him. 

When you turned away, Dean let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “What do I need to do?” you asked, tilting your head, just a bit.

Cas directed you to stand near the bowl of herbs, Dean next to you. Each of you held out your left hand near the bowl. “I have to make a cut on your hand when it’s time,” Cas explained gently.

“Dean told me earlier. It’s okay,” you replied with a reassuring smile.

Dean was in utter awe of you. In less than a day, your entire world had quite literally changed, and now, you were about to open up a connection to someone you had just met. Yeah, the two of you had talked and gotten to know each other a little, and he’d told you the things he liked about you, but there were no words that he could find that truly conveyed his admiration of you.

You were watching Cas, listening to the Latin words as he spoke them, wishing you could understand what the words meant. Dean, though, was watching you, completely lost in everything that was you. The only thing that pulled him from his thoughts was the blade across his palm, a hiss leaving his lips.

“You could have warned me,” he grumbled, making Sam chuckle.

“I did. You weren’t paying attention,” Cas stated plainly before cutting your hand. Both of you tilted your hands, balling them into fists as your blood dripped down into the bowl. Sam wrapped your hand in a bandana, then Dean’s, as Cas continued with the spell. You watched as Cas lit a match, picked up the binding rings, and tossed the match into the bowl.

As the smoke danced through the air, Cas moved the binding rings through the smoke, saying a few more words in Latin before he turned to the two of you. He then handed one ring to each of you. So far, you didn’t feel any different when you took one of the rings from Cas.

It looked like a simple ring made of some sort of metal. You just weren’t entirely sure what, but you didn’t have long to contemplate its material as Dean held his right hand out to you. He had said it was only like marriage. With a small, soft smile, you slipped the ring on his ring finger, noticing how he let out a shaky breath.

Then, he took your right hand in his, trying to prepare himself for what was to come as he slid the ring on your ring finger. His hands only trembled slightly, but he held yours as his eyes slowly lifted to your face. Your ears were twitching as your tail swayed almost happily behind you. He barely heard the last few lines of the spell as Cas spoke them before there was silence, and you tilted your head. “Dean?” Cas asked, a little confused as to why he hadn’t kissed you yet. “I’m done with the spell.”

Sam chuckled as you smiled a little, but Dean couldn’t seem to bring himself to move. So, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You reached up and cupped his cheek, then stood on your tiptoes since he was a bit taller than you. For a moment, you searched his expression for anything that might show hesitation. When you found none, you placed your lips on his and closed your eyes.

It was enough to pull Dean into the moment, one of his hands moving to your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he moved his lips against yours. That was when you felt it move through you, a warmth that was different than anything you’d felt before. Neither of you even noticed that Cas and Sam were already cleaning up, too lost in the moment with each other.

Your body instinctively moved to be closer to him, and he didn’t shy away. You were his now, and he was going to spend every day showing you just how much you meant to him. When he did finally pull away, he rested his forehead against yours, trying to catch his breath. As your eyes met his, a smile found your lips, but it began tugging into a playful smirk. “So, since I saved your life, looks like you owe me one,” you teased playfully, a small chuckle slipping out.

Dean had completely forgotten about having been cursed, so the look of surprise that found his expression was genuine, but Sam chuckled in the background. “Yup, she’ll fit in just fine,” Sam teased his brother, making him roll his eyes.

Then, Dean’s lips curled into a smirk, mischief dancing in his eyes. “You’ll only get to hold that over my head for so long,” he replied in a low, gruff teasing that sent a tantalizing shiver down your spine.

“We’ll see,” you quipped but squealed in surprise when he picked you up bridal style, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck to hold on. A deep laugh erupted from him as he began carrying you toward the hallway.

“I like your smartmouth, too. Let’s see what else it’s capable of,” he told you in a teasing whisper.

Your heart sped up as your breathing hitched, but you licked your lips as all sorts of thoughts began playing through your mind. As you watched him while he carried you to his room, a smile found your lips, and you realized quickly that you would never leave him. That somehow, the two of you would be able to get through anything life in this world threw at the two of you. It brought a sense of peace to you that you’d never had before, and you relaxed against his chest, letting out a content sigh. 

No matter how hard things get, I’m not going anywhere.

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[deansbeer]

a hunter's remedy ⎯⎯ DEAN WINCHESTER.

⎯⎯ trapped in a motel with dean, you find unexpected relief from restlessness through helpful distractions.

YAP SESH! i swear i have the worst dean brainrot ever. he js won't leave my head no matter what i do. also gonna watch supernatural tonight for spooktober<3

WARNING(S) smut | friends with benefits | S1!DEAN | thigh riding | strong language. ୨ৎ EIGHTEEN PLUS! ADULT CONTENT | minors do NOT interact.

୨ৎ JENSEN'S LIBRARY.

you sat across from dean at the rickety motel table, your eyes occasionally flicking between the worn pages of john's journal and dean's focused expression. it had been hours since sam left for the library, promising to return with more information about the case, and the sun had long since dipped below the horizon.

your leg bounced restlessly under the table, a nervous habit you'd developed over years of hunting. the original plan had been to hit the local bar—a much-needed break from the constant research and hunting—but sam's extended absence had relegated you and dean to more case work.

"would you cut that out?" dean's gruff voice broke through the silence, his green eyes fixed on your fidgeting form. "you're making the whole table shake."

you mumbled an apology, trying to still your movements, but the restless energy continued to course through your body. your relationship with dean was... complicated. best friends who occasionally crossed lines that friends shouldn't, but neither of you ever complained about it. it worked for you both, somehow.

"i can't help it," you whined softly, shifting in your chair again. "we've been sitting here forever."

dean watched you for a moment, his tongue darting out to wet his lips — a gesture that shouldn't have affected you as much as it did. "come here," he ordered, his voice dropping an octave lower.

you hesitated, knowing exactly what that tone meant. "dean..."

"now," he demanded, pushing his chair back slightly from the table. "you clearly need help focusing, and i know exactly what'll help."

heat pooled in your lower belly as you stood, making your way around the table to where he sat. dean's hands found your hips instantly, guiding you to straddle his right thigh. you could feel the heat of his skin through your thin black leggings as they pressed against the rough denim of his jeans.

"there you go," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "now be a good girl and help yourself while i work. maybe this'll help with that restless energy of yours."

your breath hitched as he pulled sam's laptop closer, acting as if he hadn't just given you permission to get yourself off on his thigh. his free hand remained on your hip, encouraging you to move.

slowly, you began to rock against him, the friction of your leggings against his jeans creating the perfect pressure. dean continued scrolling through newspaper articles, but you could feel the tension in his body, the way his thigh flexed beneath you every so often.

"that's it," he praised quietly, his eyes still fixed on the screen. "just like that, sweetheart."

your movements became more desperate as the pleasure built, your hands gripping his shoulders for leverage. the material of his flannel bunched under your fingers as you ground down harder, the thin fabric of your leggings doing nothing to dull the sensation.

dean's grip on your hip tightened, guiding your movements when they became erratic. "focus," he reminded you, though his voice had grown hoarse. "sam could be back any minute. wouldn't want him walking in on his brother's best friend getting off on his thigh, would we?"

the thought should have made you stop, but instead, it sent a thrill through you. you buried your face in dean's neck, muffling your whimpers against his skin as you chased your release.

"fuck—dean," you breathed, your hips moving faster.

"i've got you," he assured, finally looking away from the laptop to watch your face. "come on, baby. let go for me."

your orgasm washed over you suddenly, your body trembling as dean held you steady. his free hand stroked your back soothingly as you came down from your high, your breathing gradually returning to normal.

"better?" he asked, a knowing smirk playing at his lips.

you nodded, still too blissed out to form words. dean pressed a quick kiss to your temple before gently nudging you to stand on shaky legs.

"good. now maybe we can get some work done before sammy gets back."

you returned to your seat, noticing how dean adjusted himself in his jeans when he thought you weren't looking. the restless energy was gone, replaced by a pleasant buzz that made focusing on the journal's pages much easier.

when sam finally returned an hour later, arms laden with books and local newspaper clippings, neither you nor dean mentioned how you'd passed the time waiting for him. but every time your leg started bouncing again that night, dean's knowing look across the table made heat rush to your cheeks, and you couldn't help but wonder if you'd need another "study break" before the night was through.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Imagine…Dean Coming Back From The Dead

Pairing: Dean x reader

__________

“Hiya sweetheart.” You stared wide eyed at the man baring a striking resemblance to your boyfriend. Your very much been dead for five years boyfriend. He held up his hands, slowly stepping inside as you backed up. You dove for your side table where you kept the demon blade along with your other weapons.

The man who looked oh so much like Dean apart from the fuller beard and slightly longer hair, took a big step to the right, avoiding your attempts at stabbing him. He slid forward, knocking the knife away when you went back for more.

“Who the hell-“ He pushed on your back, skirting past you and going to your weapons. You growled, trying to cut him off when you watched him pick up the silver blade. He held it to the back of his hand, slicing it open.

“We both know I’m not a demon since I walked right over that devils trap under the hardwoods and I'm not a shifter or a leviathan or ghoul," he said, setting the blade back down. He held up his hands when you grabbed the knife again, ready to take aim. "Alberta."

Your eyes flared wide for a split second, Dean smirking.

"Hey, I'm man enough to admit the dude was hot. I did notice he had a striking resemblance to a certain...me," he teased. "Why'd you never hookup with him again?"

"How do I know it's really you?" He pursed his lips, thinking it over as he cocked his head.

"Same way I know you never made it past first base with that guy. You ran out of the motel room like it was on fire." You lowered your knife, dropping it on the ground. He stepped over close, gently grasping your chin with his thumb and forefinger. "I thought I told you to try and move on if something happened."

"I did try," you whispered, breath catching in your throat. "No one's you."

"Well, at least you being single makes this situation slightly less awkward," he said, dipping his head down low, tilting your chin up. "You still my girl?"

"I've always been her." He grinned, slowly touching his lips to yours, your hands finally gripping his jacket. He was so warm, so full of life.

You flinched away when an image of his cold, restless body came to mind.

"I'm sorry," he said when you ran a hand over your mouth, wrapping one arm around yourself.

"It's not you," you whispered, your eyes welling as you found his green ones waiting. "I buried you."

"I know you did," Dean breathed out, wiping away a stray tear that fell. "I'm here to stay...most likely."

You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head. "I can't do most likely, Dean. I can't get you back just to lose you again."

"Help me with one last job then. Jack said if I help with a case, I could come back. For real." You stared at him, Dean cupping your cheeks in his large hands. "Please. Five years was rough enough. I don't want to wait a lifetime to have forever with you."

You took a deep breath, nodding as he pulled you into a deep hug.

"Alright, tell me about the job, De."

_______________

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

𝘿𝘼𝙔 𝙁𝙊𝙐𝙍: 69 w/ Dean Winchester

a/n: i'm actually so proud of myself because i'm exploring all different kinds of dynamics, and i can already tell that it's going to help further my writing abilities. like opening up new doors and what not. anywho, this is nasty and dirty and happy reading!!

masterlist | kinktober masterlist | AO3

“I’m going to crush you.” 

Was your response to Dean bringing up the fact that he had wanted to try out 69ing.

“Baby, you’ve sat on my face before, I think I’ll be okay.”

You blink at him, slow and assessing before shrugging, because he did have a point there.

“Fine.” You say, beginning to shred yourself of your clothes. He balks, wide eyed, but nevertheless scrambles excitedly off of the bed to get naked too, a large smile on his face.

“You wanna do it now? Like… right now?” Unable to keep the utter glee out of his voice. “No time like the present. Plus, it’s an intriguing idea.” There’s a quick second of silence before you playfully add, “Also, I kinda want to get eaten out right now.”

“That’s my girl.” He praises, his voice fond. Always, always fond.

Once you’re both as naked as the day you were born, he coaxes you over with a cheeky pat to his chest. “Come to papa.”

You snort. “You’re disgusting.”

“Yeah, yeah, and you love it.” 

“I guess so.” You sigh in false exasperation, but there’s a small smile on your face as you turn your back towards him, settling your ass on his lower thighs. You throw a seductive look over your shoulder.

He doesn’t meet your gaze though, because his eyes are too busy taking in the sight of your naked ass, large, calloused hands dragging themselves over the fatty flesh. His tongue peeks out, swiping at his bottom lip.

“Like what you see?” You can’t help but ask. “You know I do.” His words are choked and he retracts a hand just to place a stinging slap against your skin. You flinch and yelp before shimmying higher.

“Naughty.” You chide, but nonetheless don’t stop moving until your pussy is over his mouth and you’re face-to-face with his half hard cock. 

“Always so big, Deany baby.” You coo, hand gripping his base and running a teasing tongue right up the side, trailing along the pulsing vein. 

Dean sucks in a breath from below you before attaching his lips right onto your clit, sucking on it with a vigor that sends you forward. You tighten your grip on him as you moan, stroking him up and down.

You don’t hesitate to take him into your mouth as you gather your bearings, swirling your tongue around the head to collect his precum, his semen a bit salty and bitter on your tastebuds, but nonetheless, you sink lower and lower, swallowing around him as you go.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” Dean groans, the vibrations of the low timber of his voice shoots a shiver up your spine. You just hum, stroking what you can’t swallow. 

The pleasure that you’re giving him seems to give him a new kind of energy, because his own tongue plunges into your entrance, scooping out your wetness selfishly. You tremble from above him, eyes squeezing shut but you don’t stop.

Both of his hands spread your ass apart, his thumb teasing your asshole slightly just to send you jolting. You detach yourself from him, throwing a look over your shoulder to find that he looks all but pleased with himself.

“Dickhead.��� You murmur, but reattach your lips to him, taking him down your throat again, going deeper and deeper until your eyes are watering and spits foams at the corner of your mouth.

Dean eats you out with abandon, eyes closed and stubble slightly burning the skin of your inner thighs. He’s dragging you down over his mouth, forcing you to ride his face as he alternates between suckling on your clit and actually eating you out.

His legs are shaking and you’re pretty sure you aren’t fairing much better, eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head at the feeling of your orgasm nearing. 

You swallow around him repeatedly before pulling off gasping, stroking him faster, gripping him harder, determined to drag him over the edge with you.

A particular graze of his teeth gently catching on the hood of your clit nearly barrels you straight into nirvana.

“Cumming! Fuck, Dean – cum with – please…” You beg suckling at the head of his tip, coaxing out more precum – you’re all but sucking the soul out him, bless his heart.

His thumb drags over and over your over sensitive nub, and your hips thrash wildly over his face before stilling, your orgasm overtaking you. You take to suckling harshly at the vein running up his cock once more, and he finally cums with a shout. You hurry to cover him with your mouth, swallowing his load.

You rest your head on his thigh as you attempt to come down from your orgasm, chest heaving up and down.

“You okay?” You can’t help but rasp, your throat raw and spent.

“I think… you just took years from my life. From my dick.”

The way he says it so blankly causes you to laugh, shoulders rising and falling with the sound.

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[wildwestdean]

wish list

summary: dean shares his christmas wish with you

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 845

warnings: fluff, mutual pining, confessions, idiots in love

a/n: a short and sweet piece for day one of the Promt-Mas 2024 event in our lovely supernatural writers community; prompt 1 'all i want for christmas'

“What do you want for Christmas?” you asked, phone cradled to your ear. 

It was a simple question, one that had been asked many times before, yet it still made Dean stop in his tracks as he hesitated over his answer. 

“And don’t say pie,” you added playfully, pulling a chuckle from his lips. 

“Well, I can’t answer your question then, sweetheart,” he teased. 

“Oh, c’mon!” you groaned. “There has to be something you want.” 

Dean sighed, kicking his feet up on the table in the war room as he leaned back in his chair. He’s starting to feel like he never leaves this spot, sitting here like a sad puppy waiting for you to walk through the bunker door ever since you left two weeks ago, eager to help Jody and Donna work a case; a case that ended in the three of you taking a girls trip to some retreat in the mountains. 

He wanted you to come home. 

“Dean?” you called softly, pulling him from his thoughts when he took longer than usual to answer. 

“I don’t want anything,” he lied, shrugging his shoulders despite the fact you couldn’t see him. 

“Liar,” you laughed, easily picking up on his fib.

He couldn’t help but smile, the fuzzy feeling settling in his stomach once more at the realization of how well you know him. 

“What do you want?” he asked, hoping to flip the spotlight onto you. 

“Nuh-uh,” you tsked. “You’re not getting out of this so easily, Winchester.” 

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?” he joked, voice laced with laughter. 

“I can be even worse!” you threatened with a laugh. “What if I guess? Will you tell me if I guess it?” 

“Sure, why not?” he agreed, mainly because he knew you’d never get it right. 

He listened with a grin as you rambled on, listing every possible thing that came to your mind for what he may want. Some were things that he himself didn’t even know he wanted, and while he did admit to them being good ideas, he remained adamant they weren’t his main wish; yet still refused to give an inch as to what that may be. 

“Would you stop being so stubborn?” you huffed in exasperation, knowing you should admit defeat but not wanting to; you were just as stubborn as him when it came down to it. 

“Why is it so important to you?” he asked with a laugh, finding your irritation over the situation rather endearing. 

“Because you’re important to me,” you told him. “I don’t want to get you just anything and call it a day. Yeah, I have some things for you already, but I want you to have something that’ll make you truly happy. Something special, y’know?” 

Dean fell silent after your explanation, your words bouncing around in his head as he tried to think of what to say, as he wondered how best to tell you. 

“Are you embarrassed to tell me or something? Because you should know by now that I’d never-” 

“Come home,” he said quietly, cutting off your speech. 

“Stop trying to change the subject,” you chuckled, not understanding what he was telling you. 

“No, I-” he started, taking a shaky breath. “That- that’s what I want.” 

“You… want me to come home?” you questioned, clearly confused. 

“I want you,” he admitted, his heart hammering against his ribcage so fiercely he wondered if you could hear it.

You fell so silent on the other end that he actually had to pull the phone away to make sure the call was still connected.

“Me?” you finally asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

“You,” he confirmed, chuckling nervously. “You’re what makes me happy, sweet girl. Hell, there was a point that I thought I’d never be truly happy again… and then one day, you showed up. There’s nothing that’ll be more special to me than you, sweetheart."

“So… what you’re saying is that I don’t need to spend money on you this year?” you asked playfully, trying to cover up your nerves with a joke. 

He let out a laugh, feeling some of his nerves starting to settle. “I’m saying all I want for Christmas is you.” 

“Only for Christmas, though, right?” you wondered, and Dean could just about hear the grin you wore. 

“Well,” Dean said contemplatively. “I was thinking I might keep you for, say… rest of our lives?” 

“Are you seriously confessing your love with a phone call?” you asked with a giggle, feeling giddy beyond belief. 

“No,” he said casually. “I’ll wait until you’re finally home to really say those words.” 

“Oh, okay,” you replied in understanding. “Well, guess it’s a good thing I’m home, then.”

Before he could respond, the bunker door screeched open as you finally stepped inside, and he quickly met your gaze as you grinned down at him from the railing. He matched your grin, standing from the chair as he ended the call. 

“Well,” you called down to him, laughing with glee. “Don’t you have a confession to make?” 

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[jensengirl83]

Unexpected Arrival

Dean x reader

Word Count-3490

Warnings- SMUT, fluff, language, sub!Dean

Summary- Dean thinks Y/N will be gone for a few more days on a hunt. What will she find when she comes back early to surprise him?

A/N- This fills the square "What happened to your hair?" for @jacklesversebingo. Also, a big thank you to my amazing beta @pink-sparkly-witch. Thank you for the encouragement and great feedback on my fics.

This has been on my Patreon for a few weeks. If you'd like to join and get access to my ficus weeks before they come to Tumblr, you can join my Patreon here. I have multiple tiers with different perks starting at $3 a month!

Y/N was exhausted. She’d been on a hunt for over a week that should’ve taken three days. All she wanted now was to get back to the bunker, back to Dean. It had been one of the few times they had hunted separately, and she’d missed him terribly. He and Sam had been out on their own hunt because she had wanted to take a slight break, but that changed when another hunter called, needing help to eliminate a werewolf pack. So, that’s why she was now tired, frustrated, and wanting nothing more than a hot shower and cuddling with her boyfriend. 

The closer Y/N got to the bunker, the more her tension seemed to ebb away. As the miles raced away under her tires, she couldn’t help but smile a little. Just the thought of getting closer to Dean with every minute that passed helped with her frustration of being gone so long. He thought she would be gone a few more days, but luckily, she and her partner had found the pack and decimated it quicker than anticipated. She’d thought about calling and letting him know she was returning but decided to surprise him instead. 

Finally, the bunker was in her sights. She sighed in relief as she made her way to the garage, parked her car, and got out, stretching her sore and aching muscles. She threw her duffle over her shoulder and began the trek to the war room, hoping that Dean would be there, wanting to see the surprise on his face when she walked in. But, as she took her first steps into the room, he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Sam stood there, his own duffle slung over his shoulder. 

“Hey, Sam,” she greeted, “Are you heading out?” 

“Hey, Y/N,” he returned her greeting, “Yeah, Jody needs help with a vamp’s nest.” 

“Don’t you ever take a break? How long have you guys been back, anyway?” 

“We got back a couple of days ago. I’ve had time to rest,” he chuckled at her worry. She was always making sure they were taken care of. 

“Okay, just please be careful, and let us know how it’s going. Do you know where Dean is?”  

“He said something about going to watch a movie and relax. He’s been looking forward to you coming home. You know how Dean is; he won’t outwardly say it, but he really missed you,” Sam smiled, patting her on the shoulder as he walked past, heading for the garage. 

“I missed him. That’s why I didn’t call. I wanted to surprise him,” she exclaimed gleefully. The thought of his excitement at seeing her made her stomach swim with butterflies. 

“He’ll definitely be surprised. I’ll see you when I get back. It shouldn’t be more than a few days.” 

“Be safe,” she told him, leaning up to kiss his cheek as he left, leaving her alone in the war room. 

Once Sam was gone, she threw her things on the war room table, stretching her muscles again before she started her journey down the hall to her and Dean’s shared room. The excitement of knowing they had the bunker to themselves for a few days put a pep in her step. She was going to try to convince Dean to take this time to spend it together. No hunts, no outside distractions. Just the two of them lounging around, watching movies, spending long overdue quality time together. It wasn’t often that they were the only ones home. Sam was rarely not there with them or in the front seat of the Impala on their hunts. So, she wanted to take full advantage of the time they could have together the next few days. 

As she got closer to their room, the thoughts of everything they could do while alone made her want to giggle like a little girl. She loved that green-eyed hunter down the hall more than she could ever describe. It had taken a while, but she finally managed to get him to fully let her in and open up to her in ways that he hadn’t with anyone else, which made her love for him grow exponentially. But all thoughts ceased as she got to their doorway. The sound of a grunt coming from the cracked door made her stop in her tracks. Was he okay? Was he in pain? She rushed the last few steps to the room, peeking in, but what she saw froze her in her spot. Dean was lying in their bed, hand under the sheets, head thrown back in ecstasy. 

“Yes, Y/N, God, it feels so good,” he groaned, his hand visibly stroking his hard length. 

She couldn’t help but stare, the sight making her weak in the knees and that familiar heat growing between her legs. The sound of a woman moaning brought her back to the present. For a split second, her heart dropped, but then she realized it was coming from the porn he was watching. Her eyes broke from Dean to the screen, and what she witnessed gave her an idea. 

“So, how much does it turn you on to watch her be in control?” she questioned seductively, announcing her presence and making Dean jump in surprise. 

“Y/N! I-I, uh, how long have you been back?” he stuttered, quickly moving his hand away, flustered that he had been caught. 

“Long enough to see that you’re having a pretty good time there, handsome,” she quipped, turning her eyes back to the screen where the woman was clearly dominating her partner, “But you didn’t answer my question. How turned on are you to see a woman being dominant?” 

“I, well, uh,” he continued to stumble through his words as he reached for the remote control to turn off the movie.

“Uh uh. Leave it on,” she demanded authoritatively, slowly stripping off her flannel as she moved closer to the bed. She watched as he quivered at her tone. “Now, answer me.” 

“It turns me on,” he mumbled quickly, barely audible. 

“Oh, come on,” she chastised, now down to her underwear as she stood beside the bed, “You can do better than that.” 

“Fine, it really turns me on,” he said sheepishly, eyes cast down, not wanting to see her expression at his admission. 

She smirked, her tiredness ebbing away and turning into a burning desire for the man sitting before her. If that turned him on, she would give him something he’d never forget. But she had to make sure it was something he wanted. They’d always been good about trying new things, but only if both were up for it. So, placing her fingers under his chin, tilting his face to look at her, she smiled down at him. 

“You want me to do it? Want me to dominate you?” 

“Are you serious?” he asked, his cock twitching at the thought that one of his secret fantasies may be coming to life. 

She grabbed his face between her fingers a little roughly, pulling his face closer to hers as she leaned down to look into his eyes, “Do I look like I’m joking?” 

Before she knew what was happening, he had her pulled down into his lap, his mouth covering hers in a bruising kiss, his tongue swiping against her bottom lip, asking for entrance. She let him run the show for a minute, but when she felt him start grinding his hips up against hers, she pulled away, making him whine. 

“Now, here’s how it’s going to go. You’re going to listen to what I tell you, and if you disobey, I stop, understand?” she stated, watching his pupils dilate, almost completely taking over the emerald green of his eyes. 

“Yes, I understand.” 

“Yes, what?” she asked, grabbing his hair, tugging harshly, his body shaking with want. 

“Yes, ma’am!” he exclaimed excitedly. She was going to ruin him, and he was all for it. 

“Good. Now, you can touch me only when I say you can, and you cannot touch yourself at all. Are you sure you want this?” she asked one more time, ensuring he really wanted this. 

“Yes, I want it. Y/N, I promise I’ll tell you if it’s too much,” he smiled up at her. She always worried about him and his well-being. That’s one of the many reasons he loved her. 

“Alright. Then get ready to have your mind blown, big boy,” she winked, slowly beginning to grind down against him, his hands instinctively grabbing her hips. 

“What did I just say about touching,” she scolded, moving off his lap and standing beside the bed.

“I’m sorry! It’s just instinct! I won’t do it again!” he almost begged. He wanted, no needed, to feel her against him again. 

“Dean…I have to punish you for that. Maybe you’ll learn to listen.” 

“No, please, baby. I need to feel you. God, I’ve missed feeling you,” he whined, reaching out to touch her but remembering and pulling his hand back, dropping it in his lap. 

“Shh, babe. You’ll feel me, just not right now. Now, scoot up,” she motioned for him to move so she could sit behind him on the bed as she removed the rest of her clothes. He obliged, but not without a pout. 

“Ahh, are you pouting, Dean? Good boys don’t pout. Don’t you want to be a good boy and get the rewards they get?” she whispered in his ear as she ran her hands down his arms, moving over to his abdomen, making his muscles tense and then release. 

“Yes, God. I’ll be good,” he grunted as she scraped her nails up and down his stomach. 

“That’s what I want to hear. Now, lean back,” she instructed him to lean his body back against hers, his head on her shoulder as her hands continued to roam. 

“Baby…” he began to utter his pleas, but she moved her finger up to his mouth to quiet him. 

“You hear that? Do you hear the sounds she’s making? Does that turn you on, Dean? Will you let me use you to make myself feel that good, huh? Let me ride you until I come so hard, squeeze around you so tight,” she whispered in his ear, nudging his head to look at the movie, his breath hitching in his throat as her hands moved all around where he wanted her to touch him. It was tortuous, but he couldn’t deny that he was turned on more than he had been in a long time. The thought of her using him to get her pleasure made him hard as a rock. He couldn’t contain the loud moan that escaped him. 

“That’s it. Let me hear you, babe. Such a good boy for me,” she cooed, feeling his body shiver with need. It made her want him even more, her body reacting. She ground herself against his backside, needing friction. “You feel how wet I am, Dean? Damn, I can’t wait to feel you inside me, filling me up so good, filling me up the way only your big cock can.”

“Y/N, baby, please! I can’t take anymore. I need you so bad. Please, please…” he began to beg, the need to feel her wrapped around him, controlling all his senses. 

“Already begging? Does my good boy need me, need to come for me?” 

“Yes! I need you so bad. I’ve missed you and how you feel. Please, baby,” he pleaded, fists clenching the sheets beside him, her hands still teasing him, “I’m not going to last if you keep teasing me!”

She smirked at his desperation. What she wasn’t going to admit was that seeing him that turned on and begging for her was slowly chipping away at her restraint. Being away from him and not feeling him for over a week made her body thrum with the need for him, too. She slid from behind him and motioned for him to scoot back against the headboard. Once he was positioned where she wanted him, she climbed back into his lap. 

“I’m going to give you what you want, Dean, but remember, hands to yourself until I say otherwise. Got it?” she made sure the rules were clear as she slowly ground herself against him, his tip catching her swollen clit, bringing low moans out of her. 

“No touching, got it. Just please, sweetheart, stop teasing me and let me feel you,” he groaned as the feeling of her pussy, warm and slick, grinding against him slowly drove him insane. 

“That’s not how this works. You wanted me to dominate you, right? That means you get what I give you when I want to give it. Understand?” she said, pulling his hair, causing his head to tilt back to look up at her. 

“Yes, yes, I understand.”

“Yes, what, Dean?” she smirked as she rolled her hips again and watched his eyes roll back. 

“Yes, ma’am! God, Y/N, you’re killing me…” 

“Oh, but what a pleasurable death it will be,” she moaned in his ear as she lifted herself, grabbing his cock and lining it up with her entrance, dropping down to take all of him in one motion. 

Dean couldn’t stop the scream that tore from his throat as he felt her heat surround him suddenly. He had to twist the sheets tighter in his grip to prevent his hands from grabbing her hips, making her bounce on him fast and hard, but he had asked her to dominate him, so he had to follow the rules, even though he thought it might be the death of him. 

Dean shut his eyes and gritted his teeth. It was taking all his willpower not to finish before her. He had never been dominated like this before, and he loved it. The feeling of her tight pussy taking him to the hilt, and the sexy moans leaving her as she chased her end, were driving him mad. He wanted to grab her hips and help her move against him, but he knew he couldn’t. 

Y/N watched Dean’s eyes flutter shut, his knuckles turning white from his grip on the sheets, his teeth indenting his bottom lip as he sucked into his mouth, trying to contain the many noises that wanted to bubble up and out of him, but she wasn’t having that. She pulled his lip from his teeth with her thumb, his eyes shooting open from the contact as she began to grind slowly in his lap. 

“No, Dean. No keeping quiet. Let me hear all those beautifully sinful noises I plan to draw out of you,” she told him as she began to move faster, the sexiest whimper she’d ever heard leaving past his lips, “Yes, that’s it, that’s my good boy. I’ll have you screaming my name before I’m done.” 

“God, Y/N…y-you feel so damn good. R-riding me so fucking good. Please, let me touch you. I need to touch you,” he begged, the restraint of not touching starting to become too much. 

“Does my good boy want to touch me?” she felt his whole body shudder at the praise, making her smile. Had she known that praising him would get that kind of reaction, she would’ve done it much sooner, “Okay, Dean. Since you’ve been good, you can touch me.” 

As soon as the words left her mouth, his hands were on her hips, his grip almost bruising, his hips meeting hers as he pulled her up and down on him. She ran her hands into his hair, grasping it in handfuls as she continued to ride him hard, making him moan loudly. The sounds he was making made her clench around him, which, in turn, made him moan loudly again. It was a cycle that was quickly driving them both towards their ends. 

“Sweetheart, you gotta hurry. I can’t hold it much longer,” he growled through clenched teeth, the vein in his neck protruding out in his effort to hold back. 

“Be a good boy and make me come, then,” she demanded, her legs starting to shake with the exertion. 

Dean reached down between them, rubbing her clit in harsh circles as he thrust up into her as hard as he could. He knew she was getting close as he felt her begin to flutter and clench around him even more. A few more circles on her nub, and she was gone, falling over the edge, screaming his name as one of the most intense orgasms she ever had rushed through her. He grabbed her hips, pistoning up at a faster pace for a few seconds before her orgasm triggered his. He stilled deep within her, shouting her name as he shook all over, filling her up.

She collapsed against his chest, his hands instinctively running up and down her back slowly. They sat there silently, trying to catch their breaths for a few minutes before Y/N giggled. The motion of her body moving made him hiss. His softening length was sensitive from one of the strongest orgasms he’d ever had. Y/N sat up abruptly, making him groan. 

“Oh, God. Did I hurt you?” she asked, her eyes wide with worry. 

“No, sweetheart, I’m fine,” he chuckled, “I’m just a little sensitive, and when you started to laugh, it made you move on him. And I do believe he’s down for the count for a while.” 

“Are you saying that little Dean isn’t up for playing anymore?” she laughed as he rolled his eyes.

“One, don’t call him that, and two, yes, he’s done for the night. Sweetheart, you damn near killed me,” he groaned as she started to wiggle in his lap, teasing him. He helped her move from his lap to sit beside him on the bed. 

“So, I take it that means you enjoyed it?” 

“Enjoyed it? Y/N, baby, that was indescribable. I’m just sorry I didn’t ask for that sooner.” 

“Well, I’m happy I could be of service,” she stood from the bed and curtsied, causing Dean to burst out in full-body laughter. 

“You’re something else, sweetheart,” he whispered, pulling her closer and kissing her hard, “Now, how about we talk about the roles being reversed sometime?”

“You want to dominate me?” she asked, putting her finger on her chin like she was contemplating, “I do believe that’d be fun.” 

“Then we’ll have to make plans for that, but first, I’m fucking starving. Let’s go to the kitchen, make us a snack, and then we come back here and watch a movie.” 

“Another movie?” she questioned with a smirk, gesturing to the TV where the porn was still playing. 

“Damn it, woman. A real movie, not the sexy kind,” he huffed, grabbing the remote and turning off the TV before slapping her on the ass, “Now, about that snack?” 

She laughed as they threw on their pajamas and made their way down the hall toward the kitchen. As they got closer, a sound made them freeze. Dean motioned for her to get behind him as they tiptoed around the corner, their bodies relaxing when they saw it was just Sam. 

“Hey guys, Jody called as I was about thirty minutes from here and told me they had taken care of the nest, so I didn’t have to go after all." He was explaining why he was there when he stopped and stared, “What happened to your hair? You look like Sonic the Hedgehog.” 

Y/N couldn’t contain the fits of laughter. She was doubled over, holding her sides as Dean looked on with his best bitchface. Her hands pulling on his hair had made it stick up in all different directions. Sam spoke again as she finally started calming down, sending her into another fit of giggles. 

“You know what, I don’t want to know. From the looks of you both, I know why, and now I wish I could bleach the image from my mind.” 

“Well, Sammy,” Dean smirked, pulling Y/N to his side, “What can I tell you? I aim to please.” 

“Excuse me. Who was doing the pleasing this time?” Y/N grinned, poking Dean in the chest. 

“Oh, God. I’m going to my room. I don’t want to hear this!” Sam groaned, leaving the kitchen. 

“Be glad you weren’t here thirty minutes ago, or you’d have heard plenty!” Y/N shouted at his retreating form as she and Dean started cackling. 

Sam groaned again as he walked away. A thought crossed his mind as he heard them continue to laugh as he made it further down the hallway.

“If I didn’t love them, I’d go back in there and stab them to death,” he mumbled to himself as he walked into his room and slammed the door, hoping he wouldn’t hear anything else from them the rest of the night. 

@flamencodiva​ @foxyjwls007​ @emoryhemsworth​ ​​ @valsworldofcreativity​​ @hardcoresupernaturalfans​​

@msmarvelouswinchester​​ @lyarr24​​ ​​ @ellewritesfix05​​ @defenderrosetyler​​

@hobby27​​ ​​ ​​ @supernatural-love14 @vicmc624​​ @squirrelnotsam​​ @tatted-trina6 ​​ @xhannahbananax03​​ @coffeebooksandfandom​​ ​ @deans-baby-momma​​ @lovelyrocker​​ @fablesrose

​​ @maralisa124​​ @wayward-dreamer​​ @aimee-ginge​​ ​​ @donnaintx @screechingartisancashbailiff​​

@itsdesiree86 @kyjey​​ @roxytheimmortal​​ @briagallen​​ @aubageddon91​​

@stoneyggirl2​​ @kitkatd7 ​​ @brilovesdeanwinchester​​ @allonsy-yesiwill @krazykelly​​

@440mxs-wife​​ @rebelemilu​​ @sarahbaker2010​​ @tyferbebe​​ @metalfangirl​

@redbarn1995​​ @thoughts-and-funnies​​ @izzathequeen​​ @heavensangel45135​​ @entersand-man ​

@supraveng​​ ​​ @hintsofhoney @bobbie3939​​ @waynes-multiverse​​​ @katelyn--renee​​

@thinkinghardhardlythinking​​ @makeadealwithdean @deandreamer​​ @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad​​ @pink-sparkly-witch​​

@samsgirl93​​ ​ @maliburenee @thelastpyle​​ @nancymcl @marvelouslyme96​​

@muhahaha303 @maggiegirl17​ @slamminmine @ladysparkles78 @deanwinchestersgirl27 ​

[dingo-ate-my-hot-lettuce-crazy]

ANUTHUH ONE since you guys like the tiktok inspired ones (female user sorry if anyone wanted a male one i could do it its just it was a girl in the video and its kinda hard to make this one gn)

you and dean just got married an hour ago

y/n: no no we need to practice it

dean, wholeheartedly agreeing: of course- Right…uh… *in character* Excuse me, have you seen… my wife?

y/n: *also in character* umm, i was looking for my husband, has he been around here?

dean: yeah i gotta talk it over with the wife.

y/n: Oh yeah, my husband and i were just there last week!

dean: i have a pick up order, my wife sent it in…should be under… Y/n Winchester.

y/n: 😮

dean: 😮

y/n: …y/n winchester…

dean: you’re y/n winchester…

y/n: Mrs. Winchester…

dean: 😮

y/n: 😮

dean: holy fuck thats you

[all-alone-he-turns-to-stone]

The Most Innocent Sinner

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Summary: For everyone, she's the shy, pure, little Y/n. Dating Dean Winchester is like going on dates with the complete opposite of her. So it is a very nice surprise when Dean learns how kinky she actually is by finding her collection of sex toys.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Rating: 18+

Content warning: Sex toys, masturbation (male and female), dirty talk

Square filled: Dildos for @spnkinkevents / “Now that’s something you definitely shouldn’t try at home.” for @jacklesversebingo / masturbation for @anyfandomkinkbingo / “Unfortunately, I’m turned on by that.” for @anyfandomgoesbingo

A/n: Finding a title is so hard. I got stuck on this one for way too long. Big thanks to my friends that helped me!

From the outside, Y/n looked like a Saint. Cute, she wasn't very tall and almost sickly shy, and her social anxiety didn't help her case at all. 

Since she didn’t have many friends, Y/n spent her time at the library surrounded by stories that made her forget how alone she felt. The characters on these yellowed sheets would never judge or criticize her, it was a comfort in which she really liked to immerse herself, especially after a hard day.

It was also where she met the Winchester brothers for the first time.

For someone like Y/n, the complete opposite of popular, invisible to people even when she was in the same room with them, the Winchesters were the pinnacle of perfection. Bodies built like gods, well-defined faces, piercing eyes, they gave off a strong and dominating aura that attracted the gaze of everyone in their path. And Y/n was no exception.

The moment the two brothers walked near her table at the library, there was no longer any need to read. Her book closed by itself in front of her, as she no longer held it open, her eyes fixedly stuck on the two men. Following their directions with her gaze, she turned her head, almost hurting her neck.

The colors around her suddenly seemed more vivid. The sounds, sweeter to the ear. She strained her ear to better listen to their conversations. And it was then that the stories she loved reading so much... Became reality.

Y/n had always had a habit of making herself fade away. Not wanting to attract attention, remaining discreet and making herself as small as possible. But the moment she saw them, it was like a light bulb went on inside her, and filled her with a life she had never really felt. And she decided to change that.

She didn’t want to hide anymore.

It was an adventure awaiting her, just like in her books. Filled with villains, monsters, but also angels, laughter, food and finally, a place where she belonged. It didn't take long for her to take part in their lives, quickly becoming a full member of their families. Although she wasn’t trained to be in the field hunting monsters, her lifelong experience of extensive reading was too vital and important to refuse her help.

Initially, Y/n was assigned to research. It was perfect for her, she could show them how efficient she was at this task so they would give her more to do eventually. Quickly, she climbed the ranks in the Winchesters' trust and became closer to them.

Everything about her personality was perfect to fit with Sam's. And yet, as the months stretched into years, she inevitably grew closer to Dean. Some will say that opposites flock together, and they are not wrong. Dean was the opposite of Y/n, stubborn, he didn't hesitate to say what was on his mind and loved seeing the adorable expression that invaded her face when he made inappropriate or worse, sexual comments. Immediately, Y/n would disappear from the room almost like magic, or she would become so embarrassed that he took pity and immediately changed the subject.

Y/n had a purity that Dean never had, and it was one of the reasons why even after all this time knowing her, he was still reluctant to let her come with them on hunts. Or even to involve her in anything that could endanger her or defile this purity. If he could keep her from losing that sparkle in her eyes, he would, no matter the cost.

After a few months of dating, Y/n finally agreed to live in the bunker with them. Dean helped her move in, putting her things in a room other than his, and although not sharing the same bed disappointed him a little, he understood why. She wasn't ready, and he insisted on her comfort. He was willing to wait for her as long as it took.

“If I had known you had that many boxes, I would have brought in extra hands,” Dean huffed, placing yet another heavy box on the ground. Straightening up, he raised his arms above his head to stretch his back.

“Sorry, all my books,” Y/n shrugged and lowered her head, embarrassed.

With a quick wave of his hand, Dean signaled that it was nothing. “It only takes a little longer but it’s no problem,” he quickly said to reassure her, so she wouldn’t feel bad about having so much stuff. After all this time knowing her, he knew how important her books were to her.

Her 500 books which weighed bricks to transport…

“I'll go get another box,” she accepted Dean's answer and as she passed him on her way out, left a quick kiss on the cheek. It was Dean's turn to react, his face quickly turning red.

“Okay, in the meantime, I'm going to start…” Glancing at the mountain of cardboard, Dean sighed again. “Cleaning a little…”

Sam wasn't there. Although he proposed his help for moving her stuff in, Dean's ego was more powerful. As a boyfriend, he had to take care of his girlfriend himself. Without help. Showing her that he was there for her, and that she would always be his priority.

Dean had been in several relationships in the past. And he loved each woman with all of his soul. But each time, his work, his family or the apocalypse had forced him to leave. It had been a very difficult task each time, but he had done it.

Just the thought of leaving Y/n had the same effect as losing a limb. It was unthinkable.

Ah shit. He was in love.

Him, in love?

It was the first time.

… Wait a minute.

He was in love with her.

This realization hit him harder than he expected. Dean took a few steps back, his head spinning quickly. He was in love. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Never in his entire life had he felt this kind of thing for someone, feelings so strong, so true. When they were together, he felt so good, like he had finally found the thing he was missing. The person he needed.

Dean took another step back, and inevitably, his legs encountered a box. He lost his balance and, trying not to cause a landslide, had to hold himself against the nearest thing… Another box.

This one was strangely and unfortunately lighter than the others and failed to stop him from doing damage. Luckily, Dean kept his balance and avoided the embarrassment of falling on his butt, but the box fell to the ground.

“Son of a bitch,” he grumbled as he hurried to pick it up. As he took it, he noticed that it was not closed properly. It was definitely not his plan to go through Y/n's personal belongings, but when he opened the box to close it better, he couldn't help but see what was inside.

And it wasn't his fault. The first item on top was a box that displayed the inscription of its contents, and his curiosity, well… took care of the rest.

“What the…” taking the item in question, Dean examined it. His hunter's eye detected every detail, inscriptions, the wear on the cardboard and even the place where the packaging had once been sealed before opening. The sticky paper seemed to have been removed so quickly, the color of the cardboard remained stuck on it. It was exactly as if its owner, eager to have the object, hadn’t been concerned by the breakage of its packaging.

SO. It was still possible that the contents were not what was written in black and white on the packaging. It was still a possibility. Dean understood, it was his duty to get to the bottom of it once and for all. Otherwise, the question would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Heart racing for no good reason, Dean placed his fingers where the paper was torn off and pulled the tab. Then, breathless, he opened the box and peered inside.

“Son of a bitch,” his mouth breathed along with the last of his oxygen. No... he couldn't believe it. As if he needed further proof that his eyes had already given him, Dean reached into the box and pulled out the object.

It was still in its bag, but an opening proved its frequent use. Both soft and very hard, it was of regular size and of a pretty pink shade. Dean didn't need to take it out of the bag to know that underneath was the little hole to get charged, the wire still in the box.

In his hand, Dean held the thing he never thought he would hold… Let alone find among his girlfriend's stuff. The sweet, pure, shy Y/n.

Scared that she would come back and see him like this, Dean quickly put the pink dildo vibrator back in its box. A thousand questions swirled through his mind and his heart still hadn't stopped pounding in his ribcage. In his eagerness and nervousness, Dean almost dropped the box, so he had to pull himself together to put it back exactly where he had found it.

And that was when he saw them.

There were plenty of them. A dozen even. Some had their original packaging, others had boxes without inscription. Curiosity rose in Dean who forgot the presence of his girlfriend and owner of these toys in the bunker. It was like suddenly he was alone in the world as he began to pull out everything he had in front of his eyes, his pupils dilating with each new discovery.

Small portable vibrator. One that looked like a butterfly, insertable and vibrant. A… dolphin? A flesh-colored dildo, including ball and base with suction. A magic staff. Purple, pink, black, the colors were added one after the other. And then suddenly...

Dean came across the largest box.

It was curiously and surprisingly big for what was inside. Dean couldn't help it. It was heavy, there was no doubt about the contents, but he had to see it with his eyes, hold it in his hands, and absorb reality.

It couldn't be that big... right?

And oh my god.

“Now that’s something you definitely shouldn’t try at home…”

Examining it from every angle, he still couldn't understand. The words “bad dragon” were forever imprinted in his brain along with the image of that purple and blue hued dildo. It was imposing, as tall as it was wide, and the different textures were strange but pleasant to the touch. And inevitably, his brain went in that perverse direction he imagined...

Her moans filled the room and the echo was carried throughout the whole bunker. Sounds of pleasure? No. Of frustration. She moaned as she tried as best she could to get the dildo into her entrance, which was still too tight for such a monster. But her determination only grew with her goal, and the idea alone of being able to have all those inches inside her was so exciting that she almost didn't need any lube.

“Oh fuck,” breathed through her lips as the head of the toy finally pierced the breach. Her head tilting back, she wiggled on the dildo to widen her entrance to accommodate the rest. Kneeling over the toy made it easier for her to maneuver her body and part her lips for guidance. And when finally the dildo was inside her, a long sigh of relief mixed with the pleasure of having succeeded hissed between her lips.

“I love the view…”

Dean hadn't missed a single thing. Standing in the doorway, he watched, admired, and nourished himself with the magnificent view before him. Kneeling on the bed facing him, she knew he was there. Even though her eyes were closed, she felt his presence, heard his heavy breathing. And then there was the rustling of his clothes every time he adjusted his position or reached for his swollen crotch.

It was one of the hottest things she had ever experienced. The desire was so strong it was palpable. The smell of sex filled the room. A moan passed her lips as she opened her eyes to look at him, her breath leaving her lungs, making the air almost unbreathable because it was so saturated.

"Oh. No."

The sound of a heavy object hitting the ground brought him back to consciousness. Then it took him several seconds to realize the voice that had spoken just before the impact, what it had said and who it belonged to. Turning towards the door, Dean's eyes were wide open, the green almost disappearing from his irises because his pupils were so dilated.

Her face was not in any better condition. As her eyes, wide with fear and shame, moved between what he was holding and the box behind him and finally settling on him, Dean could see the embarrassment quickly filling her being.

“What is this?”

Still shocked by his discovery and what it implied, these words were the first and only ones that had managed to escape his lips. Obviously, he knew what it was, and what it was for. However, he needed to hear it from her mouth. To confirm what his eyes had already understood.

His question only made her more uncomfortable.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” she muttered under her breath, lowering her head and crossing the distance between them to grab the dildo and remove it from the hunter’s hands. All this to hide the evidence that had already been consumed, unfortunately. “Please, forget about it,” she pleaded, still refusing to meet his gaze. Her hand resting next to Dean's on the dildo, she tried to take it back, but was surprised to see that he didn't want to let it go. “Dean?”

“It’s impossible,” his voice was low, almost a breath lost in the tension of the air. “Unfortunately… I’m turned on by that. And here I thought you were all pure and shy…” Taking a pause in his words only made the state Y/n was in worse. Next to Dean, she felt his breath against her cheek, and the heat of his body. It was heavy, his chest moving in time with his harsh breathing. As if he had to do everything to hold back. “I waited for you to be ready, and I'll still wait but… Y/n…” As she still refused to raise her head and meet his gaze, Dean took his other hand, the one that wasn't holding the dildo, to gently lift Y/n’s chin. “Thinking about you touching yourself with that… oh fuck, it’s hot, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” A shy smile appeared on her lips, her eyes watering at how she was embarrassed but still... Very excited by this idea.

“Oh yeah,” Dean swallowed, his green eyes darting from Y/n's lips to her eyes, then back to her lips. Like two magnets held too far apart, but at the same time too close, it was inevitable.

Dean pressed his mouth to Y/n’s, kissing her forcefully. The dildo was quickly put aside, both needing their hands to touch the other. Dean placed his on Y/n's waist, and her around his neck. Her nails scratched the soft part of his neck, leaving red marks he would never see. It was intense, they almost devoured each other with an insatiable appetite. Opening her lips, Y/n stuck her tongue out barely, just enough to give access to Dean who was quick to push his tongue into her mouth. The kiss became languorous, messy, even, and Y/n backed into a box and almost fell. Dean broke the kiss to ask if she was okay, but she silenced him by replacing her lips on his to continue the kiss.

Their mouths didn't leave each other as clothes flew around the room, some getting stuck on boxes while others fell to the floor. Eventually, they managed to maneuver through the mountains of boxes to get to the bed. Y/n plopped down on the mattress and laughed against Dean’s mouth which only took a second to find its way back to hers. Now both were shirtless and their hands explored each other without stopping.

Finally, Y/n broke the kiss to speak.

“I want you to watch me.”

“What?” Dean was panting, his erection so painful in his pants he was afraid it would explode at the slightest touch. Like a hungry lion demanding its prey, he tried to grab Y/n's lips but she refused him access by placing her fingers between them.

“I want you to watch me use the toy…” If she was an angel a few moments ago, the Y/n he had, lying under him on the bed, half naked, was a little devil hidden under the appearance of a Saint.

Just the thought of seeing her in real life masturbating with the monster he had found made Dean gulp and push himself up so he was on his knees. His face was so red, he had trouble understanding how there could still be blood in his length.

“Are you sure? I mean, I… I can’t say no to that, fuck, but… I don’t want you to feel forced or…”

“Dean,” she interrupted, a smile tugging at her lips. “I really want to. And I know you want it too.” Y/n took a deep, slightly shaky breath before continuing. “So… Bring me the one you want me to use… And get comfortable.”

Dean swallowed and looked at his girlfriend's face. Since he had known her, they had never been this far in their intimacy. And he would never have imagined that she had this in her. Obviously he was surprised, but it was a very pleasant surprise. Like an excited child on Christmas morning, Dean rushed to the box of adult toys and once again admired all the choices presented to him. Each of them infused an image, each more erotic than the other, into his mind. For a moment, he hesitated to take the monster he had found shortly before, but decided that for now, this view was better in his mind. And he didn't want to embarrass Y/n even more than she was, what she was proposing was very intimate, very sexy, but also terribly hard to do. To open up like this, to show yourself like this...

Dean returned to his girlfriend, a box in hand. “This one,” he held out the box, knowing full well what it contained. Y/n took it, hesitated for a few seconds while staring at it in her hands. Just as Dean was about to repeat that she didn't have to, that they could continue to just makeout and that was okay, she opened the box and took out the toy.

It was a simple one. No vibration, just a flesh colored dildo with suction at the bottom. It wasn’t the biggest she owned, but it was still big, almost as big as Dean’s cock. So to see her use this, he could easily picture him in her…

Just the thought sent another wave of arousal down his pants.

“Do you need a moment, or lube or…” Dean was still standing up near the bed as she was on her knees on the mattress. For the first time, he was clueless and didn't know what to do. And yet, it was not his first time, nor the last, that he had more kinky moments with his partner. But Y/n was different, she wasn't just his sexual partner, but the woman he loved. And the prospect of getting even closer and more intimate was worth more than any sex he could have.

“I want you to watch the whole thing,” Y/n replied, lifting her ass off the mattress just enough to undo her pants and pull them down along with her panties with just one hand. In an almost expert manner, she finished undressing herself with one hand, her other never letting go of the toy. “You can sit down, you know,” she laughed when she saw Dean still standing where he was, stiff as a stick.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” he sat on the edge of the bed and turned his body towards her. It was like he was back at 15 with the most popular girl in school, ready for his first time. Nervousness filled his entire being, along with excitement, and if he wasn't so experienced years later, his erection would have disappeared or he would have come prematurely in his pants.

Dean silently thanked all the girls he had in the past that strengthened his stamina.

“How do you want me to use it?” 

Dean could see how nervous she was. It was the first time she was completely naked in front of him, and her body was shaking ever so slightly, shivers that covered her soft skin in goosebumps. But yet, through that nervousness, she was freaking sexy. Still kneeling, she was slowly stroking her intimacy with the toy, coating it with her wetness. And without asking, Dean knew she wouldn’t need any lube.

“Just… Like this, you can ride it…” The words got out of his mouth by automatism. Truth was, Dean was half there now, so excited and focused on her, a part of his mind was shut down. It was so hot, he couldn’t detach his eyes from her body, the way the toy rubbed through her lower lips, how her hips rocked back on it, and her face, so soft, so cute, so embarrassed… With eyes burning in a strong passion.

“Okay,” she whispered. Time seemed to slow down. Dean could feel his heart beating in his head and in his crotch, the intensity growing with each movement she made. Straightening up, she placed the dildo behind her, careful to align it with her entrance, and opened up her legs to let Dean continue watching. 

And he could see it all.

It was better than everything he could ever imagine.

The toy was big, but she was probably very wet and very used to it, because it didn’t take long for her to lower down on it. Inch by inch, the dildo disappeared into her entrance until it was almost completely gone. Her body was bent back, her chest glistening with sweat and the cutest moan left her lips.

“Fuck,” Dean groaned. It was too much, so he rushed to open his pants, just enough to free his aching cock. The simple touch sent thousands of electrical shocks of pleasure through his body, but still, his eyes were fixed on her. “You’re so hot, I don’t think I’ll last long,” he held the base of his cock stronger to avoid his climax.

“I don’t think I’ll last long either,” she whimpered. She had started moving already, slowly, up and down on the toy. Since she was on the bed, the succion was useless and she had to hold it with one hand. Dean could see how wet she was on the dildo, and imagined how warm it had to be inside.

Another groan whistled through his teeth.

“Hmmm,” she moaned, picking up speed. “It feels so good… Dean… Look at me…”

He didn’t notice, but his gaze was so focused on the toy and her pussy, he didn’t even look at her face. Blinking hard, he looked up, and when he saw her face, twisted in pleasure, he couldn’t help it.

His hand started moving on his cock at the same rhythm as her.

“Can’t wait to be inside of you,” Dean muttered through his rashing breath. “Must feel so warm in there, and you’re so wet, fuck, sweetheart, you’re killing me.”

As an answer, she moaned and closed her eyes for a second. But quickly, she set her gaze on him again, even if it had to be the most embarrassing thing she ever did. She wanted to watch him watch her, watch him stroke his cock, watch him cum with her. “Soon… I promise, soon, you’ll have me, you’ll fuck me as much as you want, whenever you want… I'm ah... All yours, Dean..."

"Y/n." Dean could only say that. Again and again, moaning her name as she continued moving on the toy. "Y/n..."

"Dean, I’m gonna cum, oh my god, I’m…”

It was stronger than her. Never before did she come with only a dildo in her, it always took her hands or a vibrator on her clit to reach the end. But right now, in front of her boyfriend masturbating with her, it was too much. It felt so good. 

In an explosion of pleasure, her orgasm ripped through her in a scream. She closed her eyes, her body shaking, her wetness flooding under her and on her bed. But she so didn’t care about this right now.

It took a few moments for her to regain her hearing back, and a few more moments to open her eyes. It was strong, and she suddenly felt so tired, like the world came crashing back on her. Feeling like she could sleep for a whole day without waking up.

Y/n landed her eyes on the man in front of her. Dean had his head bent back, eyes closed, mouth parted. Lower, his cock was still a bit hard, and his release was covering his hand.

“Oh,” she said sadly, realizing she didn’t see him cum. At least, they came together.

“Oh,” Dean repeated, finally opening his eyes to land them on her. “That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen and done,” he admitted, a silly smile filling up his face. So he was too, drunk on pleasure.

“Yeah,” she admitted, feeling her face flush with embarrassment. Wow. They did it. They actually did it. Her joy, thought, left her face quickly as she realized something. “Fuck.”

“What is it?” Dean immediately went on protective boyfriend mode when he heard the change in her voice.

“I think I…” Y/n’s voice was small, so small and shy as she lifted herself from the spot she was in, removing carefully the dildo from her, and looked at the mess she made. “It never happened before, but now my bed… I don’t think I can use it anymore… Oh no…”

“Sweetheart,” Dean rushed to her side, quickly putting himself back in his pants even if he was messy with his release as well. “It’s alright. There’s plenty of other room in the bunker, with other beds.”

“But,” she stammered, her gaze looking down at her hands. “What if I want to… Use your bed, with you?” 

Y/n ended up looking up at him, their gaze meeting.

A soft kiss on her lips answered her question, and all of her insecurities washed away.

“My bed is yours, sweetheart. We can always use this room for your books, I’ll ask Sam to help building shelves and-”

Another kiss, this time, more powerful, interrupted his sentence. “God, I love you so much.”

Babum.

The words he never said back before.

Dean thought they would be hard to say. Impossible, even. But he surprised himself with how easy it actually was.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Forever taglist: @nitnat6245 @eevvvaa​​ @wickedinspirations​@fictional-affairs @awkward-and-indecisive​​ @peachyaliien @katbratsupernaturalwhore

Supernatural Tag List: @peachyaliien @sexyvixen7 @stixnstripesworld @charred-angelwings @treat-winchesterswith-kindness​ @lyarr24 @fiftyshadesgrl @this-is-me19

Dean Winchester Tag List: @akshi8278​​ @kazsrm67​​​ @wtrpxrks @deanwanddamons @thoughts-and-funnies​​​ @charred-angelwings @jensendreamland​ @deanswaywardgirl​​​ @happyt0exist @waynes-multiverse​​​ @djs8891 @mimaria420 @this-is-me1​​​ @syrma-sensei

[godmadeaterribleerror]

I Could Have You

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, oral both receiving), light angst, soulmates, sex pollen, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: Dean is hit with a lust spell, and it doesn't seem to only be effecting him. No one's really sure why, and Dean refuses to give in to the curse, so you'll just ride this out.

You'll defiantly be able to just ride this out.

Author's Note: I had a lot of fun with this one, I hope you enjoy it!

Title from Normal Fucking Rockwell by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 6k

You’re losing your mind.

Your skin is on fire, your back is flat on the cold bathroom floor, and you’re moaning and whining and bucking into the air but nothing is fixing this. Nothing is relieving you, not your fingers or the pillows or the toy a very red-faced Sam had bought you. Nothing is going to save you, because only one, stupid, handsome, selfless idiot can, and he’s suddenly too good to just fuck you.

Hell, that idiot is the only reason this is happening. According to Sam and Bobby, Dean got hit with a sex spell in Colorado, you started whimpering for him in South Dakota, and you’re not allowed to have sex with him for… reasons.

Reasons no one seems willing to fully share with you, but reasons.

You know Dean wants you. You’ve known he wants you. Neither of you have ever been able to do something about that—never going beyond flirting and lingering touches and stares—but you’re certain he feels the same way. Maybe not the exact same way, because you want whatever Dean offers you, his body or mind or heart or very soul, but you know he’s attracted to you. And if the countless little pieces of evidence you’ve hoarded in your brain—winks and smirks and long, apperceive scans of your body—weren’t enough for you to know, this was. You’d heard Dean roar your name from outside Bobby’s cabin as the Impala door slammed. You’d seen the feral, lust-blown expression on his face as he’d charged at you. Sam had tackled him to the ground as you’d grown a little dizzy with need, and Bobby grabbed your wrist, dragging you upstairs. Away from Dean, from the cure, from his big hands and soft mouth and huge-

“You’re gonna need to stay in here.” Bobby had muttered, refusing to meet your eyes as he shuffled out of the room. “Least until we get Dean’s head right, or figure out what the hell is going on.”

It’s been almost a day, and they’ve made almost no progress. From Sam’s last update, all they’re certain of is: Sex spell, you and Dean, no other options except you and Dean.

“What do you mean no other options,” you’d said, leaning up to frown at Sam. “Did Dean-“

“No.” Sam shakes his head, giving you a sheepish expression. “I mean, Bobby and I suggested it, but he said no.”

“Oh,” you’d mumbled, falling back down on the mattress. “Why?”

Sam had shrugged, leaning into your line of vision. “Do you want to have sex with me?”

“No, Sam, what the fuck-“

“That’s why.”

He’d stood up and left, and you hadn’t had a clue what the hell he was talking about. Sure, you didn’t want to have sex with him, but he was like a brother to you. Dean, somehow, wasn’t. Dean was Dean. And it wasn’t like you’d say no to a random, no-strings attached hookup right now-

Something had tugged in your gut, and you’d realized—staggering to the toilet and vomiting up your lunch—that you could not do a random hookup. You wanted Dean. You needed him. You might die if you didn’t get him, and it had to be him, and he must feel it too, but when you’d asked Sam he said no.

“No?!” You’d rolled over on the floor to glare up at him, wishing you could find the strength to surge up and punch him in his stupid, apologetic face. “What do you mean No?!”

“Dean, um,” Sam had sighed again, and if he kept doing that you were going to kick him in the balls. “He made us lock him in the safe room. He won’t come out until we cure him.”

“Why did he-“ You’d cut yourself off as it hit you, another, softer wave of sickness rolling over your body. The sickness lived in your heart. This sickness was made of the tragic reality that Dean might want you, but he didn’t want you. Maybe that was why he’d never made a move. Maybe he was attracted to you physically, but couldn’t see you like that, and didn’t really want to try to.

Maybe Dean was disgusted by the idea. Maybe he hated that his body found you hot, because he thinks of you like you think of Sam.

“Oh,” you’d rolled back onto your stomach, and prayed Sam would leave soon so you could go back to humping the floor. “Okay.”

Sam had said your name, waiting until you hummed an acknowledgment to continue. “We’re going to fix this-“

“I know.” You’d let out a long, slow breath, curling into your own body. “We always do.”

They would fix this. And then you’d have to look Dean in the eyes, and find a way to be okay with his rejection. Teach yourself how to not turn into a pining dumbass, chasing after someone who obviously didn’t want you. You wouldn’t lose him, he was your best friend, but you’d also have to learn to pretend it didn’t feel like your heart hadn’t just been ripped out of your chest and stomped on.

And now you’re here. Hoping Sam and Bobby will fix this soon, crawling into the empty bathtub to try and sleep. The bed is too warm, too intimate, to inviting of fantasies that will never be reality. Daydreams of Dean’s hands on you, trailing over your skin and setting of little sparks as he maps your body. Those same hands pushing open your thighs, two of his fingers teasing over your pussy, his mouth wrapping around your nipple as he started pumping and scissoring and crooking inside you-

There’s a knock on the bathroom door, and you yank your own fingers out of your cunt, wiping them on the towel as you speak, your voice far too hoarse. “Yeah, Sam?”

“Not Sam.” Bobby grumbles, his voice slightly muffled through the door. “You decent?”

You toss a towel over your body, having long abandoned clothing. “Yep, is everything-“

You cut yourself off as Bobby pushes the door open, his face angled up to avoid you.

“I said I’m decent, Bobby, you can look.”

He grunts, and you sit up a little straighter, making your voice a little firmer.

“It’s weirder if you don’t, you know.”

Bobby nods, his gaze slowly dropping to yours as he sits on the toilet, bracing his arms on his knees. “Sorry.” He mutters. “Ain’t tryin’ to make it uncomfortable. Just not lookin’ to see one of my, uh-“

“I know,” you sigh, leaning your head back on the tile. “I get it. Must be weird seeing Dean as well.”

“Eh.” Bobby shrugs. “I’ve walked in on him with lady company before, this ain’t new-“

“But it’s new with me?” You ask, raising your brows, and Bobby glares at you.

“I didn’t help raise you girl. And you’re just as important to me as those boys, but you’re also a girl. I mean, not a girl, but I don’t got those parts-“

“Jesus, Bobby.” You mumble, bringing your knees up to your chest. “I’m teasing. I know what you mean, I promise, just,” you swallow, shaking your head slightly. “Sorry. I’m tired.”

Bobby rolls his eyes, but his voice becomes a little softer, and far less panicked. “That ain’t nice, kid, you’re gonna give an old man a heart attack.”

“You’d be fine. I know CPR.”

He gives you a flat look. “We both know you ain’t in any condition to give me CPR.”

You wave him off. “I’d call Sam.”

“He wouldn’t hear you, he’s down in the panic room with-“

Bobby cuts himself off, and you roll your head to the side, giving him a bored glare.

“You can say his name, Bobby.”

“Fine.” He grunts. “Sam’s down checkin’ on Dean. He,” Bobby frowns at the air. “He still ain’t listenin’ to reason.”

You hum, hoping Bobby doesn’t notice how you’ve moved the towel between your thighs, just for something. “Reason?”

“We don’t have anythin’ to cure this except, uh, that way.” Bobby mutters. “And he’s still insistin’ we keep him chained up.”

“Ah.” You swallow. “Awesome.”

Bobby says your name, and it’s gentle. Like he’s consulting a child who’s had a nightmare, instead of a grown woman who was just finger-fucking herself in a tub. “You don’t gotta pretend this ain’t hurtin’ you.”

“I mean, it doesn’t feel good-“

“Not the spell.” Bobby says, and you frown at him.

“What-“

“Dean. He’s bein’ a fuckin’ dumbass, and you don’t need to act like he’s not.”

Your voice drops to a whisper. “He’s not what?”

“Killin’ you.” Bobby grunts, scanning over your face. “Rippin’ your heart out and take a big fat shit on it.”

You grimace. “That’s gross, Bobby-“

“Truth ain’t always sunshine and glitter-“

“It’s not the truth!” You snap, your voice suddenly harsh as something wilts and twists in his your chest. “I’m fine! I get it! Dean doesn’t want to do that, and that’s not his fault.”

Bobby leans back on the toilet, holding your glare with his own. “Why do you think you and Dean are the only idjits gettin’ hit by this? Why isn’t Sam humpin’ pillows and leavin’ stains on my walls?”

You feel a rush of heat from that thought—the image of Dean fucking into his hand flashing through your mind and leaving a mark between your thighs—and your voice is almost a squeak. “Because Dean’s the one that got hit?”

“Sam says he was in the line of that bitch’s fire too. But only Dean got,” Bobby makes a vague gesture over you. “This.”

“I don’t-“

“And Sam ain’t in love with his fuckin’ brother, so he was safe.”

You flush, gaping at Bobby for a long, wired silence, and when you speak your voice is a squeak.

“I- I’m, I’m not in love with Dean. I mean, maybe I have a crush, or something, but that’s, that’s not love-“

Bobby gives you a flat, disbelieving look. “You feel safer ‘round him?”

“Yeah, but I-“

“You laugh at all his jokes?”

“Maybe, but he can be funny-“

Bobby mutters your name, shaking his head. “I love that boy like a son, and he ain’t half as funny as he thinks he is.”

You frown. “He’s funny-“

“He can be,” Bobby shrugs. “But his jokes ain’t all winners. And you laugh at every single oneof ‘em. And,” he sighs, rubbing his beard. “He laughs at all’a your jokes.”

“Hey.” You scowl. “I’m a riot-“

“Didn’t say you weren’t. But even you can miss, girl. And he never seems to care.”

“So?” You shuffle on the floor, desperate not to starting grinding on the air in front of Bobby, but getting more and more wet from just the mention of Dean. “We’re friends, friends laugh at each other’s jokes-“

“Do friends get connected by sex spells ‘cross state lines?”

“I dunno,” you mumble. “Never been hit by a sex spell before.”

“You weren’t hit by one,” Bobby snaps your name, starting to sound exasperated. “Dean was. And that’s my damn point. Sam and I, we,” he sighs, giving you a long, confusing look. “We got it. We know what’s goin’ on.”

“Fuck,” you sit up, glowering at him. “Why didn’t you lead with that-“

“Cause you ain’t gonna like it.” Bobby grunts. “It’s an old location spell. Back in the day rich assholes would cast it on their highest eldest sons, so he could find his,” Bobby cringes, his last word pushed through his teeth. “Mate.”

“Mate?” You repeat, letting out a dry, huffing laugh. “What are we, fucking dogs-“

“Soulmate.” Bobby mutters, giving you a look that might have been sympathetic, or kind, or pitiful, but you’re suddenly a little dizzy and can’t really think or see.

“That’s not,” you shake your head. “No, Bobby, soulmates aren’t real-“

Bobby says your name, his voice stern. “You should know better than to say somethin’ like that in our line of work. Sam called Cas, and he said they’re real, but population increases or somethin’ made them ‘logistically impossible’, so they aren’t on the shop line no more.”

“But- But wouldn’t we have like, I don’t know, noticed? If that was true?”

“You shoulda.” Bobby shrugs. “Cas seemed pretty shocked you hadn’t. Said he had assumed you knew, because the pull is like a magnet or some shit. Spell’s only an enhancer, to move the train along.”

“So why-“

“You hopped in right after Dean got back from hell.” Bobby mutters. “Dean’s soul mighta been fucked enough not to recognize you. Spell mighta jumpstarted it.”

“Oh.”

“Yep.”

It’s a few minutes before you speak again, and Bobby waits patiently as you spiral. Down, down, down in your head, trying to rationalize how this could possibly be true. It couldn’t be true. There was no way it was true. Sure, you’ve liked Dean since you first met him, from the moment he introduced himself with a cocky grin, smirk, and fake name. You liked him even more when you called him out on his fake name, and he’d just chuckled, figured out you were a hunter, and offered to buy you a drink. You’d liked him when that drink had turned into a long, sleepless night of only conversation, and when you’d joined him and Sam on the road. And you’d kept thinking of him like that, and you thought of him all the time, but that didn’t mean anything. You didn’t love him. It’s not like you feel better when you wake up in a motel bed and he’s next to you, or a smile always tugs at your lips whenever he so much as looks at you, or the thought of him being in alone or pain makes you physically ill. It’s not like, if he grabbed your hand and told you he was done with hunting—the only life you’d ever both known—then asked you to join him in a boring, easy apple pie life you’d immediately say yes and kiss him, because you’ll go wherever he goes and he’s the only person you’ve ever really-

Oh.

You might be in love with Dean.

You might be soulmates with Dean.

“What, um,” you swallow, watching Bobby carefully. “What did Dean think? Of this?”

“We have told him yet.” Bobby’s jaw ticks, holding your gaze. “We ain’t sure he’ll-“

“Yeah.” You whisper, turning your attention back to the ceiling. There’s a little crack on it. Jagged and split through the white paint, easy to stare at and get lost in. Helpful in pretending this doesn’t hurt like a bitch. “Okay.”

Bobby mutters a promise of at least trying to talk some sense into Dean, but you both know his words are empty. Because Dean won’t believe this. It won’t be a matter of you and Dean, it will just be Dean, believing something like a soulmate could never happen to someone like him. He’ll insist they’re lying, or Cas is wrong, or all of this fucking bullshit.

“You ever wondered about aliens?” He’d asked you once, leaning against the Impala as you lay on the hood, watching him from an upside-down angle.

“Just like, in general?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess,” you’d tilted your head at him. “Why?”

“I dunno, just curious.” There had been another moment of silence, then, “You think they’re real?”

“They have to be right?” You’d reached over your head, grabbing his chin and tilting it up, until he was staring at the night sky. “I mean, look at that, De. It’s huge.”

He’d chuckled, swatting your hand away. “Where have I heard that before-“

“Eat me, Winchester.” You’d rolled your eyes, and his shit-eating grin had grown. “No. Shut it.”

He’d raised his hands in surrender. “Didn’t say a thing.”

“Uh huh.” You’d let your own attention trail up, over the vast darkness above you, splattered in infinite stars that you think—if you really tried—you’d be able to grab and hold in your hands. Maybe offer one to Dean. He’d deserve it.

You were silent for a while longer, you watching the sky, Dean waiting for you to come back to earth, and when he’d spoken again his voice was soft.

“You think you’d want to go? If they were?”

You’d looked back to him with a frown, and found him already looking at you. “What, aliens?”

He’d nodded, and you’d furrowed your brow in thought.

“Maybe. I’ve never thought about it before. I kind of like Earth.” You’d rolled onto your stomach, swinging your legs around to rest in Baby’s open window as you looked down at Dean. “What about you?”

“Nah,” he’d held your gaze, pulling himself up to sit at your side. “Not now.”

“Not now?”

“I would’ve when I was younger, if I coulda taken Sammy with me.” Dean had let out a dry chuckle. “But I’m not that lucky.”

He wasn’t that lucky. Dean didn’t get to be abducted by aliens, because he wasn’t lucky. Because saviors and little lights to guide you forward don’t just drop out of the sky.

But you didn’t drop out of the sky. You’d been on the ground, and tangible, and very, very real.

You feel real, to yourself. You didn’t feel like a possibility, or a myth, or a lie.

And you might love Dean.

And you know that, the longer you don’t get to at least see him, touch him, breathe him, the more you go mad. The harder it becomes to speak to Sam and Bobby when they check on you, the less you allow them to even say the word Dean, because it makes you writhe and moan and everyone just gets very uncomfortable.

So if Dean’s too much of a righteous, noble, self-loathing buttface to do something about this, you will.

You wait until the house is dark and quiet. Until you hear Bobby mutter a goodnight through the door—about an hour ago you’d started whining every other breath and fucking the edge of the bathtub, so Bobby wasn’t coming into the room anymore—and Sam walks in backwards to make sure you’re not dead and have enough food and water. Like you’re a caged animal.

You do feel a little like one. You feel like someone’s sucked everything rational and careful out of your brain and replaced it with Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean, you need him or you’ll die. He needs to need you, or something worse than death will happen.

And you’re willing to risk that, that small possibility of Dean looking at you—bare and wet and pleading for him—and still turning you away, because at least you’ll see him.

You need to at least see him.

It’s shocking easy to sneak around the house. For two seasoned, well-respected hunters, neither Sam nor Bobby seem to wake up as you crawl down to Dean, despite the floorboard creaking under you movements and the downright pathetic whimpers that keep escaping your mouth. It takes all your focus to grab the key to Bobby’s panic room, unlock the door, and push it open.

It’s dark. Pitch black. But you know Dean’s in here, because every nerve is trying to fly off your body and into the shadows. To Dean.

“What the hell are you doing,” Dean groans your name from the back of the room, and you feel molten. “You can’t be here-“

“It’s not your panic room, Dean.” You mumble, pushing yourself up on the wall and fiddling around for the light switch. “I can be wherever I want-“

“Not here.” Dean snaps. “Go.”

You shake your head, and the lights blind you as you flip them on. It takes a moment to adjust—blinking and hugging your body in a desperate play to not leap across the room to Dean the moment you see him—and when you do a high whine escapes your mouth.

Dean looks as feral as you feel. He’s just as naked as you are, just as drenched in sweat and flushed, and—if the proud, massive cock between his legs, standing at full attention and twitching as he scans over you, is any sign—just as aroused.

“Dean.” You whisper. “Please.”

“You need to leave.” He grunts, his fists clenched at his sides. “Now.”

“I don’t want to go-“

“Yes, you do.”

You frown. “You don’t get to tell me what I want, Dean. I want to stay-“

“No,” he hisses, and you might come just from him looking at you like that. Primal and wanting, with a gleam in his eyes that feels like a promise. “You don’t know what you want-“

That gets you to scoff. “Fuck off, asshole-“

“See!” He makes a dramatic gesture, then flinches back from himself. “I, I can’t let you do this. You don’t want me,” Dean mutters your name, running a hand over his face. “The spell wants me. Doesn’t count.”

“Yeah, the spell does want you, you idiot!” You take an unsteady step forward, and he steps back. “Because I want you!”

“No, you don’t-“

“Yes, I do! I need you, Dean, and I think you need me-“

“Doesn’t matter what I need.” He grunts, bracing his body and you take another step. “Go back upstairs.”

“Did Bobby talk to you?”

He scowls. “Bobby’s wrong. That’s- No.”

“Because it’s me?”

“Of course not,” he snaps, and it’s too quick. “Because that, that’s not a thing. People would be runnin’ around, selling soulmates in little bottles if they were real. And we’d have known by now-“

“We do know now.” You whisper, swaying slightly in the middle of the room. “And Cas says-“

“Cas is wrong.” Dean mutters. “I don’t, there’s no way that’s true. Not for me.”

His beautiful, deep eyes look so sad. Glossed over and weighted down of years of that being the truth. That things like that, like this, don’t happen for Dean.

You’d really love to be the first exception.

“What about for me?”

“What are you-“

“What about for me, Dean.” You watch his jaw clench, his nostrils flaring. “Does it get to be true for me?”

He doesn’t answer, and you push on.

“If it’s true for me, it’s you.” You talk another step forward, and this time he doesn’t flinch. “Just you.”

“It’s just the spell.” He mutters, and you don’t think he’s convincing himself. Not when his throat bobs and his eyes darken. “You don’t want me, baby, not really.”

You almost fall over from that. From Dean calling you baby, and saying it the exact same way he says your name. Low and rolling and lined with something soft.

“I do.” You hold your ground, raising your chin. “I want you, Dean Winchester. Fix this.”

He shakes his head, barely a jerked movement, and you start to feel a little faint.

“Dean. I need you to look me in the eyes,” your voice starts to rise, growing pleading and frantic. “And tell me you don’t want me. Say that you wanting me is just the spell, and I’ll go. I promise. I just need to you to fucking say it, Dean, just fucking say you don’t want me or need me or love me-“

He moves before you even realize what’s happening. Almost leaping onto you as his mouth crashed into yours, his hands cupping your face as he walks you back, back, back into the wall and growls down your throat. And you’d been wrong. His hand on you don’t feel like small bursts of electricity. They’re like lighting. Dragging something you hadn’t known existed to the surface, and setting off a storm of need in your body.

“Course I want you,” one arm snakes around your waist, pressing your right into his erection. “Always fucking wanted you. You’re smoking hot,” he starts to kiss over your face, his words slightly muffled against your skin as you cling to his body. “Funnier than I am, and smart as hell. You feel like home and smell so good and, fuck, I’ve lost sleep thinkin’ about how it’d feel to get lost in you. I’d have to be fucking blind and dumb not to want you,” Dean grunts your name, returning your mouth to yours with a painfully soft, gentle, featherlight kiss. “But I’m not-“

“If you say good for me,” you mutter, leaning back to glare at him. “I’ll punch you.” He chuckles, and it’s dry and low, rumbling from his chest into yours. “I’m not-“

“You are.” You whisper, offering him a small, slightly broken smile. You need him to get this. You might start crying if he doesn’t. “You’re good for me. And I want you. I love you.” Something flashes in his eyes, and you don’t care if he believes you. He doesn’t have to believe you. He just needs to get it. “No spell, Dean. I’m here, and I’m yours. Take me.”

Your nails dig into his skin—attempting to leave a mark of him if he turns you away—and his breathing is ragged. Heavy and hot, fanning across your face as he stares at you, just stares at you, why is he just staring at you-

“Dean-“

This kiss is brutal It’s teeth and tongue and bruising lips, like he’s trying to move into your body. His hands are everywhere on you, squeezing your ass and palming your tits, rolling your nipple between two fingers before groaning down your throat when you moan.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters your name, his hand on your ass glides onto your pussy, playing with your folds and flicking at your clit once, twice, three times and you feel fucking high- “So wet for me-“

“For you,” you whimper, nodding stupidly as Dean presses him thumb down on that bundle of nerves, rubbing slowly. “Fuck, Dean, all for you-“ 

“Need to taste you,” he growls, pulling his mouth fully back, watching you grind onto his hand with a dark gaze. “You gonna let me taste you, baby? Let me eat that pretty pussy-“ 

You’ve barely nodded before he’s on his knees, one arm still around your waist to support you both as he dives into your cunt. 

Oh.

He’s good at this. Really, really fucking good at this. You can’t really think anything that’s not Dean, or make any noise that’s not a moan kind of good at this. He’s ravenous and starved, his nose bumping and pressing into your clit in an impossibly mind-numbing rhythm, his tongue plunging in and out of your cunt until your squirming above him, desperate for more.

“Dean,” your hand tug at his hair, and you don’t know if you’re trying to push him deeper or pull him away. “Shit, Dean, I’m gonna cum-“

He groans against you, his eyes opening to watch you come apart above him, and you think he might be getting off on this.

“Please,” you whimper. “God, please, I need to cum-“

Dean bites your clit, and your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. It’s all bliss and relief and a high, bright haze of Dean, and then you’re falling down.

Dean’s pulling you down. Onto his lap as he leans back, moving you to straddle over him as his cock throbs between his legs.

You want to touch him.

You push back on him, just enough for his grip to loosen, and take him in your hand. He’s huge. And pretty. Dicks aren’t supposed to be pretty, but Dean’s is, and it might be because every part of Dean is pretty. Every part of him is impossible pretty, from his cock twitching in your hand as you run your thumb over the slit, to his lidded eyes and parted mouth as he watches you with wonder.

“Shit,” he moans your name, and fuck, even that was pretty. “What are you doing to me-“

“Handjob,” you whisper, placing your free hand lightly on his chest in a silent request for him to lay back. “I think.”

Dean huffs a laugh, leaning back with a smirk. “Ya think? You sure you know what you’re doing with that- Fuck-“

You hum around Dean’s cock, your lips wrapped around the base as your tongue swirls around his shaft, and his groans are sinful. The fire in your corse hadn’t lessened by any means from your orgasm, but it grows unbearable as you move Dean’s hand to your hair and let him guide you up and down. Let him set the pace, moaning when his hips jerk and he hits the back of your throat, and squeezing his thighs in silent reassurance that you’re good. You’re really, really good. You’re grinding onto Dean’s knee as he fucks your face, playing with his balls with your free hand and devouring every bit of slightly slurred praise that falls from his mouth.

“Fucking hell, baby, you always been this good at sucking cock? You’re, shit, you look like a wet dream, look like an angel, fuck.” He hisses at your teeth graze over him. “You look so good like this. Mouth stuffed full of cock, desperate and wet for me-“ You roll your hips against him, and Dean tugs you fully up, smirking at your swollen lips and glossy eyes. “Careful,” he warns, sitting up as his thumb swipes a little bit of drool from your cheek. “When I’m cumming tonight, I’m cumming in you, baby, got that?”

“Yes, please,” you whimper. You’re on the pill anyway. “Dean-“

“C’mere.” He tugs you into his lap with careful hands, scanning over you with a small shake of his head. “Son of bitch, you’re gorgeous. You’re sure you-“

“I’m sure.” You grind against his cock, never looking away from him as the head of him bumps your clit. It goes on for too long, Dean just watching you fuck yourself on his lap with his hands bruising your hips, and you start to whine. “Shit, Dean, need you-“

Dean surges forward, kissing you long and deep and slow, and keeps his brow pressed to yours as he looks down to where you’re moving on him.

“Hold on,” he mutters, and you follow the order without a second thought.

Your arms wrap around Dean’s neck just as he lines himself up, and you almost scream when he pushes into you.

“Shit,” he looks back at you, eyes wide. “Are you-“

“Don’t stop,” you moan, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “Fuck, it feels so good, Dean, don’t stop.”

He nods, kissing the side of your head, and slowly moves into your aching pussy until he bottoms out with a long exhale.

“Gonna, fuck-“ He groans as you squeeze around him. “Can’t do that, baby, I won’t last a minute-

“Sorry,” you mumble against him, playing with the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. “Didn’t meant to-“

“It’s fine.” He grunts, still not moving. “Just, fuck, you feel so good. So warm,” he groans, pressing his face onto the top of your head. “So tight and warm, feel so good-“

“Dean, please-“

You gasp as he gives one, short thrust upward.

“So good,” Dean growls in your ear, making another small, dizzying movement that presses him right up against that spongey spot deep inside of you. “Ready?”

“Ye-“

You squeal as Dean rises to his knees, keeping himself sheathed inside you as he falls forward, his hand splayed on your back and holding you carefully against him. His face is resting between your breasts, his cock angled so deep inside you it might drive you insane if he doesn’t start to fucking move, and his eyes stay yours as you only watch each other for a long moment.

He’s asking permission. Dean’s not pulling away, but he’s also not moving, because he’s offering you one last chance to turn him down. 

You move one hand to hold his face, wrapping your legs around his waist and squirming around him in silent encouragement.

It snaps something in him. Dean grabs your hand, moves it onto the back of his neck, and lowers you fully onto the ground so you’re caged between him and floor. He scans over you for only a second, a small, cocky smirk crawling onto his face, leans down to give you one last, almost sweet kiss.

A soft moan leaves you as Dean traces his tongue over your lips, and his low growl is the only warning you get before he starts to fuck into you like an animal.

It’s sloppy and wet and loud, skin slapping against skin as Dean abuses your cunt, and fuck you’ve never felt better. You feel full, split open on his cock and right where you belong, alive in a way that seeps right into your soul and ignites your blood into a holy fire of Dean. Groaning your name on your skin and touching you with calloused, big, expert hands. Watching you as you unravel beneath him, scraping your nails over his back and making needy sounds that only spur him on.

You’re going to fly out of your body. Dean’s muscles are ripping above and around you as he fucks you into the floor, and his mouth is mold perfectly onto yours. Neither of you seem to care to breathe, or speak, or do anything but nips and suck and lick at each other. Trying to get impossibly closer, to drag the other over the edge so you can fall with them. You grind up into Dean, and Dean bites your lip. Dean rolls his hips as he bottoms out, making your mouth fall open for his tongue to plunge down your throat, and you scrape and claw as his chest until he groans, and you manage to slip one hand down to play with his balls.

He wins he swats your hand away and starts to rub small, firm circles on your clit. He’s unrelenting, and watching you with an affection that feels a little misplaced for the carnal hunger on his handsome features.

“Always want you,” he mutters your name, pressing his thumb flat against you. “Cum for me, baby.”

Your vision blurs as you find release, and it feels like heaven. Like stars and fire and water and light under your skin, in your blood, like a halo around your head that’s all just the pleasure Dean’s is still wringing from your body. Your pussy is fluttering and gushing around his cock, and it sends him over the edge with a roar, his hips slamming home as he paints the walls of your cunt white.

And when you’re both spent and Dean rolls you over—carefully adjusting you to be right on top of him, his body a barrier between you and the now-cold floor—you feel good. Really, really good. Fucked out and high, nothing trying to burst out of your skin or eat at your stomach. You feel better than you might have ever felt in your whole life. The only warmth in your body is heat you’re trading with Dean, and you feel good.

“We, um.” You trace over his tattoo, looking up at him under your eyelashes. “We should probably talk, or something-“

“Or something.” He agrees, grinning down at you. “Don’t feel like it’s a rush though. Sammy and Bobby will find us in the morning. Right now,” Dean kisses your brow, squeezing his arms around your body. “You’re all mine.”

You can be all his. It’ll be really, really easy to be all Dean, because he hasn’t said he loves you, but he does. You know he does. It lives in how he’s still touching and holding you, still talking to you like you’re his best friend and not a mistake, and running his hands through your hair mindlessly.

And you’ll have a lot to talk about later. A lot to fight about, and fuck about, and laugh and cry and scream about.

But right now you just have to be Dean’s.

And that will be really easy.

End Note: Bobby Singer you are fifty times the father John Winchester could ever HOPE to be.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery

[redbird-tf]

Chamomile tea 

Dean winchester x (hunter ) sister reader

Summary: being alone for so long you’ve gotten used to only relying on yourself, a mindset that Dean starts to chip away at. 

Word count: 740

Notes: being creative is hard

Warnings: none

You sniffled, reaching across the table for a new tissue. You blew hard before discarding it in the bin with the dozen others.“Fever not letting up?” You jumped at Dean's voice, You weren't quite accustomed to having company around yet. The three of you were still navigating this new dynamic, which was proving easier for some than others. Just a few months ago Sam and Dean were the dynamic hunter duo, while you still navigated the world solo. You could still vividly recall the moment when John had announced the secret he had buried for years, the secret forced out because of a hunt.

——————

You remembered the look of shock that overtook everyone’s face and the screaming match that ensued between Sam and John. You could recall standing silently in the corner, feeling Dean gaze upon you from ten feet away. Once the job was done and John disappeared again you expected life to go back to normal, you couldn’t have anticipated the brothers to take you under their wing. “Family looks out for each other” Sam had stated to you, a mentality that you would come to learn.

What you hadn’t seen that night was the quiet devastation Dean had unleashed. He couldn’t pick a fight with John like Sam could, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t just as angry. His entire life he’d been forced into the role of a guardian for his little brother, and now to find out he had a sister—who had been alone in this life—turned that protective instinct into a fierce storm of emotions. The guilt of failing as brother was sallowing him whole and the rage towards John for keeping the truth from him boiled over. Least to say When they checked out, the motel room bore the scars of his turmoil.

——————-

“I'm fine” you stated blankly in response, your attention turning back to the lore book in your lap. You weren’t purposely being stubborn, to you it was true. You had gotten sick before and you'd get over it, no big deal. Dean didn't respond and carried on with his business in the kitchen. The sound of pouring liquid reached your ears, but it didn’t smell like his usual coffee so you assumed he was having a drink. Hearing what sounded like a spoon hitting the side of a ceramic mug you raised your head in confusion. Unfortunately, his back was turned to you, blocking your view of what he was conjuring up.

When he started to turn around, your eyes darted back to your book only looking up when hearing the soft clink of a mug being placed in front of you. You watched the steam rise, a sweet and sour aroma filling the air. “Is that chamomile tea?” A softer voice chimed in as Sam entered the room. “Not for you,” Dean stated firmly, taking a seat across from you. You stared at the drink “What is it?” You asked raising an eyebrow. “Tea, honey for a sore throat, and some lemon for the headaches” Dean explained leaning back in his chair. “Thats pure witchcraft right there, can fix anything!” Sam exclaimed pointing at the mug. “Drink up sis” sam encouraged, brushing his hand over your shoulder on his way to the door.

“You didn't have to do that,” you said softly to Dean. “I used to make them all the time for Sam, it's no big deal,” Dean reassured you. You fidgetedwith the edge of a page. “I'm not dying Dean.” Your tone came off defensive causing Dean to sit up straight. “You don't have to be dying, for someone to make you a cup of tea kiddo” his words prompted you to lift your head to meet his gaze. “I didn't mean…” your words trailed off, unable to defend your previous statement. “I'm your big brother, it's my job to look out for you.” He said with a stern tone. You could only stare at him in silence trying to comprehend his words. “I know it hasn't always been like that, but it is now. I've been a big brother for a long time and Sam’s still learning. i know you are too—just…” he took a deep breath “Let me do this for you, ok?” You nodded silently, noticing how his softened eyes contrasted with the weight of his words.

Without knowing what to say, you lifted the mug to your lips. The warmth of the citrus tea seeped into your chest, and you felt your tense muscles start to relax much like the protective wall you’ve built beginning to chip away. You gently placed the mug down, catching a glimpse of the small smile on Dean's face. “Thank you, Dean” you responded with a smile of your own. He didn’t respond with words instead, he stood up from the table, patting you on the shoulder as he passed by. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself when looking down at the mug in front of you.

———————-

[aylacavebear]

So far, this is my favorite one-shot I've written, and I was rereading it this morning. Just wanted to give it a reblog. I shared this with my sister, and she said that the things I wrote in here are things that men really struggle with. Also, the woman struggles with needing to hear those things, but the way I wrote it, to my sister, was beautiful. That the reader here just knew. I just wanted to share that.

Three Little Words - A Touched Oneshot

Just something cute and fluffy. Established relationship. Dean x OCF reader/you

No warnings here, no insuations. Just fluffy cuteness. I hope you guys like it. I wrote and edited it this morning while having coffee in just a couple hours, since it invaded my dreams last night in the best way.

Memories are indented. Thoughts are in italics.

Word Count: 2583

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The two of you were cuddling, your shared room dark. He’d just gotten back from a hunt and, after showering, had crawled into bed behind you. You weren’t completely asleep, trying to stay awake and wait for him. So when you felt the bed dip and the warmth of his body, you snuggled your back against his chest as his arm slipped over your waist.

Dean nuzzled into your hair, inhaling deeply, trying to find that peace you always brought to him. The way your body fit against his was where it always started. Then it was your scent as he closed his eyes and held you close. He knew you’d ask. You always did after the content hum left his lips.

“Why me?” your words were always a whisper because you still couldn’t understand it. But then again, Dean was never good with words.

He didn’t know how to tell you that holding you close like this brought peace to his soul in a way he never thought was possible.

He didn’t know how to tell you that your laughter was like a symphony that quieted his thoughts when nothing else did.

He didn’t know how to tell you that your smile brightened the room around you and took away the darkness he always felt.

He didn’t know how to tell you that when you would just sit and listen to him talk about how badly a hunt had gone while he stared at the floor said more than words ever could.

He didn’t know how to tell you that the moment his lips touched yours, the entire world melted away, leaving him with just you and how you made him feel.

He didn’t know how to tell you that when you were doing research, your focus completely on the book in front of you, that the way a few strands of hair had fallen over one side of your face made his breath hitch in his chest and the moment freeze and everything melted away.

He didn’t know how to tell you that when you’d bring him something to eat when he had put off eating for most of the day that the love he saw in your eyes made him realize how much you truly loved him and all he wanted to do was say those three little words to you, but couldn’t.

He didn’t know how to tell you that when you’d sing along to the radio and his favorite songs, you sounded like an angel, and for a few moments, he forgot about everything else but your voice.

He didn’t know how to tell you that just you being in his life brought joy back into his heart, and he found himself finding reasons to be silly with you, like a ticklefest, when he noticed a frown on your lips. 

He didn’t know how to tell you that when he got to wake up with you in his arms, he didn’t feel like a hunter or like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. He felt like, in that moment, he had a normal, apple pie life, even if it never lasted.

He didn’t know how to tell you that when he would catch you baking, especially pie, he wished his mother was there, that she could have met you cause he knew she would have loved you as much as he did.

He didn’t know how to tell you that he loved hearing you squeal or squeak when he would surprise you, how it always made him smile when you pretended to be mad at him, but the look of love and joy in your eyes always gave you away.

He didn’t know how to tell you that when you didn’t go with him and Sam on a case, he missed everything about you, and he was always more on edge, and he always had nightmares of losing you to some monster before he could make it back to you.

There was so much he never knew how to tell you, so he had done his best to show you because it all sounded stupid in his head, and he couldn’t bring himself to speak any of the words he tried to put to the emotions you made him feel. So, he told you the thing he always did when you asked, “Why you.” It was because you were you, and he loved all of you.

A quiet sigh left his lips, but he didn’t move away from you. For a few moments, he tried to think of how to word his emotions, but the words never seemed right. “Because you’re you,” he whispered back as his mind wandered.

He didn’t know how to tell you that when you always split the last piece of bacon with him, he remembered how you helped change his perspective on things. 

The two of you had been sitting in the kitchen in the bunker, having just finished the breakfast he had cooked. There was one slice of bacon left on the plate. Dean didn’t know how to tell you he loved you. Those were words he just couldn’t manage to ever say out loud. So, instead, he picked up the slice of bacon and handed it to you, telling you that you could have it because he knew how much you loved bacon. It was your gentle chuckle as you took the bacon that made him pause and look at you, a little confused. He watched as you broke the bacon in half, “I never want to take more than you give,” you whispered, then put one of the halves in your mouth. Instead of handing that other half to Dean, you leaned across the table and fed it to him, nothing but love and adoration in your eyes. His breath had hitched in his chest. “You love bacon as much as I do. I’ll always share with you. I never want you to feel like I take more than I give,” you had told him softly. And from that moment on, he began trying the same thing with you.

“Where are your thoughts?” you asked him sleepily, feeling how he had tensed up a little as he held you.

He let out a quiet chuckle because you always seemed to know. “In my head,” he mumbled, nuzzling against your neck again and letting out a content sigh.

“Where are you?” you asked, this time softer.

“With you,” he whispered, feeling how just telling you that always made the tension ease out of him, everywhere.

He wanted to tell you that it was simple questions like that that had helped him over the years learn that he wasn’t alone, that he didn’t have to face the things not only in his head but also in life, alone.

But Dean had never been good with sharing the things he went through, and you had never pushed. Just like now. He knew you knew he was tense from the hunt, but you hadn’t even asked him how it went. You never had to ask. You just had found ways to pull his mind into the now. He smiled a little, remembering back to the first fight between the two of you, before he’d ever even asked you to be with him, let alone wanted to admit that you had wormed your way into his heart.

It had been after a hunt. Sam had already gone to his room, knowing what was coming, but Dean had followed you to yours, slamming the door behind him. His eyes were on your blood-stained shirt. Your wounds had already healed, but that wasn’t the point, not for Dean. You had gotten injured, saving him. He could tell you were pissed, but he didn’t care. The tension and silence in the car ride back to the motel had only given him time to think about what he was going to say to you instead of what he wanted to say. You turned to look at him, a glare in your eyes as you crossed your arms, standing confidently across the small room. Dean didn’t care. To him, he wasn’t worth you getting hurt. “What you did was reckless,” he growled, but you didn’t even blink, only pushing his anger further. “You didn’t follow the plan, and you got hurt!” You just raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk toyed at your lips. He didn’t like that look. “Yes. It was reckless. Your plan was flawed, but you refuse to trust my judgment on things, so I have to improvise.” There was no anger in your words, and for the briefest of moments, he knew you saw the confusion in his eyes before he quickly hid it. Dean let the anger flare in his eyes again, wanting to make you understand that he wasn’t worth you getting hurt, period. To him, this wasn’t up for debate. He took two steps toward you, crossing the small room, but you didn’t even flinch as your eyes never left his. It was both slightly intimidating, but deep down, it tickled that hope he always pushed away. He hated himself for the things that spewed from his mouth after that as he looked down at you with utter anger. The fact that it didn’t seem to outwardly affect you only fueled it further. You literally just stood there, your eyes locked onto his, your expression almost neutral, and your arms crossed. It was infuriating him. You had waited patiently while he went off. He hadn’t said a single nice thing, but that wouldn’t deter you. Nope. You’d spent enough time now around the brothers that you knew Dean’s habits, his patterns. Hell, you had even tested them a few times just to make sure. The moment he was done yelling, you figured it was time to point a few things out.

“First off, you’re a hypocrite,” you began, but your tone was… normal? That puzzled Dean, but only for a split second before he quickly hid it, letting the anger flare in his eyes again. But you didn’t stop there. “You’re constantly putting yourself in harm's way to keep not only Sam and me safe but strangers too. I know you do it because you care. Dean, you have one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever seen in someone. You don’t chastise Sam when he does the same thing I just did tonight. I know this because I’ve tested it, among other things,” you told him, and he could hear the softness that trickled into your words. But you didn’t stop there. “You’re going to have to just deal with me doing what I do. I don’t do hypocrisy or double standards. If you don’t want me to do it, then don’t do it yourself, period.” The seriousness with which you said that made him see red, his jaw clenching as his hands balled into fists at his sides, but even that didn’t seem to affect you. He opened his mouth as he pointed a finger at you, but you kept going. “I’m allowed to put myself in harm’s way for those I care about. Plain and simple. I’m a hunter, Dean, just like you. You want to yell at me because I got hurt, fine. Then, when you get hurt, I’ll stay silent while I tend to your wounds because that’s just how I am. You yelling is your way of showing how you care. When I’m silently patching you or Sam up, that’s how I show I care. I’m not going to yell at you for protecting someone you care about.” There was a finality in your last statement that had Dean wanting so desperately to hate you. Dean couldn’t even find words to say something that would push you away, and that had pissed him off. You saw through him into the depths of the things he thought he kept hidden. The fact that you would let him yell at you, floored him. To him, he wasn’t worth saving, wasn’t worth protecting, wasn’t worth being cared for, and he damn well wasn’t worth getting hurt for. He wanted to yell at you, but he didn’t have an argument now. You just looked up at him with those eyes he had tried so hard not to get lost in since he and Sam had asked you to join them. Then there was how relaxed your expression was, like the cruel things he had said hadn’t even affected you. You had effectively taken away the things he could use to keep you at arm's length, the things he would have used to push you away.  It hit him in that moment, and it scared the hell out of him, but all he did was glare down at you, enraged. “This isn’t over,” he told you in a low growl. “Yes, Dean, it is. You can’t scare me away because I know you’ll never hurt me,” you told him plainly, and the shock in his eyes left just as quickly as it appeared. All he could do was storm out of your room, slamming the door behind him.

The memory brought a small smile to his lips as he pulled you just that much closer. That was the night he realized he loved you and that you loved him, but it took him nearly another three years before he acted on it. The bluntness of your words back then had always shut him up, but it was mostly because of the kindness in your eyes as you spoke them.

You felt him relax further behind you, the warmth of his body and how his arm was draped across you was lulling you off to sleep as a soft smile found your lips. It was these moments where nothing else mattered. There were no monsters, no pressing apocalypse that had to be tended to, and no research left untouched in the library. This moment was a peaceful reprieve from the hardships that came with being a hunter.

As Dean drifted off to sleep, his thoughts were only of you. His last thought was always those three little words he hadn’t been able to say to you, but he showed you in every way he could possibly imagine.

Like when he’d share his pie with you, feeding you pieces while he watched you smile and the light of wherever the two of you were sitting dance off your features. 

When he would say something silly just to hear you laugh with that huge smile that reached both your eyes.

He couldn’t tell you that when you would come up and hold him from behind while he was cooking, it instantly took the tension from his shoulders. So, he would hold you while you washed the dishes, hoping his closeness brought you the same feeling.

He couldn’t tell you that you were his home, the place where his soul found peace, and all he ever had to do was look into your eyes or watch you doing some simple task. So, he had vowed that he would do everything he could, every day, to be your Home. Why? Because Dean wasn’t good with words, but he could do actions, and those, those you could see. All he could do was hope that you felt them how he meant them because no matter how badly he wanted to, he couldn’t say those three little words.

----------------------------------------- Touched Master List Main Master List

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@hobby27 @megs-gadom @cheekygirl2309 @mxtansy @ladysparkles78

[jollyhunter]

24 Kinky Days with Dean x reader - Day 11.

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Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW - MDNI! - includes explicit sexual content. It's a kinky writing challenge, so expect anything at this point, (nothing freaky, don't worry) but it's a surprise calendar so I won't spoil it! (Also, English is not my native language) Contains brief reference to Dec.1 (Sunshine) as well as Dec.9 (Whip Stroke) !

Summary: It's Christmas shopping day and Dean and you are cooped up in the fitting room, bickering, when one thing leads to the other...

Words: 2,170

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated! And let me know whether you enjoy it so far! <3 A/N: This prompt took me way too long and I think it shows... I rewrote it a good 4 times and now I'm late with posting it :') But I hope it turned out well enough and ya'll enjoy it nonetheless!

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

11th Dec. - Temptation

It's a bustling atmosphere, a wry cocktail mix of merry Christmas songs playing overhead and a grouchy Dean cooped up with you in the fitting room. “Maybe I should get the other tie…” you mumble to yourself, mentally going through different outfits for Dean.

“Please don‘t…” you hear Dean interject next to you, but you ignore him, focused on the task to get you both through this. With a contemplating hum, your eyes scan the assortment of outfits you had picked for him for the upcoming Christmas dinner with your family. You decide to start out with the white shirt, your hand running along the fabrics to smooth out some wrinkles.

Dean suddenly drapes his muscular arm around your neck, heavy and warm against your cheek before he pulls you in close to tuck your head under his chin where he places a soft kiss on your head. “Can we please go home?” He mutters against your hair, still keeping you close to distract himself with your scent (and to keep the clothings out of your reach).

You push a bit into his sides, turning in the narrow cabin to face him. “Nope, we‘re not done yet,” you chuckle as you tilt your head to glance up at him with a teasing smile. But your amusement dies down the moment you see his face; His eyes briefly pull shut before they go wide again in an effort to hold your gaze, his head visibly hard to keep up. Dean looks exhausted. You both didn't get much sleep lately, and on top of that, you know he is bored out of his mind, not being a fan of the holiday shopping spree.

“That bad?” you ask, although you already see the answer in his half-lidded eyes.

“Mhm,” he lets out a tired hum while he nuzzles his nose against your hair, sniffing the sweet smell of it. His voice is hoarse and quiet, seemingly left of any energy to speak properly, “‘m real tired…”

“Just this one, then we‘re done. Okay?” you insist while you reach up to gently tug at the front of his jacket, pulling it off and dropping it onto the small plastic stool in the corner of the cabin.

“You’ve been sayin’ that for the past 3 hours…” He groans and drops his forehead to your shoulder, “Please.” He begs now, his thumb gently caressing your upper arm.

Yeah, okay. You might have overdone it a bit. But it was the first day in months where you had a day - an entire day - with no hunting business whatsoever. So, naturally you took the chance. You‘d been running from one shop to the next since the early morning. Which wasn‘t that much of a deal for you, but clearly you overestimated Dean‘s shopping-stamina.

“Come on, we’re almost done,” you coo softly while you wiggle yourself free from his grip. “You wanna look good, don't you?”

His arms reluctantly slide off your shoulders to fall heavily next to his sides and his head drops forward for a moment. With a low grunt, he catches himself mid-air just to slump with his shoulder against the mirror, almost knocking into you in the process. “You kiddin' me? I look fucking great in anything...” he rolls his eyes and tries to argue cockily, but his tired words lack his usual bite.

Unperturbed, your hands effortlessly work their way down his buttons. He watches your stubborn determination with a frustrated look, but he’s too tired to put up any fight. “Up with your arms big baby.” You instruct and without waiting for his reaction, you first pull his shirt off and then unbuckle his belt to pull his pants off as well, stripping him naked for what feels like the twentieth time today.

You turn around to fetch a white shirt and marine blue pants off the hanger, matched with the first one out of the six suits, all waiting to be tried on. Meanwhile you hear him grumble something about ‘relentless damn woman‘ as he‘s rubbing the space between his eyebrows. You roll your eyes but keep going, pulling one outfit off the hanger after the other while Dean’s muttering disgruntled words under his breath. The entire time you try to navigate around Dean, but it was a difficult task with him almost keeling over and burying you alive in the narrow cabin at any given moment.

After a while you turn away again to finally fetch the last piece. “Your cute ass still red from all the whippin’?” he asks out of nowhere. And this time all of sudden his gravelly and slurred voice was way louder than before, enough to get you to whirl around with a panicked expression. A lazy, cocky smirk forms on his lips when he realizes that he‘s finally found a way to throw you off course and draw your attention away from the clothings, “I bet it is… the way you were whimperin’… an’ me whipping an’ fu-” your hand darts out to clasp it over his lips, mouthing a silent “shut it!”, praying that no one heard him. But he just continues to mumble, his words now muffled by your hand. You shoot him a glare, watching how he enjoys your flustered state with a tired version of his trademark cheshire grin, standing there in nothing but white boxers – tenting big time.

You had learned a while ago that when Dean is exhausted and practically running on steam, he has four phases; First he turns grouchy and irritated. When you won’t give in, his annoyance soon crumbles and he’s desperate and pleading. Still no luck? He’ll huff and puff and grumble in frustration like a child. You’re still relentless? Dean will lose every bit of the little inhibitions he has, and turn into a tired ‘n horny mess.

He gently grabs your hand on his mouth and places a kiss to your palm before his tongue suddenly darts out to lick it. You almost screech at the unexpected wetness on the inside of your hand and instantly pull it back. Dean grins mischievously with a hint of pride at his dirty move. “Y’know… I could use some juice,” he drawls out before he pulls his bottom lip back to graze his teeth across it. You stare up at him with raised eyebrows, the realization dawning on you; Dean has entered the fourth phase.

“Heh-heh,” Dean lets out his typical cocky chuckle in reaction to your lack of response. His half-lidded eyes glint with mischief when his hand trails down your back - but you swat it away before it reaches its destination.

“Dean, focus! Not here.” You hiss in a low voice, trying to get his mind out of the gutter. But despite your slight annoyance, you can’t fight off the small amused smile creeping up on your face.

“Oh come on baby, gimmi somethin’... please.” He mutters, leaning closer again to shower your scrunched up face with little kisses now. His strong arms are loosely draped over your shoulders, still heavy as they caress your back with slow circles. “I’ll be good… I promise…” He nudges your cheek with his nose before he drops his head to your shoulder, mumbling against your neck, “I need you… please….” His voice takes on that desperate, pleading tone which for some reason always slips into a sudden extra thick Texan accent when he’s this deadbeat. “‘m serious… I’ll be good… an’… an’ I’ll try on whatever you want… an’ be yer mule for the rest of the day…”

That earned himself a chuckle of yours to which he lifts his head to look at you with a lazy smile. For some reason you can’t help but feel like this cuddly, touchy, needy and hella knackered Texan-boy version of his has got something incredibly endearing.

He goes back to pepper your exposed skin with kisses and despite his half-comatose state, he manages to hit every single right spot on your neck all the way up to your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, right to your core. His stubbles brush against your jawline while you nuzzle your nose against the side of his face, the smell of him suddenly much more intense and tantalizing. Without realizing it, you tilt your head to the side, gaining him more access. Meanwhile his hands travel down your back once more, but this time you allow him to move on, to squeeze and massage your ass. You have to stifle a small moan against his bare chest and moments later your lips start planting kisses all over his abs before you can even register it. Dean groans into the crook of your neck, his hot breath tingling your skin while his fingers dig into the fabric of your jeans.

But then you suddenly tense up and pull slightly back as you could’ve sworn you heard a noise from outside the fitting room. Wait - Shit. Right. You curse inwardly when the realization of you being in public slaps you right out of your mindless state. “Dean, wait-” you mutter in slight panic and Dean freezes instantly, his lips still pressed against your skin while he glances at you from the corner of his eyes with a raise of his brows.

“What if somebody hears us?” You continue, your rational mind clinging to your fear of getting caught.

Dean raises his head, just enough to whisper softly against your ear, his hoarse voice rumbling and reassuring despite his state, “s’okay… there’s no one else down here… nuthin’ to worry, sunny.” You raise an eyebrow at the new version of ‘sunshine’ but don’t get to comment on it, as he continues in a teasing tone. “An’ if anyone does happen to hear us, they’ll jus’ know we’re havin’ a real fun time.”

“But…” you start out, your increasingly clouded mind desperately trying to come up with some argument but ultimately giving in to the lips on your skin and the pooling heat between your legs.

It’s an interesting thing, how quickly the fear of getting caught can turn into excitement, only fuelling one’s desire to go on. The temptation to test the limits. Just a bit more. Just a kiss more, a touch more - okay, one soft moan won’t be enough to get anyone's attention, right? Yeah alright, that was a bit loud, Dean, but if we keep it down we can keep this going… just a tad bit longer.

“Nothing more than a little hanky-panky - okay?” You state between kisses.

“Nuthin’ more than a little hanky-panky.” He repeats huskily.

Minutes later that poor stool of the corner creaks under the combined weight of Dean, and you straddling his thighs, bouncing up and down on his thick cock. Your forehead drops to rest on his head, your teeth tugging at strands of his dark blond hair whenever he pulls you down by your hipbones. He groans into your shirt, his face dug between your breasts in a weak effort to muffle his sounds. You stifle a whimper when he suddenly grazes his teeth along the fabrics, pinching your nipple with his teeth. Your nails claw at the skin of his bare back and his neck, and your lips are firmly pressed against his hair as you try to hold in your own moans and your frantic panting.

The stool squeaks in protest when your rhythm picks up its pace and Dean starts to buck his hips to meet you halfway. A loud guttural moan escapes your throat when the tip of his cock hits a sensitive spot, but your sound is quickly muffled by Deans hand. “Shhh… let’s not alarm the staff…” He whispers into your ear with a sly smirk. You nod and he pulls his hand away again to clash his lips with yours, swallowing each other’s exclaims of pleasure while you both feel the need to go harder, deeper. Dean tightens his grip on your hips and you hook your feet around the stools legs. He slams you down on his cock, feeling it grow harder with each thrust when you start clenching your walls around him and feel yourself grow closer to that sweet release. A few moments later, all three of you are trembling and groaning, so close to the breaking point that - Hold on a second.

But it’s too late, you’re both too far gone to form any thoughts now, your bodies working mindlessly to get you over that edge. At last, a deep, muffled groan echoes through the room as you both come undone and collapse on the stool, shaking and panting heavily. Unfortunately that’s the last push needed to send the stool over the edge as well; before either of you realize what’s going on, its legs give in with a row of shuddering cracks and you all three crash into the floor in a cacophony of plastic snapping, a high pitched scream, and a half-strangled “Son of a bitch!”

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Masterlist of opened windows:

1st Dec. - Sunshine 2nd Dec. - Spell Book 3rd Dec. - Lights Out 4th Dec. - Tickle 5th Dec. - Dirty UNO 6th Dec. - (TBA) 7th Dec. - Candlelight 8th Dec. - Hex Play 9th Dec. - Whip Stroke 10th Dec. - Barbie World 11th Dec. - Temptation

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Tags:

@ariasong11 @deansjacket @literallylexa @lmpala1967 @foxyjwls007 @impala67rollingthroughtown

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Oh, Baby

Summary: When Dean is cursed on a hunt and turned into a baby, the reader has to take care of him along with Sam. Dean however, is a bit more adult than they might realize...

Pairing: Baby!Dean x reader

Word Count: 4,500ish

Warnings: language

“Nice job, Sam,” you said, Sam sighing in relief.

“I think she was trying to hex me before I put her down,” said Sam, shaking his head. You hummed, glancing around and pursing your lips. “Where’s Dean?”

“We split up. I thought he came back to you,” you said.

“I thought he was with you,” said Sam. You both took off in opposite directions, combing through different rooms of the house. You were in the kitchen when you heard a baby start to cry somewhere. You opened a door and saw it go down to a basement. You had your gun out, following the sound as it got louder, finding an infant shouting it’s head off in the middle of the room.

“S’okay, baby,” you said, shoving your gun away and picking him up off the cold floor. “You’re alright. The witch is gone and...”

You noticed a lump of clothes nearby, Dean’s navy jacket and his gun in the pile. You stared at the six month old in front of you, wet green eyes staring at you.

“No, baby. No, you aren’t...” you said, the baby scrunching up his face before he was crying again. “Dean?”

He stilled for a moment, recognizing his name but he started crying again and burrowed himself into your jacket collar.

“Okay. It’s okay. We’ll fix it Dean. Stop crying baby. We’ll fix it.”

“Sam,” you said, sitting in the backseat of Baby with Dean an hour later, Sam trying to install a baby seat in the back. “Sam! Hurry up!”

“What?” said Sam, glaring at you, Dean shouting even louder. “Dean! Stop crying!”

“Don’t shout at him, he’s a baby,” you said. “Get that damn seat together so he can get some sleep.”

“He’s shouting his head off and it’s not exactly helping,” said Sam, fiddling with a strap. You managed to get Dean in a diaper, any attempts at finding an adult stuck in that tiny body not resulting in anything beside Dean recognizing his name. “Put him in some clothes. He’s probably cold.”

“Well hand me the bag with the onesie’s in it then,” you said, Dean yelling some more. “Dean, baby. Please calm down.”

“I got it,” said Sam, clipping something in place. He took Dean from you and got an earful, Sam strapping Dean in as he kicked his legs. “Dude. Relax. Here.”

Sam leaned into the front seat and grabbed a bag, shoving a little blanket over Dean and tucking it in, Dean calming right down and conking out like a light.

“Finally,” said Sam, grabbing the bag and shoving it in the back. “Let’s get home so we can get this figured out.”

“Hi Dean,” you said softly the next morning, Dean grabbing his toes in the makeshift crib you’d made out of a laundry basket. “Good morning.”

He scrunched up his face as you caught the smell, wiping at your nose.

“Okay so you’re really like a baby,” you said, picking him up and setting him on your bed. You got a towel under him and some wipes, gagging when you plucked off the diaper. Dean wasn’t crying so far which was an improvement but he got red in the face when you tried to put a fresh one on. “Dean, you have to wear it.”

He tried to pout and you sat next to him, running a hand over his head.

“Agg!” he said, kicking his feet.

“Are you an adult in there?” you asked. Dean seemed to ignore you, staring up at the ceiling. “Or do you really think you’re a baby?”

“Neither,” said Sam, knocking on the door frame as he came in. “I figured out the spell. He’s a baby in most senses of the word. He likely only remembers us as family and that we’ll take care of him. But he’s not arguing that he doesn’t want to wear a diaper because he’s adult Dean. He just doesn’t want to wear one right now...I think.”

“How long is he going to be like this?” you said, Dean grabbing hold of your finger and sucking on it. Sam swallowed and stared at his feet. “Sam.”

“...Six months,” said Sam.

“Six fucking months!” you said, Dean dropping your hand and starting to cry. “Sam we can’t take care of a baby for six months. We’re damn hunters.”

“We’ll have to figure something out,” said Sam.

“I don’t know how to take care of him though,” you said. “I can change a diaper but I don’t know how to feed him or-”

“We’ll buy some parenting books I guess,” said Sam, staring at Dean. “I have some other news you won’t be happy about.”

“What?” you said.

“Jody called. She needs backup on a hunt,” said Sam.

“One of us has to stay here with him,” you said.

“Can you stay?” said Sam. “I ran out this morning and got more stuff for Dean but...he doesn’t cry as much around you.”

“Fine but if I call you better answer your phone. Better yet, give it to Jody, she was a mom,” you said.

“I know,” said Sam, walking inside, putting a hand on Dean’s head. “Be good for Y/N. We’ll try to figure out how to make this as painless as possible.”

By the time you got Dean in a diaper and a onesie, Sam had already headed out. You carried Dean on your hip to the kitchen, finding the jars of baby food and instant formula Sam had bought, Dean giggling as you sat him in a high chair at the counter.

“Well you sound like you’re in a better mood,” you said with a smile, picking up the different jars, finding some sweet potatoes and swirling it up before you set it in front of Dean. You turned around and grabbed a frozen breakfast sandwich from the freezer, tossing it in the microwave.

“Afba agah uf,” said Dean. You turned around, Dean staring at the jar and then you.

“I’m so sorry, you can’t feed yourself,” you said, shaking your head as your grabbed the little spoon and held it to his mouth. “Go ahead, Dean.”

Dean shook his head, pointing at the sandwich you were making.

“No, that’s adult food Dean. You can’t have that,” you said. Dean blinked at you slowly and you swore you saw an eye roll in there. “Dean...are you really a baby?”

He shook his head again, your eyes wide.

“Okay. After breakfast, I’m going to look into that spell Sam found some more. Maybe he missed something,” you said. Dean stared at you, blinking a few times.

Then he spit up all over himself.

“Did you just throw up?” you said, Dean shaking his head again. “Do you have any idea what I’m saying?”

Dean shook his head, patting his hand on his tray.

“Oh course not. Well...might as well feed you like this in case you make another mess.”

“Dude,” you said, Dean giggling on the floor of the bathroom. “You got potato in my hair. I don’t even…”

Dean laughed as he looked up at you, shirt covered in baby food.

“I’m glad you find this hilarious,” you said, peeling off your shirt. You grabbed the little tub meant for washing babies one and under and filled it with warm water. Dean wasn’t sure what to make of it when you sat him in it but he started splashing and he had a big smile on his face.

You used way too much soap, accidentally squirting an adult size amount in your hand but Dean didn’t mind that you had to dump out his soapy water for fresh. When you finished with him, you wrapped him up in a big towel, Dean leaning back in the thing and practically falling asleep on the bathroom floor. You kept an eye on him as you took a quick shower, Dean still passed out once you took care of yourself.

“I really hope this doesn’t take six months.”

Dean’s POV

Pretty much the only reason I wasn’t shouting was because it freaked Y/N out. I’d tried earlier in the day to make her understand that I was a full fledged adult trapped in an infants body and she’d almost caught on but she misunderstood. Throwing up was inevitable with how awful that baby food crap tasted and now we were back to square one.

I didn’t want to act like a baby. I didn’t feel like a baby. But stuff just happened on its own. One minute I’m sitting there, the next I’m wrapped up in a towel in the bathroom with no idea what happened in between.

Y/N was drying herself off after her shower, giving me cautious glances every few seconds while I sat there. Fuck, this was awful.

“What’s with the grumpy face?” she asked, kneeling down next to me. “Do you have to go potty? Do you want your diaper on again?”

Diaper? I’d worn a diaper already? Oh hell no. I was not dealing with that for a day let alone six months.

“Okay, okay,” she said, shushing me and picking me up. I tried to squirm but she sighed and started to walk out of the bathroom and to our room. She threw her towel down on the bed and put me on top, moving around the room before she pulled out a baby shirt. It wasn’t a onesie at least but I would have preferred something with less fire trucks.

She set it it down next to me, cocking her head before she ripped off the tag and undid the bottom clasps, a sigh out of me making her smile.

“Well they didn’t have any black or flannel so we had to settle for the trucks. Unless you wanted kittens and puppies,” she said with a smile. I shook my head, Y/N, laughing. “I know, you want some clothes on. One second little dude.”

She turned around again, dropping something on the other side of the bed I couldn’t see.

Next thing I knew I was being picked up by the legs and when I sat back down, there was something soft there.

“I am not wearing one of those!” I shouted, the words translating to some sort of very loud and high pitched shriek. Y/N blinked a few times and rubbed her ears. I yelled at her again that at least I had control over that function thank God. At least I was pretty sure I did.

“Do you think this is fun for me?” she said, hands on her hips. “Please stop screaming at me. I have to do this.”

She sounded so...off. So already beaten down. I closed my eyes and relented. Maybe after a little while she’d figure out I didn’t need it and we’d figure out some kind of bathroom signal.

God this was going to suck.

Eight Hours Later

“Dean, you haven’t gone to the bathroom all day,” she said, cocking her head at me after dinner, kneeling next to the crib she was forcing me to sleep in. “Are you sick?”

I grumbled at her, trying to say I really had to take a leak and she hadn’t gotten a single message that I was this close to losing it.

“Do you have a fever?” she asked, putting her hand on my forehead. “Sam bought one of those baby thermometers I think.”

“I need to take a piss! That’s what’s wrong!” I said, glaring at her as she stood up.

“Again, screaming does not help,” she said, looking around the room. “Just...stay right there. I’m gonna go see if it was the food I gave you.”

She walked out of the room and I about lost it. I couldn’t get out of this damn thing without help and I was not going to…

“You’re fucking kidding me,” I said, glaring at my lap. “Stupid infant body and I only went because my body forced it and Y/N! Get me out of this thing!”

Y/N came rushing back in at my screams, frowning when she saw how mad I was.

“Oh, you went!” she said. “Maybe you were just shy.”

“Shy my ass!” I shouted, pointing at my lap, instead whacking myself in the leg.

“You’re a very angry baby,” she said, picking me up and moving me over to the changing table she set up. I was glad to be out of the wet one but I most certainly was not going back in one.

I kicked when she tried to move me again, hitting her in the face.

“Ow. Dean,” she said, holding her hand over her nose, pulling it away and a little trickle of blood coming out. She wiped it away with a tissue but more came out.

And for some reason I had to start sniffling. Of fucking course. Did I feel bad? Yes. But it was not a cry worthy occasion and now she was picking me up and telling me it was okay.

“Calm down. It was an accident,” she said, rubbing up and down my back. “I still love you, Dean.”

I leaned back as best I could to look at her, Y/N smiling at me.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” she said. “Just like I know you’d take care of me if I got stuck as a baby.”

“Y/N,” I groaned.

“Okay, okay. I know the diaper pisses you off. How about we make a deal? Daytime, no diaper. I’ll take you every couple of hours to the bathroom. But if we have to go out or at night, you have to wear it, just because you might have to go and I can’t get you to one in time,” she said. “First accident though and it goes on all the time. Agree?”

I nodded, that plan sounding much better.

“I wonder how much of you is an adult in there…” she said. “You can hold it I’m guessing...maybe that’s why you hated your baby food.”

I made a face, Y/N laughing at me.

“Okay. As soon as your teeth come in, you can have some fruit and other stuff,” she said.

I frowned, rubbing my hand up to my mouth, wincing when I realized she had a point.

“Don’t worry babe. Your teeth will start to come in soon I’m sure.”

“Sup Dean?” said Sam, smiling at me when he finally came home. I wanted to yell at him to go give Y/N a break but I hadn’t quite figured out how to spit out the pacifier in my mouth yet.

“Oh, let him watch his cartoons. He’s starting to teeth and that pacifier is his new best friend,” she said.

I narrowed my eyes at her, Y/N giving it right back.

“Is that a potty face?” you asked. I shook my head, Sam wearing a big smile. “Don’t get your hopes up. Being able to hold it and an affinity for pie flavored foods are the only adult things I’ve been able to concretely confirm.”

“It’s only been a week,” said Sam, sitting down next to me. I rolled my eyes, trying to shift away but he pulled me into his lap. “You hanging in there?”

“I hate this. I hate you. I hate everything,” I mumbled under the pacifier, Sam chuckling as he bounced me on his knee.

“He doesn’t like that,” said Y/N, Sam pulling me off his knee to lay back in lap instead. “So how was the hunt?”

“A pain. I’m glad to be back,” said Sam, stretching back on the floor.

“Uh, be careful with him,” said Y/N.

“I’m just taking a quick nap,” said Sam.

“She’s worried about you crushing me, doofus,” I mumbled, Sam sighing as he sat up with me. He picked me off the ground, way higher than Y/N did and I instantly clung to him. The pacifier fell out of my mouth when my jaw dropped, something I’d have to try to remember, and Y/N was instantly over.

“Give him here,” she said, Sam handing me off, Y/N bending down to grab the pacifier and give it back to me. “He got scared. New stuff you have to go slow.”

“He knows I wouldn’t hurt him,” said Sam.

“He knows but...like he goes full blown baby sometimes and you have to slow down. Most of the time he’s just grumpy and wants to watch TV,” she said. “There’s a learning curve to him.”

“Sorry,” said Sam. I sighed when Y/N handed me back but then I sort of liked it, getting to be tall again. “So...what do you do for fun, Dean?”

“Seriously? Jackass,” I mumbled, Sam tickling my stomach.

“That’s a cute little sound,” said Sam, cocking his head. “You smell funny.”

“He needs a bath,” you said, sitting on the couch. “Would you mind giving him one?”

“No!” I shouted, shaking my head, spitting out the pacifier again.

“Uh, does he not like baths?” asked Sam.

“No, it’s one of the few things he likes actually,” you said. “Do you want me to show Sam first?”

I sighed but nodded. Y/N needed the break and it wasn’t like I hadn’t done all this crap for Sam when he was little.

Ten minutes later I was in the tub, surprised at how gentle Sam was.

“Does he sleep through the night?” asked Sam, wiping a cloth down over my hair.

“He does. I don’t,” you said.

Oh boy. This again.

“Trying to research still?” asked Sam.

“Yeah. I’m paranoid something’s going to happen to him all the time and it’s my fault he’s stuck like this. I shouldn’t have let him go off by himself,” you said.

“Stop being stupid. I’m a grown man, or at least was. We did that hunt exactly how we were supposed to. By the way, I’m fine. I’ve started to figure out his crawling thing so don’t worry about me,” I said.

“What the blabbering little guy just said,” said Sam.

“You understood me?” I said, Sam seeming to ignore the comment. “Oh. You said blabbering. Don’t mind me. I’ll just sit here and make squeaking noises for your entertainment.”

“Someone is talkative today,” said Y/N, a relieved little smile on her face. “I’m happy Sam’s home too. But we should get you out before you get too pruny. Sam, you can learn the joy of getting him into his pajamas.”

“Oh, I can’t wait.”

The Next Day

“What happened?” said Y/N. Good. She was home and she could yell at Sam properly.

“He had an accident and then he started yelling and he got even louder when I put him in a diaper. He hasn’t been quiet since,” said Sam.

“Dean, I know we had a deal but you had an accident. I think you’re too little to-“

“It was his fault,” I yelled, pointing at Sam. “He forgot to...I will destroy you both if you-“

“When’s the last time you took him to the bathroom?” she asked Sam.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Has he gone since I took him at breakfast?” she asked. Sam looked away and thankfully Y/N was getting with the program. “You have to take him Sam. Of course he had an accident. His bladder isn’t as big as yours.”

“I don’t get why he just doesn’t wear the diapers,” said Sam.

“I will kick your ass when I’m big again Sam,” I growled, Y/N settling me on her hip.

“He doesn’t like them and you upset him. This is a baby but it’s Dean too. If there’s a shred of adult in there, we’re going to try to make him feel like himself,” she said.

“Best fucking girlfriend ever. I so owe you,” I said, leaning down to give her a hug.

“Well...don’t piss on me again,” grumbled Sam.

“Maybe now you learned your lesson.”

Three Months Later

“Hi Dean,” said Y/N when I crawled over. “What’s up?”

“Guess what I figured out how to do,” I said, grabbing her leg and standing up, able to take a few shaky steps on my own before falling on my butt. “I’m mobile.”

“Well look at you! You’re growing up all over again,” she said, scooping me up to sit in her lap. “We made it halfway there. Just another few months and you’ll be big again.”

“Trust me, I’m counting the days. Figuratively I mean since telling time is a bit hard right now but you know what I mean,” I said, Y/N humming. “Uh oh. That’s the bad hum.”

“Don’t worry, Dean,” she said. “Sammy’s just checking on a last ditch effort. I’m not getting my hopes up is all. Besides, you and I are going to have my favorite thing right now.”

“It’s nap time,” I said, grunting when I started to get carried. “At least this part isn’t too bad.”

Something was off when I woke up twenty minutes later. Y/N had her head in her hands and was crying on the bed.

“Sam,” she said into her phone. “You said six months.”

“Rowena is going to work on a counterspell to get it to reverse back,” he said.

“But she only has three months left or else he’s gonna he a baby permanently. I don’t want to raise my boyfriend. I’m barely keeping it together,” she said.

“Rowena is the best witch there is. She’ll figure out what the other witch did,” said Sam. “Just try not to let Dean see you upset or he’ll think something’s wrong.”

“Too late for that,” she said, moving her hands away, looking over at me with a sigh. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“So I’m fucked,” I said, trying to cross my legs in the crib but making no progress. “Fuck.”

“Dean,” she said. She picked me up and gave me a hug, wiping her face off when she pulled back. “Don’t worry. I will always take care of you. Big or small.”

“I really hope Rowena can figure this out.”

Three Months Later (Almost)

“Big day today Dean,” said Y/N, rubbing her hand over my head.

“Yeah. In about an hour I’m a baby for good and I’m sort of thinking that means I’m going full baby mode and I’m gonna forget everything and everyone and how to even talk…” I said, Y/N shushing me.

“Don’t cry. I hate seeing you cry,” she said. “And if things go south today...don’t be scared because we got you.”

“How’s he holding up?” asked Sam, Y/N giving him a sad smile. “He has to understand if he’s so upset.”

“I know. I know part of him is an adult in there,” said Y/N. “Rowena’s in the library sweetie and she’s going to keep working as long as we got left.”

“I think I’ve got it,” said Rowena, rushing into the kitchen. “I need materials though.”

Sam took off with her, both of them taking far too long in my opinion. Y/N eventually plopped me down in the high chair in the library, Rowena shoving a mixture in a bowl at Y/N.

“He has to drink it,” she said.

“Dean, don’t throw this up,” said Y/N, tilting the bowl, some of it dribbling down my face. “Get a damn bottle. Now!”

“Come on. At least a sippy cup, not the stupid bottles again,” I grumbled, Y/N taking one from Sam, pouring the slop inside and twisting the cap on.

“For once, do not fuss with this thing,” she said, putting the bottle to my lips. I wanted to scoff at her but she squeezed it and liquid flooded my mouth. It tasted awful and she just kept squeezing more in, forcing me to swallow. I drank most of the bottle down as a timer went off, all three of them jumping about a foot back.

I peeled open an eye, bottle hanging from my mouth and ass currently sat on the floor and pieces of broken high chair.

“Dean?” asked Sam. I spit the bottle out and stood up, blinking down at myself.

“Excuse me but I’ve had to piss the last two hours,” I said, moving past them all for the bathroom, ripping the obnoxious baby outfit off and sitting down. “Oh, I never thought I’d be so happy to be using the bathroom again.”

Reader POV

“Hey, Dean?” you said, walking into the bathroom, Dean currently walking around the space in a pair of boxers, happy as could be. “You doing okay? All adult in there again?”

“Yes. Thankfully,” said Dean. “I’m just enjoying things like brushing my own teeth and shaving and oh yeah, I can actually talk again.”

“So how much-”

“I understood everything. I acted a lot like a baby whether I wanted to or not but I understood it all,” said Dean. “Thank you so fucking much for not making me use the damn diapers.”

“Well...I figured there was some of you in there,” you said. “Sorry about the bottles. And baby food. And pacifier. And the onesies.”

“Eh, they grow on you,” he said with a shrug. “I wasn’t a very well behaved baby.”

“You kept out of trouble for the most part,” you said, wrapping your arms around him, so glad to have him back to his normal size.

“I want a burger and steak and sweet potato fries,” said Dean.

“Okay. You can have all that,” you said with a laugh. “You can even drive to the store if you want.”

“Oh, I am looking forward to it.”

[justwhisperingfantasies]

Imagine ♡

You wake in the fimilar bed of Bobby's spare bedroom. You feel a sting of disappointment as you reach your arms out to find Dean's side cold and empty. You sigh and get up.

As you walked down the stairs, you inhaled the scent of waffles, beacon, and fresh coffee. You lean on the kitchen doorframe, and a smile spreads across your face. He's standing in front of the stove, wiggling his hips and singing along with the music playing on his phone. He turned around to fill his mug. A shy smile on his face as he realizes he had an audience. "Morning baby."

"Mornin Mick Jagger."

He laughs and lifts his head. "Sit down. I'll get you some coffee." He changes the song as he pours. You laugh as Start Me Up by The Rolling Stones starts playing. He dramatically turns around and starts singing. Making you laugh again. He starts thrusting his hips as he walks your coffee over.

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚