#Dean Winchester Soulmate | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

godmadeaterribleerror · 2 months ago

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I Could Have You

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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

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery

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borgialucrezia · 2 months ago

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in the pilot's deleted scene, dean glances at his watch noticing that it has stopped moving (which indicates that demons are nearby) and he immediately realizes something is wrong and turns back to sam's apartment. but since the scene didn't make the final cut, jensen's explanation for why dean returned is because of brotherly intuition which makes it a million times better imo.

#soulmatism from the very fucking start #you can always count on jensen for giving the best answers about the brothers because he's deeply passionate about them #jared as well but jensen is on another level of galaxy brain #anyway yeah i'm glad they deleted that scene good riddance #dean winchester #jensen ackles #samdean #sam winchester #supernatural #spn text post

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swsoulmatesdw · 2 months ago

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Dean being desperate for Sam… the way he grabs him, pulls him in, touches him… is just the icing on the codependent, erotic, crazy cake that is the brothers’ show.

#samdean #wincest #sam and dean are soulmates #brothers? someone should tell them that #Sam and Dean are codependent and we love it #sam and dean #winchester brothers #weirdcest

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loosethreadsofyoursoul · 7 months ago

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destiel is just. you weren’t made for me. we weren’t made for each other. we were both made to serve heaven. but because of the love i have for you, i created a better way; i forged a better life. you weren’t made for me, and i wasn’t made for you. but here, in this one life, we chose each other. in an infinite number of universes we’ll never know, we don’t exist in, we didn’t mean this much to each other. but in this one, despite everything, we chose each other anyway.

#still stuck on ‘you weren’t meant for me but i chose you anyway’ in @annmariethrush’s destiel/midam post #i’m in my destiel feels 😔#they weren’t destined but they were meant to be #they aren’t soulmates but they’re tied to each other #god they’re everything #gonna go listen to lord huron and cry now #destiel #deancas #casdean #dean winchester #castiel #spn #supernatural #em saying things

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wincestendgame · 5 months ago

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Jensen Ackles today about Sam and Dean realizing they were soulmates

-Yeah, like it was that "I guess we ARE codependent". They knew it, and it being presented to them as actual truth, I think it just made sense, and they were like "okay, then we're doing what we should be doing, and we're doing it the way we should be doing it, which is together"

#supernatural #sam and dean #spn #the epic love story of sam and dean #samdean #dean winchester #sam winchester #canon soulmates #jensen ackles

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witchy-worm · 4 months ago

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Here's the art I made for the @destielsoulmatebang! This is for the fic "I swear I thought I dreamed 'her'" by @nexus-my-beloved

I had a great time working on this one with my awesome partner, it was really cool working on a fic that stuck close to canon but threw soulmates into the mix!

Check out the fic here: Link to Fic Here

Thanks to the @destielsoulmatebang for running such a smooth and wonderful bang!

#destiel art #destiel fanart #destiel #soulmates #bang art #supernatural fanart #supernatural #spn fanart #dean fanart #dean winchester #fanart #castiel #castiel fanart #fic promo #destiel soulmate bang

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kvitka97 · 5 months ago

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🥰

Transcript (thanks to @patricided on X)

#sam and dean #sam and dean winchester #platonic soulmates

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thence-we-came-forth · 4 months ago

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Today I'm bringing you my art for the woderful fic Risk It All by @avonlady42 for the @destielsoulmatebang !!! It was such a joy to work on this piece with an incredible partner as well!!

(Nude extra piece under the read more)

#destiel #castiel #dean winchester #supernatural #spn fanart #destiel soulmate bang #my art #tw nudity

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my-stories-vault · 1 month ago

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Chapter 1 ~ The Supernatural Wars.

Pairing: English Dean Winchester X English Y/N L/N

Blurb: When the residents of this Earth found out that they were but a draft in God's numerous stories, they decided to make noise in hopes that their creator would return. Nothing can be louder than the begs of the powerless, the cackles of the ruthless, or the unending destruction left in the wake of the most merciless wars any universe can ever see—here the bloodshed never ends. So, tell me how can two young soulmates, then, find love's shade of red under all this crimson gore?

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): Language, gore, voilence, major and minor character deaths, thoughts of suicide (not graphic), substance abuse (alcohol and cigarettes), mentions of wars (I mean, it's in the name).

{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }

Chapter 1: The Birthday Girl.

The dirt stuck under your nails as you clawed at the floor like a rabid dog. The wildness in your eyes had your actions to match. When you started scratching wood, you grabbed your shovel and bashed the rest of the pine box in.

You paused when you saw the locket slung around the skeleton. The acrid smell of the rotten flesh barely registered with you. Tentatively, you unhooked the locket - a heart shaped one, carved from within for the purpose of sticking photos. It had two necklaces, the heart cleaved in two as well - perfect gift for a couple. You had to unstick the existing photos and you gently placed them back in the skull's folded hands.

Your back cricked when you rose to your full height, sore from all the grunt work; you were dwarfed by the six foot hole you had dug yourself.

Pulling up, you showered the grave with salt and gasoline - murmuring a last rite, and freeing the soul from the locket you took. You dropped a fiery match that engulfed the dead woman.

'Told you I'd be back,' you muttered, a small sad smile on your face. 'Goodbye, Grams. Sorry it took me so long, but . . . I'm leaving today. Put in a good word with God for me, eh?'

The wind chilled you in answer. You took that to mean her support - wherever she may be.

You wished you could've buried her again, but the smoke you lit was a signal to other predators. With her last symbol in your hand, you rushed to your borrowed car - a minivan, actually; for anonimity, you told yourself because you hated it so much.

The drive back to the compound would be short and dangerous; anything too still was always a target. Given your human scent, you weren't even surprised that a pack of Ferals had wandered to your car.

It was occasional to see monsters on land unless you were looking for them, or them you - it was usually only infilltrated by monsters when it was the courtesy of the angels; or when you could see that stray monster that had been driven to insanity out of hunger. Besides that, the lands belonged solely to the human faction.

You added the silencer to your gun as you flattened against a tree. They were already tensely sniffing the air and turning slowly in the direction of the grave.

You counted six. Your best weapon that would be silent and stealthy was in the car, you hadn't carried the bow and arrows because they were a hindrance to grave-digging. Whereas guns were swift but loud; if fire was a large problem, the guns were the worst way to call trouble.

You waited till the first monster's breath hovered above you, stale and rancid, mouth open with pieces of flesh dangling. You gulped your gag, placing your gun in line with it's jaw as it drew even nearer, snarling happily as it recognised your humanity. Lips pulled back to rip a chunk out of you when you shot it.

The silencer was only so effective that it didn't call more monsters from around. The ones on the side of the road with you were now snapping their jaws alertly, and all headed in your direction.

You caught the one falling on you - it's ears long and flapping like a bat's, eyes so large that they reminded you of golf balls, now lifeless. There was a lack of hair all across its body, stretchy skin that wrinkled a lot as well. Overall, it disgusted you. You used the monster as a sheild for any incoming claws and you shot the rest of them from behind your barrier.

Once clear, you dropped the disgusting body that seemed to have worsened in smell. You wrenched open you car door about to climb in when you noticed in your periphery, through the side-view mirror that you had miscounted.

The long inhuman claws of another Feral swept the air where your head had been a second ago - they could barely see, relying mostly on their nose and ears to guide them; these ones must've been attracted here by the fire in the hole.

Since you had leaned into the car by ducking, you had grabbed an arrow on the passenger seat and plunged it backwards so that it went through the monster's neck. You pushed it away from the car and into its friend.

You rushed to kill them, under pressure of their low growls that could bring even more monsters out. Restarting the car that groaned only invited more to the party.

You calmly reversed your car and ran it over the monsters quickly. They let out a series of yelps and snarls as they collapsed. When you had straightened your car, you knew there would be more on your tail, so you sped down the trail back to your compound.

The security at the gate was quick to admit you; all the cars had tags on their windshields stating their Continent and Leaderships, etc. You pulled up in the quiet parking lot that was teeming with cars from all over North America. The gaurds also shot down any and all monsters that had managed to follow you, with their crossbows, spears and the other long-distance weapons.

You jogged up the stony staircase of one of the many palaces your family owned, and were let through the double doors without any hassle. The castle was bustling, the servants shouting orders to one another, preparing for the reception that evening. The guests were on the backyard for the outdoor wedding, which was to happen in ten minutes - something you were going to make a run for.

Thinking you went undetected, you tried to sneak into the changing rooms, until the first maid spotted you, rushing to your side with a wide-eyed panicky look.

'Lady Y/N! Where have you been? Oh, we've been worried sick! And look at that dress! So dirty, and you stink—!'

'Ms Frich,' you held a hand up, voice sharpened. She stopped trying to rotate you to assess the damage. She seemed to be going red in the face as she was forced to silence her words. You brought her with you to the changing room so that she didn't attract more unwanted attention.

'If my mother asks, I was here the whole time,' you warned her after you shut yourself in the empty room. 'All right, Ms Frich?'

'But—'

'That's an order,' you said, sternly. Your hands went over your neck to untie your dress. 'Now, help me change, will you?'

Fifteen minutes later, with Crystella Frich's help, you had donned a beautiful and delicate gown that came down to your ankles.

There were things wrong with it: it was pink, made of lace that made you want to scratch your skin raw all over, and it was lined with too many flowers that didn't associate with your personality at all.

You had to take a deep breath because the night was only starting. Rubbing light makeup on your face that got Crystella's side-eyes, and dousing yourself in perfume that got the maid's nose to scrunch, you deemed yourself ready for a miserable night.

With the bouquet of vibrant azaleas in your hand, you apologized profusely to your best friend when you arrived. She waved it off with a knowing glint in her eyes.

'You're here, that's what matters.'

As if you were going to miss this. It was a good thing she loved your brother unconditionally because your mother was not an easy woman to please.

Seriously, I do not envy you, your heart went out to her.

The music signalled your entrances played it's starting notes.

B/F looked breathtaking - you could only say as much before getting in line, as rehearsed. Her white dress swooping, and her train dragging down a few feet behind her. The puffy skirt of her wedding gown was fitting for her royalty. Her white bouquet of roses a representation of her peace-loving streak, ironically, since she was a well-reknowned hunter, currently pursuing the case of Metatron, an abhorently well-educated and nasty angel. She was the only person in the room with the appropriate amount of jewelery.

Rest of the guests, including you, all hoarded weapons under your swishy robes. From the tips of some tiaras to the bottom the pointy heals, girls were most heavily adorned with arms. While the men were more obvious about flaunting their voilence.

B/F and Seth were told not to worry about their safeties for one night, that they would be flanked by gaurds all day long - but you could bet your most priced gown on the fact that your brother would have a concealed gun under his suit jacket somewhere.

You walked down the aisle as the maid of honour, a cocky regal smirk on your lips. You couldn't help the pride that swelled in your chest to be seeing your brother at the end of it.

The procession was formal and quick. The vows were a bit longer and far more heartfelt.

The party moved soon to the reception hall where the palace servants had done a splendid job. The room determined the mood from the get-go; dulcet and romantic tones of decorations hanging from the high ceilings, even the barred windows were slit open for some sunshine. The flaming torches were fierce, glowing along with the warmth of the day. An assortment of food and drinks lined one of the walls, even a photo booth occupied one of the corners. Majority of the floor was being dominated by the dance floor, a smaller section of the room dedicated for round tables to sit on.

The royal waltz was being played by the band; they had begun with the national theme song before they eased into more appropriate songs for the day.

The hefty gowns and long coats of the Governors and the Generals - all hunters - were moving perfectly for a waltz. No matter what the song, you suspected that the waltz was really the only dance you all could allow yourselves when the whole continent's officers were in attendance.

You grabbed a few dances with a few good men, trying to avoid the unsavory kind as well as those bitching royal housewives who would no doubt find some way to broach the conversation of your departure or of your marraige.

The rest of your time was assigned for socialising. As one of the up-and-coming leaders, especially one who was sailing off to Europe the same night - it was of great importance to stay on top of things, to impress your name upon a few minds. It would also serve as a last chance to forge some contacts from this continent before belonging to the next.

You were discussing shop with one of the reaserchers at the lab that your father controlled when you heard your name being called.

'Ms L/N,' caught up an elderly. Mr Burke wasn't a Leader anymore but he kept track of the events of the world long after his retirement. He was shaking your hand with both of his, mindless of the conversation he interrupted.

Sal, one of your friends, had been talking about the ship you would be taking that night. He was prattling off the probable monsters and all the provisions you were carrying for it - you were double-checking, really; you'd been preparing for this for a week.

'I couldn't let the night end before telling you that what you did with the banshees in North Carolina - astounding. Inspired, really.'

You smiled tightly at him. 'Thank you, Mr Burke. It was a team effort,' you nodded at Sal. 'Please meet Mr Syl. One of the better researchers of our continent. His labs contributed to the, as you said, inspired solutions that we have today.'

Sal beamed, smiling smugly before shaking Mr Burke's hand. He was one of the more attention-seeking people. It served you well to keep him pleased. Sal had worked at the labs for about five years now and he was brilliant at his job. It was a pity that he wasn't more reknowned - but then again, his ego was inflamed enough. By far, he was your least liked friend, but a valued team member nevertheless.

'Really?' the older, richer man said. 'Well, I would love to hear all about that . . .'

'Please do,' you effortlessly handed off the responsibility to the talk to your colleague. 'And we wish you would keep an open mind - maybe even feel encouraged for the next time you make a donation.'

He was one of the sponsers. Mr Burke was few of those people who left his job but the job never left him. He was one of the old Leaders, having led South America; and one of very few ones who lived up to an old age. He married late; so even if he was of your grandfather's age, his daughter was a year younger than you were.

The man was a bragger by all rights, and as fake as the wig that he denied wearing. But he was good money, the additional support in times when the royal treasury fell short for it's citizens.

He also made changes in policies across countries where he felt necessary - it drove your brother crazy, especially since, as the acting Leader of America, your brother should've been asked for permission first. But eh, not your problem anymore, you supposed.

'Always after my wallet!' he claimed, but he didn't seem to mind, chukling and stroking his non-existent goatee.

'Oh, you've spoiled us, Mr Burke,' you gently stoked his ego. 'I apologise if I expected.'

His chest seem to swell as large as his potbelly, his shirt buttons threatening to burst. 'Nonsense! You know I'm here for you! Be sure to wait for a hefty check this year, Ms L/N - for the labs!'

You toasted to that, slipping away, sipping on your champagne as you went. You were gunning for a refill before you sacrificed more of your dignity to another one of these pretentious fucks - after all, there were many ex-leaders and "well-wishers" to pick from: the cat woman who could pass for a chimney, the Old Prince Sleazeball who would be sure to propose to you again for the position of his hunredth wife, or the Lord nosy gossip gay who sometimes knew about new things in your life before you did. You preferred the chimney, if you were being honest; even if you died from second-hand smoke in her presence, at least you didn't want the earth to swallow you up like you felt with the Sleazeball or the Gossip.

You had just exchanged your empty glass for one that was brimming with sparkling champagne when the drink was taken from your hands. Snatched, more-like.

Your frowning face was met with a similar scowl.

The woman who took your tolerance for this party was tapping her heel lightly on the shining marble floor.

'How many of those have you had?' she had her free hand on her hip.

Your frown deepened. 'Not enough to think you're funny,' you tried to grab your alcohol. She pulled it out of your reach, tsking you.

'Do you know what this will do to your image?' her British accent that was alike yours, made it sound more scandalous than it was. She was also a friend who worked in Public Relations for you.

None of your team members were raised British, unlike you. They were much ahead in their respective fields of studies when you chose them for your team when you were mere thirteen years old. It did mean that they were all near a decade older than you were - mostly. They had to alter their habits and practices to suit the needs of the team ever since. Layla, or as everyone called her, Lay, had been one of the easier transformers. Her need for publicity had made it easier for her to be a perfectionist.

Unfortunately, that made it harder for you sometimes.

'I'm afraid you're about to tell me,' you groaned.

She huffed. 'The last thing we need is you, a Leader by tonight to get drunk and create a scene on the night of her depature. Or worse yet! On the night of her brother's wedding!'

'Blimey, I'm not getting drunk! I'm just . . . self-medicating.'

She narrowed her eyes, placing your drink on a passing tray, and you watched longingly as it walked away from you. She grabbed you by the arm to take you to a more private corner, her expression softening as you slumped in defeat.

'I know today's hard for you,' she said. 'But we can't give any of these people any reasons that might weaken their trust in you.'

Despite the hard spots Lay put you in, you had come to see her as a real well-wisher in these pools of smarmy bastards. When it came down to it, your team were the only people you could trust, nice or not. Them, and the newly married couple.

'I'm sorry. I guess.'

She squeezed your arm. 'I understand. But pull it together, honey.'

You steeled your gaze, and nodded. 'All right. You wouldn't have any updates to take my mind off, would you?'

She hesitated but nodded. 'Top secret and unconfirmed. Jessica Winchester—'

'Sam Winchester's wife?'

'Yeah, the Asian Leaders. She's coming to visit her brother-in-law.'

Your brows scrunched, 'Dean Winchester? My partner.'

'Your partner, yes.'

'Why?'

'Confidential, of course,' she made a face. 'When I asked, they said that it wasn't of my business.'

'That's fishy,' you noted. 'They don't trust us, or they are not trustworthy.'

'Very hush-hush they are.' She complained, 'I mean, how much do we even know about your future partner, eh? The way they keep secrets, makes one wonder if they truly have something to hide.'

You gave her a rueful smile. 'Not everyone likes media, Lay.'

'Mrs Stun. Lady Y/N, could I have a moment please?'

Your conversaton was stalled by a man who was at least a foot and a half taller than you, with a far more heavier built, but with most features matching yours. You smiled at the new man with two drinks in his hands.

'Lord L/N, of course.' It felt weird not call your brother by name, but Lord/Lady was followed by surname after marriage. 'Mrs Stun, please excuse us.'

She nodded with a large beaming smile characteristic for people of her career. 'Is that for Lady Y/N?' she pointed at the whiskey glasses in your elder brother's hand, who nodded.

Gracefully, she plucked one of the glasses from his hands, and clinked it to the other. 'Thank you very much, Lord L/N. Once again, congratulations on your wedding!' She flounced out, immediately jumping onto the nearest sponser to talk their ears off with compliments of your name.

Your brother chuckled in disbelief, and you sighed.

'Does she ever stop working?' his burly American accent was a stark contrast to your pristine English one.

'I think even when she dies, she would want to have make-up on so she looks good lying in her casket.'

'At least she's good. People are talking about your transfer as much as the wedding,' he sipped his drink, no hint of resentment towards you, just a glittering happiness dancing in his eyes.

'Let that be an exaggeration,' you scowled, eyeing his drink enviously. 'I'm nervous about it, as is.' You usually wouldn't be seen turning down fame, but there was a buildup of bile on your throat from being a nervous wreck all evening.

He glanced at you, some of that happiness diming. 'You're good at what you do, you know?'

'I've never been outside the palace except for hunts, and suddenly, I'm leaving the continent?' your hands fidget into position in front of you, so to an outsider you would look regal and deep in conversation. Inside, however, your heart pounded at every mention of Europe.

You had been preparing for it all your life, but it seemed doomed somehow. The smaller steps had been easier, the preparations that your staff and team had been doing for over a week had seemed bite-sized. Yet, just the word "Europe" seemed too large to swallow.

'I thought you were excited,' he said.

'I was. I am,' you sighed. 'It's just so much bigger when it's so close. I will be half-responsible for a continent, it's people and their problems—'

'And you would be better at it than I ever was,' he said, smiling fondly at you.

You scoffed, 'Right, because that's why I got Europe, the continent of the exiled.'

You were probably exaggerating. You got the continent because you were a Secondborn, and it had been your mother's native land once upon a time. But it was no secret that the European leaders were often the harbringers of dark ages. At least, that had been the case for the last few centuries where the once good name of Europe had been dredged through muck. Most importantly, what terrified you the most was that you weren't even supposed to be a Leader so soon.

'Hey, before Dean went bat-shit crazy, he seemed to be doing well for himself and Europe,' he joked.

Recently, the previous Leader of Europe, Gordon Walker, who you were replacing had been executed by his own partner - your soon-to-be partner - the world-renowned Dean Winchester who had defeated the Darkness, or colloquially, Amara. Dean was famous for it because the world had been highly imbalanced by Amara, throwing millions of families into another rendition of the same old Apocalpyse. He was the black sheep of the hunting world because of his secretive nature, yet somehow the most respected because of his biggest achievement.

You had only gotten your position because of Gordon's death. It's the job of the Firstborn, and their spouses to rule the continents. Often the Secondborns were the back-ups, and you had been on the reserve, raised as a European, for this very day.

At midnight, on your twenty-fifth birthday, they would be shiping you out. There were more candidates for this opportunity, of course, but you had been closest to the age of twenty-five - no coronation ceremony took place before that age.

'So my only hope is that I don't lose my marbles?' you snarked.

'You're very capable of keeping-it-together,' he smiled. There was an easy confidence in him that made people believe in everything that he said. The courts agreed with most of the things that came out of his mouth, the ladies swooned over his charm, and the world admired him for the prosperity he seemed to bring about; he was the first Leader to end an archangel: Raphael.

'Aren't you glass half-full?' you groused.

'Try it some time. Makes poeple like you. You might just kill Lay out of sheer happiness,' he chuckled while you cracked a small smile.

'You're happy,' you noticed.

He quirked a brow.

'More than usual,' you clarified. You wouldn't say that you and your brother were in constant touch with one another; but you were there for the important stuff, you believed.

Once more, the twinkle in his eyes intensified. 'I am in love.'

You shot him a look that told him you weren't buying what he was selling. He rolled his eyes.

'Won't hurt you to try it sometime, you know?'

It was your turn to roll your eyes. You were about to retort negatively when a remembrance struck you. 'Shoot!'

'What?'

'Come with me!'

You dragged your brother to find his bride, who you also kidnapped from the dance floor. You brought them both to the chillier December atmosphere of the balcony.

'Everything okay?' B/F asked.

You produced the twinned locket from the tresses of your gown. With an almost bouncing excitement, you presented it to them.

Inquisitevly, the couple took a half each and inspected the joint broken hearts. Recogition only seemed to strike your brother's face, his eyes shot up to you in shock, 'Grandma Via?'

You nodded enthusiastically. You explained for B/F's benefit, 'Grams was a spinster, alright? Weaving endless incredible and over-the-top tales. Full of joyous lies, that woman.'

'But,' your brother delicately inspected the untainted gold, a nostalgia staning his tone. 'There was one story that she never lied about.'

'I remember!' B/F grabbed her husband's elbow. 'You said that it was your favourite thing about her.'

You said, 'She always said that this shall go to Seth and his future bride—'

'I never thought I'd see it again,' he teared up, and pride swelled in you. There were identical smiles tugging on both of your faces.

You had had to pull some strings for it, calling in some extra favours.

Since your transfer had been announced, the wedding had been preponed to today. Your parents had been disappointed because it meant adjusting their tough schedules, but Seth and B/F had insisted - they opted for less festivities just so you would be able to attend.

You weren't supposed to go above and beyond for anyone, attachments were often the reasons why good Leaders were lost but . . . this is your brother.

If you hadn't been leaving, you would have given him normal stuff like a new castle or maybe a new town or maybe honeymoon resort. But since you were leaving, you also needed your present to double as a parting gift.

'You've always wanted it,' you smirked. Your grandmother had been buried, dead a few months after your grandfather's untimely demise during a mission. You and Seth had been too young for the adults to divulge where. Yet, you had pulled many records to unearth her and found the last remaining symbol of her love.

'Didn't she say that the locket helped them both when the Leadership got tough?' B/F asked. 'It was gifted to them by a Cupid itself, a symbol of their unforgettable love, or something. Some soulmate deal.'

Seth wrapped a hand around your best friend, pulling her closer as he tested the magnet on the two halves of the heart. It fit into place with a beautiful click. There was a certain ethereal glow to it, and before your eyes you saw the shine pass on to the newlyweds. You don't think they realised it, but they were practically, suddenly, heart-eyeing each other even more than they were before.

'I even made space for your photos,' you added. 'Grams used to say that these hearts are magical and they bless that union whose photos are in it.'

'Never knew you to be a romanic, Y/N,' B/F laughed, breaking from the spell; she pulled you into a hug that you begrudgingly returned. Over her shoulder, your brother gratefully nodded at you - like you, he hated close contact. You had rarely seen him engage in any public displays of affection, sans for B/F, even if he was much more emotional than you were.

'I'm not,' you said, pulling away. 'Your husband is, that's why you are getting the pendant.'

'We didn't get you anything,' Seth said. For your birthday, he meant. He and B/F had been so busy preparing for a wedding that was shifted ahead of time for you; that had been gift enough.

You waved him off, teasing, 'Get me something when I get married.'

It wasn't like gifts were a large part of your world, anyway. There weren't shops ladden with these materialistic items that were up for trade - you had heard that that was a concept in some other Universes, you'd obviously never seen it yourself though.

'You literally plan never to,' B/F swatted your arm, seeing through your lopphole.

You changed the topic smoothly, 'What, a woman can't be self-sufficient?'

If you were prone to sea-sickness, now would be the most terrible time to find out. Already, your gut churned with nervous energy; without the sounds and the music of the wedding to keep out the self-doubting thoughts, you were holding onto your composure by a thread.

Soldiers under the careful command of your team were passing by you, bowing as they crossed you before they could clamber aboard the pirate ship your parents had hired. Twice, you had to diffuse the situation on the ship - huge fights barely stopped from breaking out between the humans and the vampires. You had come back down after to fix your gaze on the horizon where you were expecting someone.

Weapons, cars and food - all essentials were loaded. Plus, the promised bloodbags that was the payment to the pirates in exchange for the "safe" travel.

Sea was the monster territory; unfortunately for humans, they had to use the assist of these monsters to travel overseas. That's why the Firstborns were the Leaders of the country they were born in, while the other children were far more expendible. Not that the Firstborns never travelled, but their exposure to sea was minimal - during Half-Yearly meetings for instance.

Minutes ticked by, everything was accomodated and accounted for. The pirates had given their deadline for sailing: when the clock struck twelve.

'Lady Y/N,' your medic called. Selina trudged down the shaky plank that adjoined the port to the large ship. 'It's five to midnight. The pirates demand we leave. Won't wait a second longer than they have to.'

You offered her your hand when you noticed she was glancing at the sea way below with scepticism. Your hands folded before you once more when she was safely by your side.

'I'm waiting for my parents,' you informed steadily. You wouldn't show weakness so near a pirate ship, open enough for any vampire to spot, but your heart was tremoring in your chest. 'They must be on their way to say goodbye.'

Your teammate froze next to you. 'Oh, you're waiting for that.'

A sinking feeling attacked you. You kept your face from falling. 'Is there something you need to tell me, Ms Doll?'

She flinched. 'Um, Lord Sen was talking,' (the gay gossiper), 'I don't even know if it's accurate.'

'What?'

'Your parents were briefly seen at the wedding; after greeting Lord and Lady L/N, they excused themselves for a party due North.'

'Oh.' Even if you managed to keep your disappointment out of your face, you couldn't keep it from your voice.

'I thought you knew,' she helplessly said.

Your smile was tight as you tried not to grouch about how the gossiper knew before you did, one of the many times where the news had flown around because of him, and had reached you by word of mouth through many middle persons.

'Well, thank you for telling me,' you softly answered. 'Let's board. No point wishing for goodbyes, eh?'

Before she could utter any comfort, the warning bell of the ship went off. Three minutes to departure.

You supported your friend up the unsteady plank, balancing yourself much better. You let the grumpy crewmen retract the piece of rickety wood up. You brushed yourself once, and checked yourself for signs of damage to your large puffy gown.

'Almost thought you wouldn't make it,' a southern drawl said.

Sharply twisting on the points of your long heels, you were faced with the Captain of the ship. You knew because he was wearing a captain's hat, and had a smirk to match the cockiness that came with such a job.

You nodded at Selina to go ahead.

'Hello, cheri. Name's Benjamin Lafitte Roy, the Captain of the Bloody Princess.' The man before you seemed nothing out of the oridinary, but you knew from experience that he would be of superior strength, speed, senses and agility than an average human.

You shook his hand professionally. 'Pleasure. Leader Y/N L/N of Europe, as of midnight,' you nodded to the watch he was wearing. The ship had started it's course, you noticed, right on time. Your people were disappearing down the stairs and into the lower levels this travel ship had arranged for you.

The crew members were working around with ropes that made no sense to you, and shouting orders you had never heard before. Even then, you subtly checked their weapons to gauge the amount of threat they would actually pose if things came down to the worse possible scenario; already, you noticed some vampires sneering in the direction of your soldiers, who were gritting back in defiance.

Mr Lafitte tilted his head, 'Never heard of you before. Aren't you humans supposed to toot your own horns?'

Bemusment crinkled the edges of your eyes in a challenging smile. 'I've never heard of you either. And if humans need to publicise ourselves, monsters don't. Your reputation should have far exceeded our meeting, Mr Laffite.'

'Captain,' he snapped. 'Discretion comes with the trade; we ain't stupid enough to blow our own covers like your faction does.'

Your hands interlocked. 'Exactly. You have your strengths, Captain. So don't judge before you see mine.'

'Y'ain't trying to make enemies, are ya?' he stepped closer so that he could intimidate you with his height. But your heels left little difference, giving you the added advantage of a sharp point if you felt the need to do some serious damage.

'We have a straightforward barter between food and travel,' you said instead. 'But if we add the sub-clause of peace, I believe our journey might be much more pleasant,' you stated. 'Would you agree to leave my people alone if I leave yours?'

He sized you up; your elbows to your sides, standing upright as if you had a rod for a spine and stiff as a doll in packaged box that used to be sold way back when the world wasn't as shitty. Benny had seen dolls like those, and he had seen hunters like you. He judged your cocky undertone well.

'You think we can't take you?' he asked, angered by your audacity.

You smiled. 'Some of us, maybe - the sea is your territory. However, the war is my domain, Captain Lafitte. I suggest if you wish to survive, you shouldn't make enemies out of some of the best trained survivalists.'

When he didn't respond for he was fuming, you took that as a win.

'Do we have a deal?' you "innocently" took your hand out for a shake again.

The encounter with the ship's Captain left you reeling. Your heart had been hammering the entire time, but it was what you had been taught to do. It's what you had trained for your entire life.

A scurvy vampire showed you downstairs, on the lower deck. Even if the teeth you saw on this vampire were rotten, you knew that there would be another set just itching to descend on you.

You politely thanked him when he stopped before the last door in the corridor. There were five in total: a captain's room, a kitchen, a servant's quarter, and a bathroom, the last room was where they kept their "weapons", or so is what they told the other ships when they wanted to guise the fact that they were illegally transporting humans from one continent to another.

For most of the travel, this would be the room where you would spend your time, with your team and the newly recruited soldiers. The stairs were weak, creaky, and dimly lit, your climb down was based on your reflexive memory. When you stepped down to the levelled ground, indeed, the room was filled with weapons; heaps and piles, disordered and crustily bloodstained.

Your nose scrunched in disgust. The perfectionist in you decided they would need cleaning first thing in the morning.

For now, you crossed the room, counting the tiles against the back walls - three to the right, and then the one diagonal. Your heel tapped lightly against the tile that wobbled under your foot. A moment later, the loose tile was pushed up and out, to the side. You peered down to see Boa, your bodygaurd shimmying down the ladder rungs and disappearing into the room.

You held back a sigh and manuvered yourself into a position that wouldn't make you fall face-first inside, a horrible first impression for the first time that you would be seeing the whole of your troops. It was an effort not to huff as you carefully lowered yourself, still in the dress from the wedding. Still in need of a shower since that morning when you went grave-digging, and ever since you'd been sweating a lot.

When you turned, you almost had a heart attack.

'SURPRISE!' was the large yell, interspersed with a few shouts of 'Happy Birthday!'

You hadn't screamed out of sheer stubbornness, but your eyes were wide enough to pop out of your sockets. Your hands had pointed your weapon at the crowd who had ducked with a collective small yelp.

'My, my! I did not expect that,' you replaced your Glock in your thigh holster from the almost invisible slit to your gown. You administered a deep breath so that your galloping heart. 'Though let that be a warning to not scare me again.'

'Oh, lighten up, mate!' Baz, Boa's twin brother laughed. 'Not every day you turn twenty-five!'

There were murmurs of agreement around the room. You finally noticed the small dessert feast that they had laid out in one corner of the room on a table that looked it had a lot going on. It was brimming with different English cakes, muffins, and pastries. A small counter for alcohol had also been set up next to it. The rest of the food boxes were packed still, lining against one wall because everyone had come from the wedding and must be too tired to unpack it immediately. You were surprised anyone had space for food in their tummies at all.

You found yourself smiling despite yourself, a light blush dusting your cheeks at their thoughtful gesture. 'All right. But just for tonight. I can party, I suppose.' You were confident you wouldn't enjoy it, but they didn't have to know that.

There was a slight uproar of cheers, as the crowd fanned out, and started chattering excitedly about Europe, sharing tea cakes and blueberry muffins. The recruited soldiers were all considerably new, picked out only a few weeks prior; you hoped this party might be an opportunity for them to bond.

Your eyes were bleary from the lack of sleep. You hadn't slept for more than six hours in the last two days, even if most of your work had been done. You'd spent the early mornings when you woke up anxiously, pacing around your room and overthinking about your time oncoming in Europe.

After the wedding, your feet were killing you, and you had been ready to fall right into the first sleeping bag offered to you, but with this party, you might have to stay awake longer. Not to mention, make rounds. It would be rude on your part to not greet every person in the room personally - in fact, it would bug you if you didn't. It wouldn't be very royal of you if you didn't thank one and all.

Deciding to gobble a beverage so that you don't seem like a damn sleepwalker, you started your grateful journey with the bartender. You waited behind two teenagers who were bouncing on their feet as the bartender served them with young people juice.

When it was your turn, you noticed the man behind the counter swallow nervously. 'Lady Y/N. Your M-Majesty? Um, what would yo—?'

'Please, be at ease,' you said, treating him to a friendly smile. 'Would you have anything that has a lot of sugar and caffeine, Mr . . . ?'

'Jay Meg,' he said. 'Uh, how about a coffee?'

You pursed your lips. 'I suppose.'

'Or maybe you would like something laced with vodka or rum?' he read your mood. 'Maybe an energy drink.'

You perked up at the thought of something colder. Your dress was sticking to your legs, the tight fit of the upper bodice wasn't any less suffocating. Add that to the stale air that this lower level had, you would be sure to find your skin sticky later. The least you could do was have something to cool off.

'. . . If that isn't an imposition,' you said. Despite your needs, you weren't about to disappoint anyone in this room on your first day by saying no. 'An energy drink, please,' you requested, knowing that alcohol was still temporarily banned for you.

'Coming right up!' the man expertly launched into a mixing process, embracing his element, and relaxing before you.

He was a short man with dark skin tones possessing a bright smile and a fit body. He pointed out his wife and daughter to you, both old enough that they also constituted your army, both of them laughing around a woman who had collected a crowd of few and was describing ridiculous, yet beautiful tales of valor to them, steepling it with a sense of humour that often caused them to dissolve into giggles.

You paid rapt attention to him, ending the conversation with him by expressing your gratitude. He was bashful in accepting your compliment.

You continued this process with a few more people. Listening to new stories, storing their names in your mind, linking their families, observing their strengths and weaknesses. It was so usual for you that you almost forgot about the weariness of your body. You did, however, remove yourself from your heels. You had worn it for over twenty hours already, any more would probably have killed you. You tried not to grimace when your feet carried you all over the wet-and-dry shipboards, some covered in mossy patches that you avoided.

It was nearing four o'clock in the morning when the party finally died down. You were on your fifth energy drink but even that seemed to have evaporated from your system.

Most of the people had slumbered away into bags that were now cramped all over the floor, leaving only a few feet of space to walk in between. The remaining few you had already talked to; these people were either on duty guards or were now playing a quiet game or two before they would slink off as well.

You wanted to follow suit and not wake up for years, but you needed to change. And you really needed that shower.

So when the last person, except the guards, had gone off to sleep, you pulled yourself up the ladder, and into the single bathroom that was available for everyone aboard. It was lucky, you guessed, that all ships came in-built with bathrooms because the vampires didn't even use them. On this ship, it was only operational for the humans they smuggled.

The menial job of cleaning yourself was laborious and seemed to take hours. In reality, it was only minutes when you stepped out, cleaning after yourself for the next person so that no one would feel disgusted later.

You greeted the guards on your way down, smiling much better than you felt. You were quietly lowering yourself into the lowest level of the ship; your eyes greedily eyeing the sleeping bag on the other end of the room meant for you, surrounded by the sleeping bags of your team.

You could already make out Sal's silhouette whispering furiously in his phone. He was prone to calls like these, mostly in the middle of the night - like he had a secret to hide and protect. It didn't bug you as much as it probably should because he had been from your Father's lab - he was safe, just like all the other humans on the ship.

A hand came out of the shadows and gripped your shoulder, making you leap in fright, and turn, once again with your gun towards the culprit.

A chuckle, followed by the person stepping into the lights that came from one of the small lamps that had been hung equidistantly from another, revealing your PR woman.

'Would people quit doing that?' you hissed. 'Mrs Stun, I could've shot you!'

'But you didn't. That's what makes you so great,' Lay buttered you up.

'Don't make me change my mind about shooting you,' you growled. Lay was one of the few people who you could freely threaten. She had a hard shell, if anything, she loved your sarcastic snides - she said that they made you more human, whatever that meant.

As predicted, she snorted. 'Right. Forgot that you don't like praises. All right, then, shall we get to business?'

'But I was about to sleep,' your voice bordered on a whine.

She sympathetically said, 'I'll make this quick.'

She dragged you back up, and into the blissfully empty kitchen. Because you were so exhausted, it took you a moment to realize why - the vampires don't eat. Your authoritative brain reminded you that you would have to schedule shifts for kitchen duty for that same reason, just having food in boxes wasn't going to help anyone.

'All right,' she crossed her arms, after making sure that no monster lurked in any dark shadows. Her eyes sharpened. 'I heard what you said to Benny earlier in the night.'

You raked a hand in your hair. Your other hand came to rub your face, only you were still holding the gun so the cold hard surface supported your head instead.

No one was supposed to hear it. But Lay had eyes and ears everywhere.

You sighed against the barrel, 'What do you want me to say? I'm not sorry to have set our boundaries straight.'

She put her hands on her hips, her nervous tell. 'Just felt like you got overconfident. I'm not sure if that was the best move, diplomatically speaking.'

Your hands fell to your side and you assessed the fear in her body language. She shuffled under your piercing e/cs. Your compassion for her rose, 'I know you're not a hunter, but I know how to treat a monster. You have to let them know that you're not weak, and you have to let them know you've got nothing to lose.'

She rolled her eyes defiantly. 'Maybe you don't.'

Your jaw clenched but you let that slide when your eyes noticed her fingers fidgeting with her wedding ring. It wasn't like you understood what that felt like, but you knew what being responsible for people on hunts was like.

'You can't let them know your weakness,' you said, ignoring her previous jab. 'Besides, our ultimate purpose is the good of humanity. Or at least, mine is. I can't expect you to stop loving your family, but I know I'll be prioritizing the good of our faction, over just the handful of us.'

She knew your personal sets of values and agendas loud and clear. Hell, she set them in the first place; you'd uttered them countless times in front of the media and parties. You'd sold that motto to others so often and meant it.

So even if these people were at your disposal, you were at the world's disposal, and you wouldn't refrain from admitting that you would care about the world's greater good far more than the people in your vicinity.

Lay took a deep breath. 'You're right, okay? I just, I worry sometimes.'

'I'm glad you shared it with me,' you said. 'Will be that be all?'

She gathered her thoughts. 'I would just like to request a small Ball for the Winchesters.'

Your brows furrowed. 'I didn't know we needed to interact with them.'

Except for marriages, the Leaders never worked together, sometimes not even then. There was an unseen boundary in the land, marking separate territories. Even you would only be working in Europe temporarily until Dean Winchester would get himself a bride who would be fitter for the position. Secondborns, may it be male or female, never got a preference in case of marriage of the Firstborn that was already ruling the continent. You were essentially just a fail-safe.

In case both Leaders were Firstborn, then, the male would get a preference. As in, if the male of the two Leaders were to marry, then, that married couple would lead. The Firstborn female Leader would have to retire.

And if both the Leaders were male and firstborn, then the whole point of married women ruling ran moot.

You didn't see why, for that reason, you would have to interact with the Winchesters at all.

'Your mother thinks that it would do you good to make contacts—'

'You met her?' you cut Lay off.

'Last night,' she guiltily admitted. 'When she heard about Jessica Winchester visiting—'

You scoffed, 'She wants me to throw the Ball for prospective marriage alliances!' The welcoming of Jessica Winchester as a fellow Leader would just be a ruse, you saw that political play, a ruse to invite several nobles and young ex-Leaders, plus, even a few current Leaders.

You didn't disagree about a lot of things with your mother, but marriage was one of them. You had announced long back that you would never submit your life to a man. Not in this men-run world where your respect would forever be overshadowed by the man you married. But your mother refused to bow down to your one plea.

There were barely any good men, as is. Your brother was very few of them. As happy as you were for your best friend and your brother to have found each other in this Godforsaken universe, far be it for you to follow in their footsteps.

'She just wants to make sure that you are looked for after your retirement.'

It bruised your heart to think that. Even if Lay had rephrased it to make it sound like a good idea, it only served to remind you that your mother never planned to have you back in America. Your parents wouldn't accept what another continent discards - even if your retirement is dignified, they would never allow you to return to your old home and disgrace them in the hunter's community.

'Right,' you gritted. 'Fine, Mrs Stun. Be that as it may, don't hope that I shall pick a man. It would be just for mother's satisfaction.'

With your nose in the air, you stormed out.

You only saw the Captain again that evening, in his office. You had crashed hard that morning and slept well into the late afternoon, after which you arranged for a meeting with Benjamin. He met you in an hour of your notice.

Resuming a seat opposite the vampire, you rested one knee over the other and comfortably leaned back in your chair, a faux presence of confidence on your countenance. You were holding a mug from the kitchens that Selina had prepared for you, it rested atop your knee, waiting to be given.

'Thank you for seeing me, Captain Lafitte,' you said. 'I didn't think you would have after yesterday.'

'Can't say no on someone's birthday,' he sarcastically said. 'My men are very unhappy by the ruckus you lot fathered.'

'In our world, nothing tickles us unless it's chaos,' you grinned as if you'd been the life of the party. 'I'm sure you agree.'

He kept a plaintive look on his face, unhappy with you in general.

'I wanted a few travel details,' you said, cutting to the chase when he lacked a similar enthusiasm.

'What about?' he asked, lacing his hands formally on the dirty desk.

'We didn't speak directly to you when booking your services—'

Your parents had arranged the medium of travelling for you. Lay barely could scrape any information because no one had bothered to answer all the appropriate details.

When you probed your father, he simply advised to be prepared for everything like a good Leader should be. It was actually the last conversation you had had with him. Three months ago.

'Trading,' he growled, cutting you off. 'We don't serve you.'

You had the decency to backtrack, 'I got carried away in a manner of speaking.' You continued, 'I wish to have a few questions answered, is all.'

He stared blankly at you, hints of irritation making him tap his foot under the table - you could hear the wooden tiles creaking under the weight of his rough boots.

'How many days will it take?' you said.

'Eleven or sixteen. Relies on the moods of the sea.'

'Will there be any check posts?' you said. 'Any tolls? Or any tributes along the way.'

'No. But there'll be ships. All monsters, and they better not see you.'

'You won't be offering us protection?'

He raised a brow. 'Can't you do it for yourself?'

You smiled coldly, 'Of course. Just asking, Captain. Any particular ships we should be worried about in the near future?'

'If you're not ready for them all, I don't see why we're shiping you to be a Leader, Ms L/N.'

Your jaw clenched. 'How many vampires are on your ship?' you fired another question.

'How is this relevant?' he didn't seem to want to co-operate anymore.

'Don't pretend you didn't count my people,' your lips curled to mimic a snarl, you icily stared him down. 'Do you want us on your good side or not?'

He held your e/c eyes for a long time before he relented with a long exhale. 'Thirty-six. And we protect our own in time of crisis.'

'Seems fair,' you said. 'What can you tell me about Jessica Winchester?'

He had to hold back his surprise when you flipped the talk somewhere else entirely. 'What?'

'Enemies keep closer tabs than friends do,' you waved your hand. 'Winchesters are known for creating ripples; if anyone, your lot might know of them.'

His lips thinned into the thinnest line you'd seen on him yet. You almost expected him to stroke his scruff in thought, but you noticed his hands tightening instead.

'Why would I tell you?' he said, slow, calculating.

You felt the reason would have been obvious. 'Dean Winchester kills his own. I hardly need point out how we may need each other's help if he gets out of hand. And now, conspiring with his family behind the backs of the fellow Leaders?'

Benny was in disbelief of you. He shook his head, finally. 'Gettin' a little ahead of yourself, aren't you, cheri?' he said, his expression grim. 'I'm not going to be caught dead doing your dirty work.'

There was a tendril of fear you saw in his eyes. He was scared, you realised of the almighty Winchesters. Disappointed, you puckered your lips, switching tactics.

You placed the cup before you, sliding it across the rough surface of the unkept wooden desk. 'Peace offering?'

He glanced at the dark liquid that he had thought had contained your alcohol previously, yet he hadn't seen you take a sip from it. Suspicions rose high in his head - suddenly, you were giving him a truce? After he refused you information?

'Dead man's blood?'

You brought a dart gun out of your holster that had been strapped to your belt. Your movements were easier now that you had been rid of the puffy gown. You were wearing a normal pair of jeans and a loose top. You still had your heels, but that was only because your parents had never allowed you to buy anything else - your height wasn't your best feature, as they'd pointed out several times. You surrendered the gun to the table, although the barrel pointed towards the vampire.

'I would shoot you in the heart if I had to.' You nodded at the mug in between the two of you. 'That's just good old bloody whiskey. Emphasis on the blood.'

It would explain why you didn't take a pull from it, but you were asking something next to impossible from him - you were asking him for trust. He took the glass closer to him, placing it at the edge of his side of the table, that way, he wasn't rude, and if it fell, it won't be his problem. Between his weak scruff, you could see his frown. 'What are you playing at?'

'I'm loyal,' you shrugged, vague. 'You can trust me.'

'Everything is fair love and war, isn't it?' his insinuation was clear; he was still sulking about your attitude since last night.

'I realize we didn't get off on the best foot,' you conceded, a little. 'But I get what I want, Captain. And I don't want betrayal, from my side or anyone else's.'

'Is that supposed to be a fucking comfort?' he groused, tired of your haywire words.

'I'm very straightforward for a diplomat, I'm sure you've realized,' you baited.

'Look, we made a deal. I drop you to the other side, and we're through. I ain't in the mood for your fucking games. Keep out of my business and I'll be sure to do so from yours,' he leaned in closer to the table to drive the intensity of his words home.

'That's not what I want,' you said.

'I don't care what you want!' his hand slapped on the wood and the mug shattered in a crash, the bedeviled drink spreading on the ground, and some soaking into the wooden planks that made the floor. Your nose gave a minuscule crinkle, a need for cleanliness arising in your brain, but you resisted breaking from your argument.

You sighed through your nose. 'I'm sure you'll care for an island, however.'

It made him pause. 'Excuse me?'

You curled your hands against one another as you so often did, part of being a royal, and you smiled a little. 'So far, we've traded food for travel, and peace for peace. You say that this journey might be over two weeks; to maintain the morale and productivity of my faction, I want to strike the bargain for an island in return of . . . say, a crash course?'

Befuddled and intrigued, 'Crash course?'

'I figured you've never stepped on land; my people have never taken advantage of water. There's an island called Lastovo in Croatia with your name on it, for when your sails want to rest - if you teach my kind how to make boats and other aquatic surviving facilities out of scraps.'

Benny seemed genuinely disarmed at the proposal. He had never met a human who would be crazy enough to offer a piece of land to a band of monsters. He hadn't even heard of such craziness before, and he had been immortal for a while.

'What's the catch?' he sceptically measured you up, looking for a sign to call you out. Your face was impossible to read, a smooth mask of cockiness, and eyes so fearless, as if they'd never seen or felt a proper loss before.

You shrugged, once again giving a warped reply. 'When I asserted my power, I was just letting you know that we're a match for you, Captain - if that's what's stopping you from making this deal.'

'I don't trust you,' Benny said. How were you not getting it? How were you so callously offering land to monsters? How were you sitting so enjoyably in front of the vampire you threatened just last night?

He was both bewildered and affronted at your callous attitude. He could hear your heightened heartbeat, which was the only indicator that there was as much mistrust from your end as it was from his - but you must be one of those fucking adrenaline junkies to be still conducting your manner so politely.

He searched your simple eyes where he could detect no hint of emotion - even in his own heartless vampires, he would notice more than you - they had anger, they had pain, they had happiness. Or ego, at least.

But the death in your expression was a bit chilling, and this was coming from a hundred-year-old vampire.

Indeed, he had seen a lot of Leaders. Somehow, you were scaring him more. Somehow, he hated you the most.

'Another good reason, eh?' you chirped up. 'For bonding, I mean. This crash course can help all of us.'

His teeth ground in annoyance. 'You're mad.'

You blinked. Finally, Benny could see the underlying human in you who was surprised, angered, and entertained by his comment. He could see the ego of a seasoned huntress. And then he saw your humanity disappear again, a mask shifting into place with a practiced twitch of your face.

'Is that a yes?' you stood up, persistent beyond belief.

'If other ships spot you, you'll be dead within minutes. And our ship'll be crippled—'

'Are you scared?' you said, smirking in a way that made him want to kill you.

His eyes darted to the extending blood that was racing towards your feet because of the heady sway that came to the ship from the sea. It was bad blood growing between the two of you, bringing the metaphor to life - and it gave Benny an idea.

'Let your men be ready at five,' he said.

You beamed at him in agreement. You re-palmed your gun, at which Benny tensed, but then you tucked it back into its holding place. 'Always a pleasure doing business,' you said, parting from the room.

Benny grabbed a bowl from the nearby shelf and extracted a half-drunk blood bag from his desk drawer that almost fell on his leg when he hurriedly opened it. Spilling most of the blood into the bowl, he placed a call to his creator. It was usually only a demon's way of communicating, but since the humans had started gaining more power than they were due very recently, small allegiances had also started to branch out amongst the other factions, unbeknownst to your kind.

First, Seth L/N had slaughtered Raphael. Bobby Singer and Rufus Turner had killed most of the Monster Alphas. The now B/F L/N had conquered Metatron, a mad angel activist. Joana Harvelle had left a chain of murders of the succession of the Kings of Hell, most recently her victim had been Abaddon, who she'd murdered with the help of a Dean fucking Winchester. This last man who also ended up slaying the Darkness.

If Benny's instincts were right, which they usually were, it could not be a coincidence that a sociopath like you was headed to Europe at this time - perhaps, to fill in as the last piece . . .

When he sensed that the other line had accepted, he announced the dreaded news.

'I have the last Leader of the prophecy in my sights, Chief. It's the Birthday Girl.'

A/N: Birthdays can be so stressful sometimes. Phew 😮‍💨!

Also, Happy New Year, you guys - to those who celebrate 🙃❤️! Thought I'd begin my year with this chapter blast, hehe. Lemme know what you thought of it!

Tag List.

@hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @globetrotter28

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zepskies · 1 year ago

Text

The Old-Fashioned Way

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: You and Dean are having trouble trying to start a family. What happens when you turn to a spell for a possible solution? [Soulmate AU]

AN: Happy Valentine's Day! ❣️ Welcome back to the Never Say Goodbye-verse, my first ever Soulmate AU! Feels appropriate to celebrate today with some soulmates lol.

Honestly, I have really missed these two. I can’t believe it’s almost been a year since I wrote this series! And I’ve been wanting to find a way to come back to it, so when I recently got this request, I couldn't resist:

The reader finds out she is pregnant and Dean’s reaction.

But of course, I couldn’t make it that simple… This story takes place five years after the Bonus Tracks (3-part sequel).

Word Count: 5,000

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship (marriage). Soulmates, angst, issues in pregnancy, hurt/comfort, fluff, implied smut.

❤️ Series Masterlist

Today marked five years that Dean had been an officer of the Sioux Falls Police Department.

After twenty-eight odd years of committing felonies of varying degrees…mostly for the greater good, he still found it strange sometimes.

He’d been partnered with his father-in-law, Jack, and by now, Dean had finally lost his sense of “imposter syndrome.”

Jody bought him a pie to commemorate the occasion, and while a little embarrassed, he wasn’t mad about it. The precinct employees now shared the dessert on paper plates from their respective desks and cubicles.

Dean sat in the bullpen with Jack (who was on a call), Jody, and even Jessie Deluca, the boy he’d once arrested for stealing candy and groceries from a gas station.

Well, Jessie wasn’t such a kid anymore. He was now their 18-year-old intern.

“How’s the boysenberry?” Jody asked Dean. Her lips curved upward when he turned to her with a crumb-covered smile.

“Real good,” he said.

She couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I can’t with this. Come ‘ere.”

She grabbed a napkin and leaned over to wipe at his mouth the way a mother would her errant child. Dean just rolled his eyes.

“Really?” he snipped.

“You look like my five-year-old son after a round of SpaghettiOs,” she said.

“Makes you wonder how his wife deals with him,” Jessie muttered under his breath while he entered expense reports into his computer. Never mind that he had a purple berry stain around the corner of his mouth.

Dean shot him a wry look, along with his crumpled napkin.

“I don’t wanna hear that from a punk like you,” he teased. “You haven’t had a girlfriend since…what, junior prom?”

Jessie fended off the stained napkin with a grimace. But he also smarted at the dig. His arms crossed defensively as he leaned back in his chair.

“As a matter a fact, I’ve got a date on Friday,” he sniffed. “And no, I’m not telling you her name.”

Dean and Jody shared an amused look.

“Aww, look at him, pretending he’s got a date,” Dean said. He fought a deeper grin when Jessie threw the disgusting napkin back at him.

“Fine! Her name’s Annie. You happy now?” Jessie said.

Dean shared another look with Jody.

“Aww, he’s actually got a date,” said Dean. He smirked at the kid next. “Lemme know if you need to borrow some cologne. Chicks dig that.”

“Ugh,” Jessie groaned. He leaned his elbows on his desk and pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes. He knew he’d be catching flack on this for the rest of the week.

Dean chuckled, but before he had a chance to tease their intern some more, his cell phone rang. It was you, and he felt his good mood continue as he answered.

“Hey, baby.”

“Hey, how’s the day going?” you asked.

“Good,” he replied. “We’re on lunch break. Jody got me a pie for my five-year mark at the PD.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet…literally. She knows you too well,” you laughed.

He nodded in agreement. “Yeah, she really does.”

“Tell her and everyone else I said hi.”

“Will do,” he said with a smile. “You just callin’ to check up on me?”

“Well, that, and…when are you getting home tonight?” you asked. The smooth, leading note of your voice had Dean’s lips curving into a smirk.

“Ah, well…” He pushed away from his desk and stepped away from the bullpen for a little privacy in the hall. “That depends. What’s going on?”

“Let’s just say…I have an idea,” you replied. It had Dean’s brows raising. You’d been having a lot of ideas for the past year, and he’d been more than ready and willing for most of them.

“Oh, yeah?” he intoned. While he leaned against the wall in the main hallway of the precinct, his arm crossed under his elbow as he continued holding the phone to his ear. “What’d you have in mind?”

“You’ll just have to find out,” you said.

It only took his brain about a moment and a half to compute.

“All right. In that case, I’ll try to be home promptly at six, barring there’s no shootouts at the 7-Eleven,” he quipped.

“Ugh, please, don’t even joke about that,” you said, your tone sobering.

Dean realized, without even having to read his soulmate’s thoughts, that you were reminded of the last time an explosive incident happened at the local gas station, just two weeks before their wedding day. He dimmed as well.

“Yeah, ‘m sorry,” he said, swiping a hand over his mouth. “Uh…okay. I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart.”

“Okay, be careful,” you said. You always said it—in the morning, whenever he left for work, whenever you two managed to talk during the day. It was routine, but it also wasn’t.

And you still wished him a good rest of his day before you hung up. Dean pocketed his phone and returned to the bullpen, where Jody was putting away the rest of the pie. He eyed her just to know exactly where she was setting it down in the kitchen, for future reference.

Jessie peered up from his computer and asked if that was you on the phone.

“Yeah, she says hi,” Dean replied.

Jessie smirked. “‘Course she does. I’m her favorite.”

Dean shot him a look, knowing the kid liked you probably even more than he liked Dean. You’d become like a big sister to Jessie…but it didn’t stop Dean from occasionally being annoyed.

“Shut up and eat your pie.”

Dean arrived that night, more or less on time, to find that you’d cooked up a feast. It was laid out across the dining table: steak, scalloped potatoes, carrots and broccoli, and even freshly baked cornbread with butter.

“Is it my birthday again?” he asked, despite it already being February.

He ventured into the kitchen where you were getting two bottles of beer. You looked up at him with a smile when he came over and held you from behind. You enjoyed the warmth of his body pressed against your back, while his hands found your hips.

“I cook all the time, Dean,” you pointed out. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head in greeting.

“Hmm. Yeah, but now my spidey senses are tingling,” he said.

You set down the beer before turning in his embrace and twining your arms around his neck. Already he could feel your anticipation through the soul bond, but that was all you were letting him sense. You were keeping your walls up a bit, to stop him from hearing your thoughts. In this case, it felt like a tease.

You tilted your head, a smile playing across your lips. “Oh, yeah?”

Dean smirked down at you. “Oh, yeah.”

You laughed and let him greet you properly with a kiss. You returned it, affectionately caressing his cheek, but you stopped him before he could start pressing you harder into the counter. You held up a placating hand against his chest.

“Wait, wait, the food’s gonna get cold,” you said. And all too quickly, you’d extricated yourself from his arms and went to finish placing the silverware on the table. Dean begrudgingly followed suit by helping you with the glasses and plates.

Dinner was delicious. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a steak that good; you two had been scrounging and saving to get out of this apartment and buy a house, along with other things you and Dean had been planning for your future.

By the time the leftovers were put away and the dishes were put in the dishwasher, he started to sense that you were ready to come around with the real reason you’d called him at work today, let alone made such a nice and expensive meal. You went over to where he stood at the kitchen sink and rubbed his arm.

“Hey,” you greeted.

Dean tried to stifle his knowing smile. “Yeah?”

But when he looked over at you, he realized you seemed nervous, not flirtatious. You were serious, and now, he was concerned.

“What?” he asked.

You sighed, hesitating for a moment. Then you went over to a nearby drawer and got some rubber gloves you always kept at work and at home—the kind doctors wore.

You went for your large work bag that normally stored your laptop and files, and instead, you pulled out an old book. Dean’s brows raised of their own accord, considering the last time you accidentally trifled with a book like that.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, with some trepidation. You laid the book out on the kitchen counter.

“It’s a journal of some kind, written in Latin, dating back from the late 1500s. Can you believe that?” Your head raised from where you were examining the cover and spine, but Dean was incredulous.

“What’re you doing with that?” he asked. Your lips pursed, and he felt a tendril of your guilt.

Most likely, you’d taken it from the museum where you worked without permission. You were in charge of the growing library of ancient texts that were stored there, and most of them were too old and valuable for exhibition, even behind glass. He doubted you were even allowed to open this book, let alone “borrow” it from the museum.

You sighed and held up a placating hand. “Okay, Dean, just hear me out.”

You opened the book to a page you’d placed a strip of paper in for bookmarking purposes. You pointed at a page filled with scrawled words that Dean didn’t really understand. Sam was always better at reading Latin.

“That is a fertility spell,” you said.

The weight of that fell between you for a moment, rendering Dean speechless. It took a few seconds for his brain to register what you were saying, followed quickly by a sad, contemplative frown as he stared back at you. You were serious about this, even hopeful.

“Sweetheart, we don’t need that,” he said, shaking his head. Your expression firmed, though it became touched with melancholy.

“It’s been a year, Dean,” you said. “We’ve been trying for a year, and I’m still not pregnant.”

He blew out a breath. “The doctor said—”

“We’ve done everything the doctor said,” you snapped. “Fertility treatments are either going to take too long or are too expensive, and they still carry risks.”

“And this isn’t a risk?” Dean shot back, gesturing at the book. “You don’t know if this will work, or what the hell it’ll really do to you.”

Your brows furrowed, but you didn’t back down. You held your hands to your hips.

“Uncle Bobby said it’s legit,” you said. Dean blinked in surprise. He shifted back on his heels and crossed his arms.

“You ran this by Bobby before me?” he said. You could feel the small lance of his upset, as well as see it across his face.

You bit the inside of your lip. “I just wanted to make sure!”

Dean took in a deep breath. He mentally counted to five.

“What exactly did he say?” he asked.

You paused at that. “…Well, he said it was a real spell.”

His brows rose. “And?”

“And…that magic is unpredictable and we should talk about it first. But that’s why we’re talking now!” you reasoned.

Your husband’s gaze lifted heavenward as he threw up his hands in aggravation.

“Dean—” you tried, but it didn’t stop him from snatching up the book. Despite your protests, he took it with him into the master bedroom you shared and shoved the book into his nightstand. You had followed him this far, but you stopped short when he turned around to face you.

“I will check this out,” he said, and his tone boded no argument. “But for the record, I’m against this. Magic is unpredictable at best, and not for nothing, it always comes at a price. I’ll be damned if you’re gonna pay it again.”

You paused. Hearing the vehemence in his tone, feeling the force of emotion behind his words, and your own circling memories of being possessed by a magic-wielding goddess…it had you nodding in agreement, even as tears welled up in your eyes.

Dean faltered a little inside. Always the damn tears. He gathered you into his arms and held you close in comfort. He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“We’ll figure this out. I promise,” he said.

You tried to believe him.

Late that night, however, you couldn’t help yourself.

Once you were sure Dean was asleep beside you, hearing his deep, even breaths, you made your move. Dressed in just an old college shirt and some pajama shorts, you slid out of bed and tiptoed over to his nightstand to get the book.

You took it into the kitchen and started assembling the ingredients Bobby had reluctantly helped you translate. (He didn’t know that you had taken a couple of items from his house for the spell.)

You prepared them in a bowl. The resulting liquid looked brown and disgusting. You mixed it around, grimacing at the smell, and carefully poured it into a glass. The last thing the spell required was a few drops of your blood, and then you were supposed to drink it.

God, this is terrible, you thought. Part of you couldn’t believe you were going through with this, but…you grabbed a kitchen knife in order to make a shallow cut on your palm.

The steel was poised against your hand. You took a fortifying breath, but before you could cut into your skin, Dean grabbed your wrist with a strong grip, startling a gasp out of you.

“What the hell are you doing?!” he said, or more like shouted. He was irate, his voice bounding off the walls of the apartment.

You knew he had every right to be, and you didn’t have a good answer for him. Shock had stifled you into silence.

Dean let go of you and took the glass next. He peered in disgust at the concoction inside, but he quickly dumped it into the sink and ignored your protests. He threatened to burn the damn book next.

“Dean, stop! Please,” you said tearfully as you stilled his hands on the book. “If there’s some kind of price to the spell, I’ll pay it!”

“What’re you talking about! Are you crazy?” he asked, through furrowed brows. You squeezed his hands.

“Believe me, I love what we have. I love our life, my job, all of it,” you said. “But I want a family, and I want it with you.”

Dean started to soften at that, when you met his eyes. You paused, taking in a shaky breath.

“It should be simple, but it’s not," you said. "I just can’t understand why it’s so impossible. Why…why there’s something wrong with me.”

Dean’s anger broke down, bit by bit the more you spoke. He let go of the book and reached for you. He held you against his chest, rubbing your back as you quietly wept. You tried to stifle it, but that just made your body tremble even more. He did his best to steady you, rocking you back and forth. His eyes closed for a moment.

You both knew that the expensive fertility doctor hadn’t found anything wrong with either of you, even after a month of testing.

“In certain cases, it just takes longer for some couples,” she’d said. But clearly, you had just been blaming yourself. Dean couldn’t abide that.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said firmly. “Believe me, I want that too. But I also want to make sure you’re safe.”

Emotion clogged in his throat when he thought about what might’ve happened if he hadn’t stopped you. And in turn, you sobered even more when you managed to pick up on his thoughts.

“If something would’ve happened, and I was too late to stop it,” he said, clearing his throat. “…I just can’t, okay?”

After a moment, you nodded. You allowed yourself to rest against his chest and try to calm the racing of your heart. All the while, you tried your best not to resent him for stopping you.

The next day was a Saturday. You slept in because your body needed it, after the stress of last night. When you woke up, Dean wasn’t beside you. His keys and the Impala were gone, but he’d left you a text: he’d gone to your uncle Bobby’s place.

And you saw that he’d taken the book as well. Predictable.

You felt bad for how you tried to go behind your husband’s back, but if you were honest with yourself, you were still upset at him for stopping you, even if you understood why he did it.

You sat on the edge of your bed. Not for the first time since you and Dean were separated by miles of roads and his family’s mission to find the thing that killed his mother, you found yourself praying.

Please, God…or if there’s even anyone up there…please help me.

For a while, there was silence in the room.

But even if your eyes were open, you wouldn’t have seen the being that was standing in front of you. He stared down at you with a tilted head, finding himself a bit too curious. Hesitantly, he reached his hand out and touched your forehead.

You didn’t completely register the feeling that washed over you. It was like the tingling of a breeze across your skin. You took it for a chill in the room as you shivered a little. Then you opened your eyes, and resigned yourself to starting your day.

Castiel left the room with but a thought and a flutter of wings.

He knew he was only supposed to observe Michael’s vessel, not his soulmate. And yet, with one touch, he had sensed the rare genetic defect your doctor had missed.

Your mother had unknowingly suffered the condition as well. Your father never told you this, but she’d nearly lost you in the early stages of her pregnancy. It had been a miracle that you were born at all.

Castiel fixed the problem.

He knew what Uriel, or even Naomi would say. Perhaps they didn’t need to know, in this case. They were both far too busy for worldly trifles. Even so, Castiel knew he wasn’t authorized to heal you.

Still, it felt…right. And so, he did it.

It confused him.

…Maybe it isn’t something to be closely examined, he thought.

With that agreement within himself, he resolved to leave that decision behind him, and continue watching from afar. Those were his orders, after all.

Visiting Bobby Singer wasn’t as productive as Dean wanted it to be. The men had been arguing in Bobby’s living room for close to an hour.

Dean was upset with him for translating that goddamn spell for you, but the old man didn’t have a good answer. They both knew you were like a daughter to him.

“She came in hot, all damn stubborn and sass up to here,” Bobby said, holding a hand up to his forehead. “But you try sayin’ no when the waterworks starts.”

…Dean could concede that, but he rubbed his face in frustration.

“What do I do here, Bobby?” he asked, holding up the spell book in question. Apparently, it was more like a journal; it was rumored to have belonged to a sixteenth-century witch named Rowena. “I don’t trust this thing. Deep in my gut, I know it.”

Bobby considered him for a moment. In fact, he gave Dean a long-suffering look that made him really see Bobby’s age.

“Then trust your gut, son,” was all he said.

Dean returned home with a peace offering: some apple crumble pie. You were lying on the sofa watching mindless TV, still in your pajamas. Your mental walls were down, so Dean could both see and feel how miserable you were.

He took out the pie from the small bag of groceries he carried and held it up so you could see.

“I come bearing sugar,” he said. He also set down a bottle of wine on the dining table. You were focused on the pie, however.

“Who’s that for, me or you?” you dryly remarked.

“I got ice cream too,” he said, shaking the grocery bag.

You smiled a little, but he could feel through the bond that you were still sour at him. He sighed and went over to you. He set down the bribery on the coffee table and settled a hand on your pajama-clad thigh.

“Sweetheart, I am sorry.”

Sighing, you turned off the TV and sat up against the other end of the couch. You eyed him with a frown.

“You’re not sorry about chucking the spell,” you accused. Or for stealing the book you’d eventually have to bring back to work, lest your boss notice something amiss in the inventory.

“No, I’m not,” said Dean. “It was dangerous. I felt it. And that gut feeling? That’s what’s saved me more times than I can damn count.”

You were still upset, you couldn’t deny…but you understood his point. When he beckoned you over, you were more willing to go to him. After you scooted closer, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Look, I’ll go to whatever doctors you want, try whatever treatments, however long it takes,” he said.

You sighed, but you eventually agreed with a teary nod. “Okay. Thank you.”

Even with that, Dean wasn’t convinced that he was getting through to you. He was picking up on a thread of hopelessness that you were trying to hide.

He’d just have to change that.

“But…” He earned your attention by squeezing your side. His lips formed a grin. “I still think we can do this the old-fashioned way.”

He slowly rubbed a hand up and down your back. With the other hand, he reached for your face, tracing your lower lip with his thumb. You smiled slightly at his teasing. Part of you wanted to heed the suggestion in his eyes, and the familiar warmth and promise in his touch. The other, more vulnerable part of you hesitated.

When you caught sight of something over his shoulder, you had to smile a little more.

“I see you got a bottle of Merlot,” you said. A notable upgrade from beer. You couldn’t remember the last time Dean had willingly bought some “bougie-ass” wine.

“A little pie, a little booze…” you noted.

Dean grinned. “I’m thinking we have a not-so-quiet night in.”

Your brows rose, and you hummed in surprise. “Is my husband trying to butter me up?”

“Nah,” he said, tilting your face back up to his. “Your husband’s trying to seduce you.”

You giggled at that…at first. But it seemed he was serious.

You accepted his passionate kiss. Closing your eyes, you reached blindly for his shirt and held on while his lips moved ardently against yours. Through the bond, you felt his desire like it was your own.

In the five years you’d been married, and the years you were together even before, there were often moments where it was impossible to discern what was him and what was you.

The beautiful thing about it was, that part didn’t matter too much. Especially not when you and Dean became a tangle of limbs, lips, and tongue on the couch. He ridded you of your threadbare pajamas, and you helped him halfway out of his shirt and jeans before he yanked the rest of it off himself.

And all while he drew lusty moans and sighs and pleasure from your body in the comfort of your living room, the ice cream slowly melted in its container on the coffee table—completely forgotten, along with the pie.

That night, you lied awake in his arms for a while. Round one on the couch had migrated to rounds two and three in the bedroom, and you were almost too exhausted to sleep.

It had been months since you and Dean had sex without thinking of calendars and timing, optimal positions and ovulation.

This felt right, you thought, as you stroked his arm that was wrapped around your waist. Even though your skin was sticking to his under the sheets and your frizzy hair was probably tickling his neck, he didn’t seem to mind.

Dean? you tried through the bond, seeing if he was awake. He felt like he was still in-between wakefulness and sleep. At your prodding though, he slipped back into the former.

“Hmm?” he replied. You let out a sigh in the dark.

“I’m sorry I kind of tried to take matters into my own hands, with the spell.”

He hmphed in response. “Kinda?”

Your lips twitched upwards.

“This is a ‘together’ thing,” you said. “I made it all about me.”

Dean shook his head at that. He responded through the bond. No, you didn’t.

I did, you insisted. You were right to stop me. I didn’t care about the consequences…but that’s not fair to you. To either of us.

He took that in with a deep sigh of his own.

“It’s okay. We want the same thing,” he said. “And we’ll get there, baby. Don’t you worry.”

“What makes you so sure?” you asked.

“…I don’t know. I just am.”

You closed your eyes, and once again, you tried to believe him. You let his heartbeat and the sound of his steady breathing lull you to sleep.

Nine weeks later…

You were alone in the bathroom at seven in the morning. After almost a month late on your period, you were also staring at two positive lines on your last pregnancy test.

Ho…ly…shit.

Dean was already at work. This wasn’t something you wanted to tell him over the phone, however.

How the hell am I supposed to keep this from him all day? you thought.

But then again, maybe this was a good thing. You had time to make sure.

So you called out of work for a personal day, and you immediately called your doctor on your way out to the closest pharmacy. You were going to need a few more tests.

When Dean eventually got home that evening, there were two pizzas waiting for him. The smell was already making his mouth water. He peeked under the hood of each box and rubbed his hands together.

“Ooh, awesome.” Pepperoni, sausage, and double cheese. His favorite.

You appeared then from the kitchen with a strange smile on your face.

“Hey!” you chirped, but you seemed a bit distracted as you pulled out a sheet pan of cookies from the oven. You nearly dropped them when the corner of the pan banged against the oven.

Something was off with you. Dean knew it intuitively. He went over and tried to steady you with a hand on the small of your back. He could see that you were frazzled, but he realized, with a frown, that you had your walls up again. He couldn’t pick up on what you were thinking.

“You okay?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

“Uh…well, something,” you nodded and wiped your hands after you peeled the oven mitts off. “And I need to tell you about it before I bake everything in the house, including the expired bran muffins.”

Dean was growing more concerned by the moment. He knew for a fact he’d hidden that bran muffin mix deep in the pantry, so you wouldn’t force him to eat a “healthy dessert.”

“Okay, what?” he asked.

You paused, steeling yourself with a breath.

You then took his hand and led him to the bedroom, into the adjoining bathroom. Across the entire counter were no less than seven pregnancy tests.

All positive.

Dean’s breath caught in his lungs. Slowly he turned back to you with his widened eyes.

“Surprise?” you smiled, a little nervously.

Dean grasped the counter and had to sit down hard on the closed toilet seat.

“Yeah, I did that too,” you said. You couldn’t help but giggle as you caressed his face. He grabbed your hip, both to bring you closer and for added stability. You two had been trying to make this happen for over a year, but the gravity of this being real was finally hitting him.

He stared up at your face with a growing smile. “This is happening.”

You nodded, smiling through your burgeoning tears.

“Yeah. It is,” you replied. “Dean, you’re gonna be a dad.”

That realization had him nodding, swallowing hard and blinking past a sting in his eyes.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, bringing you in between his knees. You threaded your fingers through his hair, and his head came to rest against your stomach. He pressed a kiss there, over your shirt.

After a moment to gather himself, he rocked back onto his feet. Then he enveloped you in a secure and warm embrace. He kissed the side of your head, and you felt his smile there.

“We did it, baby,” he said.

“And that was the easy part,” you quipped, making him laugh. Yet the holy shit of it all hit him in a new wave—one you felt through the bond. You had to take a deep breath to steady yourself as well.

“Oh my God, this is happening,” he repeated.

You uttered a tearful laugh. “Uh, yeah, Dean.”

He was still smiling, but it started to dim a little.

“We’re ready, right?” he asked.

You chuckled, wiping at your eyes. “We better be.”

Dean nodded and pulled back enough to see your face. You met his gaze. Maybe you’d just had more time than him to process it all, but you finally felt a sense of peace.

“Together, right?” he said.

“Yeah,” you smiled. “Together.”

Dean let out a deep breath. “Shit, I gotta tell Sam.”

Your smile brightened and you squeezed his arms.

“Let’s call him!" you said. "Hopefully Eileen’s there too.”

The two had moved in together a couple of years ago, after Eileen officially retired from hunting. But she often had long shifts at her job, just like Sam did at the law firm he started working for after he graduated from law school, near the top of his class.

While you and Dean went into the bedroom to call Sam together, an angel watched from a distance, unseen by human eyes.

He found himself smiling.

AN: Ahh I'm soft. 🥰 I hope you all enjoy this as much as I had fun diving back into Never Say Goodbye.

And I won't say that I'll never come back to it in the future...for obvious reasons. 😉

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Dean Winchester Masterlist

Series + Dean Tag List (Part 1):

I did my best to get everyone who was tagged in the original run of the series first, then my normal Dean tag list.

@curlycarley @chubby-teddybear @jamerlynn @iprobablyshipit91 @globetrotter28 @deamus-liv @deans-spinster-witch @my-proof-is-you @vera0124 @deans-baby-momma @lacilou @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @theonlymaninthesky @spnexploration @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester @imagineteller1

@icequeen1371 @tiredqueen73 @bitchwitch1981 @abbigaleelizabeth @ohgodthebogisback @where-the-river-bends @loveprof6 @shadowcrowsworld @thespnlover @this-is-me19 @stevenknightmarc @leigh70 @syrma-sensei @brain-has-left

@hobby27 @ashbatz @saranghaey @jori21 @lillyrob @adoringanakin @agirlwithdemonblood @mimaria420 @nephil-with-a-gun @writethrough @iamsapphine @definitelymentallyderanged @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer

#the old-fashioned way #bonus tracks #never say goodbye #bonus track 4 #spn #supernatural #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x soulmate!reader #soulmate au #soulmates #castiel #jody mills #bobby singer #zepskies writes

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