#HE WANTS YOU TO PUT THOSE NEWLY-HEALED LEGS TO GOOD USE MR. LOCKE!!!!!!

[sp00kworm]

Butterfly

Pairing: Jesse Cromeans / Chromeskull x Female Reader

Warnings: Slasher horror and gore

A/N: This fic is blocked from the tags but please enjoy! Reblogs are always appreciated. Gif is by me.

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His home was lonely. Jesse looked at the clock, his eyes burning with the need to sleep, but his mind racing. It was late. Approaching eleven o’clock. He’d had to work today. His company didn’t run itself, and there was a lot of accounting and management to do outside of his little hobby. Jesse looked away from the clock and stretched his jaw, the bone clicking from where he was cracked around the face with the bat. The bone had healed rather easily, but it hurt from time to time. His face, that was mauled. He wasn’t the stud he used to be. Handsome, a straight jaw and high cheekbones. Cynically, he snorted at the picture on the mantle he had of him and his late wife. Mrs Cromeans clutched at his arm at some high-class party, her red lips spread in a smile to match Jesse’s smirk. The second was him kissing at her cheek as she pushed him away. Sentimental. He was feeling sentimental. He didn’t hate his wife. She was convenient. A life outside of his hobby. Pretty. He didn’t even know she was pregnant. The police informant he had revealed the death report tentatively to him. The unborn child inside her wasn’t old enough to be saved. An accident he never expected to occur. He’d been gone nearly 4 months, and she was pregnant. He didn’t remember a message, but then he tended to let Spann handle such things. He probably ignored it. Jesse stood from his black leather couch and walked to the mantle.

He took the picture in his hand. His face was partially cut off, the camera focused on his wife and her smile. Jesse looked at it before he leaned over and threw it on the fire. The glass shattered with the force of hitting the logs and the frame quickly burst into flames, black paint peeling off the wood as it crackled and snapped. The photos disappeared into curling pieces of charcoal and he watched the frame burn with a certain amount of upset. Sentiment, he reminded himself, as he pushed himself away from the mantlepiece and touched the tattoo on his chest. The shaded skull stared back at him with hollow eyes. It was a reminder of the urges he had. With a sigh, he touched at his arms and traced the patterns of screaming, swirling ghouls all the way down to his wrist before daring to stand up a little bit straighter. He reached for the laptop of his coffee table and opened a chat window with Spann. It took a moment for the secure connection to open properly.

 Spann’s face appeared in the bottom corner, her tired eyes looking at him through the camera. She was still sat in the office, but she gave him a smile, “What can I do for you, Sir?” She asked as she shuffled the paperwork away.

Jesse made sure his face was out of frame, ‘Make sure there is a clean-up crew on standby.’

Spann peered at the text, “Of course, Sir. Where are you heading out to?” She asked curiously as her fingers whipped across the keyboard lightning fast, “You’ve been in Hollywood for a while now, have you finally taken a fancy to someone? You’ve not been as active as you once were.” She smiled, sickly sweet and twisted, just like she always did.

‘Just have the crew ready. I will text if I find something.’

“Of course. Have fun, Sir.” Spann nodded and he closed the chat window before disconnecting from all the rerouting services and opening the internet to have a look for a bar that suited his fancy. Something exclusive so he didn’t have to sit and be gawked at by people that could well lose their eyes. His good eye roved the names of bars before he spotted a club. He recognised the name. A mob boss run thing, he was sure, but it would mean he didn’t get stared at with a knife on his hip underneath his jacket. Perfect. Jesse snapped his laptop closed and headed upstairs for a shower and to get appropriately dressed up.

 The hot water eased his sore back, but it hurt on the sensitive skin of his face. He covered his face with a hand to his forehead as he washed the smell and aches from himself. The soap was sensitive, and he carefully washed his face, making sure to get around his eyes, to avoid any form of gunky infections. Those had been hell when he was laid in the hospital bed recovering. Still, a great deal of more work on his face this past year had made him far more recognisable, but it wasn’t the same. He was still scarred and twisted, his nose looking rather out of place. He ran a finger over the rougher skin, where the scaring was worst, tracing back over his forehead from his eyebrow. They had managed to graft new muscle and replace areas that were damaged. He felt more human now, but nothing would ever replace how he used to appear. Still, Jesse had paid good money for his better face, and he would be damned if he didn’t use it a little. He turned off the shower and dripped in the wet room for a moment before he wrapped a towel around his waist and pulled his razor out to sheer the hair from his head. It was therapeutic. Jesse leaned over the water to catch the hair on the back of his head before he held his jaw and angled the mirror to check his face. Nothing grew anymore, but that didn’t stop him checking.

 He turned the mirror to his face and stroked the newly constructed nose. It had been four months of healing this time around. Plastic surgery galore. He’d had mountains of work since his run in with Princess’ little friend. He almost resembled a person. Still, he was scarred, and his eyebrows no longer grew hair along with his jaw. He was still blind in one eye, the brown eye cloudy. Jesse plucked his eyepatch from the shelf and replaced it before brushing his perfect teeth. He had paid too much money for most of himself to neglect it. He towelled himself off and walked from the bathroom to his room, stark naked, stretching his back before he plucked out his designer black shirt, trousers, and jacket. Once he was dressed, he pulled on his oxfords and pulled his case from underneath the floorboards. Jesse undid the latches and peered inside. The chrome skull stared back at him, along with the polished knives he used to remove pieces of his victims. The box of gloves sat nestled in the top corner but he didn’t put any on for the time being, letting his tattooed hands breathe. He pushed his fists together and looked at the two words. The words ‘FEAR’ and ‘PAIN’ looked back at him. With a final adjustment of his cufflinks, he took his wallet from the nightstand and left his house, activating the alarm and locking the door before he opened his Chrysler 300 and slid into the roomy interior. The engine roared to life before he pulled away from the drive. Jesse rolled down the tinted window before he pushed his middle finger out of it, flagging the neighbours who glared at him from their windows.

 The bar was half of a club with the back for exclusive clients, which ranged from those involved in mob work, to celebrities. Jesse tugged at the breast of his jacket as he let the eager doorman take his car around the back. He stopped him with a finger in the air and he unlocked his phone and typed into the speech app.

��Open the trunk or my glovebox and I’ll have your fingers, bellboy.’

“Yes, Sir.” He swallowed as he climbed into the Chrysler, pulling it away smoothly into the back of the club. Jesse looked around, his silver mask shining in the gaudy lighting. The mob knew him. He was the one who moved the weapons through his shelter companies. He took care of some of their business, butchering people like pigs for them when they took his fancy, and in, exchange, they let him have his pick of their girls for his games. He stepped through the door and a bouncer waved at him from the curtain separating the areas. The bar went around both sides, but no one could see through the curtains. Jesse walked through the bar, passing a group of women in lingerie as the bouncer let him through the other side.

“Good to see you again.” He grunted, looking up at the man as he drew out his phone.

‘Did you miss me?’ Jesse snarked through the automatic voice.

“You’re hardly any trouble.” He tipped his head towards a booth, “Make yourself at home.”

Jesse walked past him and headed for his table, pulling the curtains back before he placed his briefcase down and slid inside, sighing with the low lighting. He relaxed back against the cushions and reached for the mask over his face. With a hum, he pushed his thumbs into the mild adhesive and plucked the piece of chrome free with a twist underneath his chin in order to apply a new layer.

 It was quiet at this side of the bar, the curtains blocking out a lot of the noise and the people that he didn’t want to look at. Exclusive. Jesse ran his fingers over the leather of the couch and hummed at the quality before he tucked his case beside him. The knife strapped beneath his jacket wasn’t going to cause any problems here. Jesse pulled the case around and listened as the curtains rustled beside him. He was used to this. The silver skull turned to face the red fabric and Jesse lounged back on his seat as it parted to reveal the curious face of the bartender. He smiled behind his mask at the professional wear, a shirt and bowtie on. His eyes roved lower behind the black material over his eyes, looking at the short skirt attached. Perfect. He greedily took in the sight, laid back against the cushioning, and slid his phone from his pocket.

 You nervously parted the curtains of the exclusive booth and poked your head inside. Great, you thought as you slid the notebook from your pocket, holding your pen in your hand as you tried not to stare at the silver mask leering ominously back at you. His head dipped to look at your legs, admiring the view.

“What can I get you, Sir.” You asked, pen poised to write on the paper, “Any food or are you just drinking?”

The man in the mask didn’t respond, but his fingers whizzed across the keyboard of the phone, typing out something across the screen. He turned the screen to show you the words, ‘Drink. A bottle of bourbon. The one at six hundred.’

“Okay. Do you want a glass and ice?” You asked carefully, watching as he tilted his masked face.

His fingers clicked rapidly across the keyboard again, ‘Two ice cubes. Crystal tumbler.’

You had his sort before, “Of course, Sir.” You ducked back out and replaced the curtains before you headed back towards the bar to grab the expensive, six-hundred-dollar bottle of bourbon whiskey.

 Jesse watched you through a small parting in the curtain, eyes following your backside as you returned to your colleague at the bar. He made sure to drop the curtain back into place as you turned from the bar and headed back towards him.

 “Your drink, and your glass.” You placed the bottle and the tumbler down in front of the chrome-faced man and watched his tattooed fingers twitch against the leather as he leaned over to inspect what you had brought him.

Lazily, he took hold of the bottle neck, and peered at the label before he nodded and typed rapidly on the phone again, ‘Thanks. Run along, Piggy.’

You nodded and left his booth alone, catching a glimpse of tattooed hands pouring a drink as the red curtain closed behind you.

“Rude asshole.” You muttered under your breath as you headed back towards the bar, where you were needed on the other side, with the normal clientele of the bar. They were perhaps worse than the questionable celebrities and mobsters of the exclusive side, but you could cope with serving the sex workers and incredibly drunk men.

 Joe gave you a look of concern as you came back through the curtain. He was an old man and had worked at the bar since he was young. He knew the sorts that tended to frequent the establishment. He leaned over towards you as you threw some glasses in the box for cleaning.

“Don’t fuck with that one.” He whispered, “The Boss doesn’t like him here, but he puts up with it. Rumour is he’s a bit of a knife for hire. Tends to get those jobs that required someone gutting for a video.” Joe scowled and rubbed at his moustache, “Stay far away and keep him happy with drinks.”

“Thanks, Joe.” You uttered before you served a beer, “What’s with the mask?”

Joe shook his head, “Best not to ask.” He then left you alone as you pulled pints of beer for a group. It wasn’t long before you swapped again into the back, smiling as you peered at the booths. You frowned as the curtain to the stranger’s flickered and he waved his hand before he curled his finger towards himself and pushed the phone through.

“Come here.” The automated voice called ominously, and you took a deep breath before you opened the bar door and headed towards the booth again, your notepad in hand. You parted the curtain and smiled at the mysterious man.

 What you saw shocked you a little. He’d taken the mask off, revealing his scarred face to you. You tried not to stare, you really did. Awkwardly, you maintained the smile as he stared up at you, brown eyes dark as though he was daring you to say a word. One was covered with an eyepatch.

The phone clicked away before the screen was presented, ‘Entertain me.’ The voice was absent this time.

You read the words and frowned, “I can offer you a food menu or a different drink, Sir.” You replied quietly, dreading the next words that were going to come out of his mouth, “Unfortunately we don’t have any live music…and other options are not in my job description.”

Tattooed fingers curled against the leather before he grinned, exposing, bright, white teeth in a vicious smile. His chest jumped before he gave out a breathy, long chuckle. He curled his finger again for you to properly step into the booth.

He typed on the phone again before holding it up for you to see, ‘I don’t want you to suck my cock. Sit. Talk.’

Suddenly, you felt a little bit stupid, “Talk? What about?” You were still suspicious of the man.

‘Your boss. He owes me something. I want to know more.’ He turned the phone back to himself and typed again, ‘Ever mention ChromeSkull?’

 Suddenly, you realised who he was. The personalised plates out the back of the bar, and the chromed mask in his lap. This was a dangerous man. Still, he was very capable of ending you now, with no one there to see.

“He doesn’t talk about business in the bar.” You swallowed nervously, “He only said he hoped he never saw your face in here again.” Your gut dropped as you realised either way, you might die.

‘Thanks, sweet thing.’ He typed and showed you before continuing, ‘Call me Jesse.’ You watched his face smile again and suddenly you realised that once he was very handsome. It looked like acid or chemical burn scarring. The mob liked to disfigure people as pay back sometimes, but you had an inkling his weren’t inflicted by the mafia.

‘What’s your name?’ He pushed the screen before your eyes as his fingers danced over the leather.

You cleared your throat and told him, “So are you here for payback?”

‘Something like that.’ He replied on screen, ‘Better company this time.’

Flattering but you still wanted out of the conversation. There wasn’t an opportunity to, however, because as you stood up to straighten yourself out, your boss walked into the booth.

 Judgemental eyes roved you up and down, spotting you playing with your skirt. Jesse was quick to turn and replaced his mask, before your boss could see, the medical adhesive painted along the seams and the area of his nose. He turned back to look at Antony, the owner, with the haunting black eyes of the chrome skull mask peering through him.

“Making yourself at home with my staff?” Antony shot as he pulled a cigarette from between his lips, his face twisted with a glare, “Pretty sure you’re not welcome here anymore.” He dragged a hand through his slicked back, brown hair and snarled viciously before he returned the cigarette to his lips for another nervous drag.

Jesse’s mask tilted before he pointed a finger through the curtains and let the automated voice speak for him, “Justin had no issue letting me in, Antony.” He continued, “Plus, you owe me.”

“If this is about that fucking weapons crate again. I swear to God I didn’t know it was rigged to blow.” He dragged on his cigarette again.

“You lost me a factory, Antony.” The automatic voice droned hauntingly, “And I still haven’t had the compensation.”

“You’ll get your money, shit face.” Antony’s hand twitched for his jacket.

 You panicked as Antony took a seat across from Jesse, his fingers steepled under his chin. It was tense, and you began to panic as Jesse loomed over in the man’s personal space. He was a giant, solid wall of power, and you instinctively took a step back.

Antony clicked at you, “Drinks. Pour them. One for our guest here too.” You nodded and dashed for another glass for Antony before shakily taking the bottle in your hand and pouring both of them shots.

Jesse ignored the drink as he took his silver briefcase and slammed it on top of the table. The wood shuddered under the force of the blow and you jumped as he snapped open the clips.

“Put your fucking knives away, Cromeans.” Antony scoffed.

Jesse slid his first, sharp hunting knife free from his hip and you swallowed as he took a camera from the case. The device had a stand that clipped to his shoulder and he snapped the little tripod on before tapping the top. A red light blinked on. Recording.

“Oh, so you’ve come for something to play with?” Antony laughed, “There’s a toy stood right next to you. Be my fucking guest!” He exclaimed.

 You gave a squeak as Jesse’s large hands grappled you by the waist, dragging you into his lap, your legs pinned between his own as he breathed down your neck. He trapped you as he reached for the box of black nitriles in his case. Methodically, he peeled one free at a time and tugged them over the black tattoos covering his hands. The black nitrile traced the edge of one knife before he span it once, twice, and then placed the edge of the blade against your neck. Your breath caught in your throat at the cold press of metal against your soft skin. His other hand trailed over the skin, his hot breath tickling your ear before he swiped the knife up and dragged the sharp side through your hair. You listened to him inhale before, tauntingly, he made a kissing noise next to your ear. The blade was replaced against your throat as he typed on the phone once more.

“I catch my own fish.” The voice droned before Jesse shook the phone teasingly in front of you, showing you the text he had typed out, ‘Though I don’t think I want to play with you, piggy. You’re too much of a deer.’

Antony scowled, “What the fuck does that mean…” He howled in agony as Jesse flicked the blade around again and slammed it through his hand. The fingers twitched before he drew his other knife and sliced the appendages free, pinning you in place with his legs as he watched blood spurt over the wood.

 Shock. You felt your heart burn as you wiggled backwards, closer to the killer’s chest before he peeled you free from his lap and dropped you back into the booth. Gruffly, Jesse slammed his bloodied hand over Antony’s mouth.

‘This piggy should have stayed home.’ His phone droned, again and again as the giant stood up, touching the tip of the hunting knife as he admired the shine of blood over the cold steel. With another flourish, he turned the saw half downwards and wrestled Antony over the wood, pinning him with a slam of his head before he dragged the saw downwards and watched skin and muscle part. He paused when Antony passed out and left the knife embedded in the man’s wrist as he looked back at you.

‘Look away.’ He typed with his clean hand. You did as you were asked, fear making you want to cry. He sawed the hand free and looked at the hand left, pinned to the table before he pealed his gloves free and brushed the bottom of your chin.

 “Look alive, sunshine.” The voice chittered, “Get moving.” It continued.

You opened your eyes and Jesse was quick to turn you away from the mess over the table.

“Up. Walk. Back exit.” The phone said. With a shuddering sigh, you got up. Jesse’s mask tilted before he offered his arm. You hooked your arm through his and almost cried as he shut the curtains and blocked you from the view of the other bar staff with his towering figure. His video was still recording.

“Why did you…” You were cut off by a sharp grip.

Jesse didn’t speak until you were both outside, his keys in one hand, snatched from the storage and  his phone held up to you in the other, “I taught them a lesson. They don’t fuck with me and get away with it.” He offered before he dragged you over to his car. You looked at the custom plates and the expensive brand. He laid his briefcase on the bonnet and sighed as he peeled free the chrome covered mask. Beneath was the same as before, heavily operated on with taught skin. A few scars were deep and heavy. His eye that was previously covered with an eyepatch was open, revealing itself as almost blind, the brown iris milky and covered. Still, he wasn’t a monster, just disfigured and evidently, through all the surgery, unhappy about what had occurred.

 “Staring is rude.” The phone whirred, “Should be staring elsewhere, sugar tits.”

You felt yourself go red, “You just killed a man! You don’t have any right to flirt with me after you just made me an accessory to murder!” You flew off the handle, “And now you’re taking me out back to end me too!”

Jesse grinned, white teeth clenched together dangerously as his knife curled and span idly, looking you up and down. He held up the phone nonchalantly, “No I’m not. I’m taking you home.”

“You…You’re joking.” You took a step backwards only for him to grab you once again, breathing in the smell of your hair as his knife traced down your chest. With a flick of his wrist he popped a button off your shirt.

His phone appeared in front of you again, ‘Home address.’

You swallowed and repeated your address for him quietly. He hummed behind you, the knife disappearing before he turned you to face him. His face dipped down to meet yours as he laid a single kiss over your lips.

‘Let’s go for a ride, baby.’

[whispersandwhiskerburn]

The Gift Box

Angel’s 2017 Christmas Drabble #1 (Christmas Drabbles List)

Request: @littlegreenplasticsoldier: ... Could I please request something with Dean, anything but angst, with the prompt of a box that won't open. I hope that sparks something for you. Cheers lovely! Pairing: Dean x Reader Word Count: 1,720 (oops, that got longer than I meant it to be!) Warnings: Grumpy injured Dean, fluff, hints of future NSFW, but totally okay imo. Author’s Note: My Dear Ali, if I had the time I would write you a ton of Christmas gifts. Thanks for all you do for this spnfamily, and for the inspiration you give to the rest of us so often. Merry Christmas, friend. :)

Dean hated being injured. Stupid ghost had thrown over an old table during the last hunt, landing solidly on his right foot, and cracking three small bones in the process.

He could barely hobble around Bobby’s crash house, the nearest haven that he could recover in, and the damn cast was itchy all the time.

No rest for the wicked, though. Dean’s girlfriend, Y/N, and Sam would be leaving this morning to take on the next case, and Dean had reluctantly agreed to sit this one out and heal.

He wasn’t exactly looking forward to spending the last few days before Christmas holed up in this cabin on his own, watching Dr. Sexy reruns, but what else could he do? 

He tried his best to hide his irritation. He’d gotten up early this morning to limp around the kitchen enough to make coffee and some omelettes for the two of them. 

“Good morning!”

Dean grunted. Y/N’s cheery voice pre-coffee was never something he understood. He loved her for it, but he did not understand it in the least. He turned around to hand her a mug, only to find her hand already extended with a small, brightly wrapped box offered out to him.

“Y/N, really? I thought we agreed: no presents for Christmas this year. And it’s not even Christmas yet--” Dean protested.

She smiled placing the box on the table and turning the tag outwards which clearly said “Don’t Open Until Christmas” on it, before taking her mug from him.

She took a long sip, then sighed. “Thanks, babe. And I know, we agreed, but you’re going to love this gift. Promise not to open it until I get back?”

Dean eyed the present, already itching to unwrap it, but then he smiled back at her. He was trying to be Mr. Positive about this whole situation after all.

“Sure thing, Y/N.”

Day 1

Dean hadn’t lasted long. Every time a commercial came on, he’d glance at the box on the table. When he’d made himself a sandwich and settled back on the couch, the gift had come back with him.

He picked it up, measuring the weight, shaking it a bit like a ten year old trying to guess what might me inside. He couldn’t feel any type of shift when he did so, so she must have packed it to avoid those guessing techniques.

He put it down and fought temptation until the sun was down, his resolve weakening in the boredom of sitting on his ass all day.

“Fuck it. She knows I’m going to open it while she’s gone anyway.”

He ripped off the wrapper, deliberately balling up the tag that was giving him a guilt trip before tossing the festive paper in the trash can. 

He went to pick up the wooden cube but his phone rang first.

It was Y/N.

“Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Sam and I already know what we’re after--looks like a cursed object, some kind of pendant. We should be able to hunt it down tomorrow and melt the thing or something. I just wanted to call, check in with you. I miss you.”

Dean looked at her thoughtful present and felt his gut twist in guilt. He tucked the thing under the small table in between the couch and the television and focused on his caring girlfriend.

“Miss you back. I’m doing fine--just watching television dramas and wishing I was with you guys. It’s pretty dull without you here.” He deepened his voice, wondering if she’d be up for a little fun over the phone lines since it was kinda late.

Then he heard her stifle a yawn, and he smiled.

“You sound exhausted. You should get some sleep. You’ll need to be clear-headed tomorrow.”

“Good night, Dean. I’ll call you tomorrow, let you know how it goes.”

“Love you, babe. See you soon.”

Day 2

Today had been worse. 

Dean had been climbing the walls most of the day, alternating between worrying about Y/N and his brother, and trying to find a way to occupy himself. 

He’d called up Bobby and bothered him for a while until the old man had hung up on him, claiming he had work to do. He tried to follow Bobby’s advice and start a hunting journal of his own, but Dean had never really enjoyed writing much, and he gave it up after about an hour’s effort, deciding to leave that job to Sam.  He’d looked up and enjoyed some anime porn, but that just made him miss Y/N more. Thinking of Y/N put the idea of her gift back in his head.

The box was small, and surprisingly solid. It was plain, and though he still couldn’t feel any shift when he tossed and shook the thing, Dean knew it must be a box. There was a thin seam that ran all the way around four sides, about a quarter of the way from what he assumed was the top. There was no hinge on the outside, but there was a minuscule keyhole on one side.

A tiny keyhole that was surprisingly resistant to Dean’s attempts to pick it.

And yes, he’d tried. Multiple times.

He’d started with a paperclip, thinking if he could undo police handcuffs, surely this little box....

But no dice. Hell, his pick kit had met it’s match too.

He’d tried pulling it open, feeling around the edges for a lever or some kind of catch, even blew in the little keyhole, thinking something might have been crammed in there and jammed the thing so that his picks hadn’t worked.

Nada.

Dean was squinting at the thing, stubbornly unwilling to throw in the towel, when his phone rang, distracting him.

“Yeah.”

“Dean?”

He switched gears, focusing on Y/N’s voice. “I’m here, sweetheart. You two good? How’d the hunt go?”

“Textbook. We’ve got a newly filled curse-box for the collection. We’re on the way back now, should get there late tonight, or really early tomorrow morning. I told you we’d be back for Christmas.”

Dean smiled at her smug tone and wound down the call. After having failed to pick the lock the first time, he’d spent some time hobbling around outside and in the room, trying to make it seem more Christmas-y. He knew Y/N loved the season, and since she’d gotten him this infuriating gift, he’d wanted to do something to celebrate her favorite holiday.

There was a smallish tree--not quite Charlie Brown’s size, but nothing that hurt him too much to pull up and prop in the corner. Dean had picked most of the dead leaves off, then decorated it with balls and strips of tin foil from the kitchen cabinet, and a rough star made of the same.

He’d destroyed the entire roll, but with the firelight reflecting off the homemade ornaments and a rug arranged around the torn up roots, it didn’t look half bad if he did say so himself.

He put some finishing touches up then stretched out on the couch to watch another one of the sappy Hallmark Christmas chick flicks; Sam and Y/N would never have to know--and Dean had to do something to pass the time till they got there.

3:00 AM, Day 3: Christmas Morning

He felt the weight added to the couch next to him, but before he could reach for the gun under the pillow, Dean breathed in the smell of Y/N and felt her lips on his.

He kept his eyes closed, his hand coming up to gently cup the back of her head, his other finding her waist through her thick sweater as he returned her kiss, his tongue meeting hers in a reunion that suddenly felt long overdue.

She pulled back and Dean let her, his eyes opening slowly and a smile curling his lips. He shifted further up on the couch, tugging her until she sat in his lap sideways.

“Merry Christmas, babe.”

He hummed, still not fully awake, his hands stroking over her form, an inner coil of tension relaxing now that she was back in his arms and apparently uninjured. “Where’s Sam?”

“He didn’t get to nap on the way here like I did, so he claimed the bed tonight. He’s probably already unconscious.” She shifted and brought her legs up, curling into his body. “I like the tree.” 

Dean couldn’t see her smile, with the way she was lying on him, and with the fire burned down to embers now, but he could hear it in her voice.

“I’m glad. It’s your Christmas gift.”

“Speaking of which....” She reached out and snagged the box from the table, and leaned so she could make eye contact with him in the dim room. “I see you didn’t have any luck getting into yours.”

Her grin was impish, but Dean couldn’t find any frustration in him over the box. Right now, with her warm body pressed against so much of his own, he had a different frustration starting to build up to distract him.

Dean started to pull up her sweater, his hands stroking at the soft skin of her side and lower back. “Yeah, it’s a stubborn thing. Were you trying to tell me something with that?”

She chuckled, reaching up to pull something from around her neck. “Why don’t you open it and find out?”

Dean took the tiny key from her hand, figuring that if he took a few moments t ooh and ahh over her present to him, he could get back to convincing her that she would make the best Christmas present for him.

When he twisted the key in the lock, the lid popped open immediately, and Dean tilted the box to get a better view of what was inside.

He laughed, realizing what he was looking at.

It seemed Y/N was on the same page as he was on what his favorite Christmas present would be.

He bent forward to press a kiss to her lips, this time deliberately putting more heat into it as she moved against him. He dropped the box and the holiday decorated condoms spilled out on the floor, but Dean didn’t much care at that moment.

He was getting ready to have the best Christmas of his life.

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To my Forevers, the ones who keep me writing:

@2wonderinsighlents, @adaliamalfoy, @alcpegasus22, @andrastesflamingtitties, @angelofwinchester17, @alexastacio, @anokhi07, @ariethegreat98, @atc74, @arryn-nyxx, @autopistaaningunaparte, @avasmommy224, @babypieandwhiskey, @bennyyh, @benjerry707, @boxywrites, @bringmesomepie56, @bucky-thorin-winchester, @but-deans-back-tho, @captainemwinchester, @carry-on-ms-believer, @casownsmyass, @cfordwrites, @chaos-and-the-calm67, @dancingalone21, @d-s-winchester, @deafgirlsarecooler, @deandoesthingstome, @deanfuckingwinchesterrr, @deansarms, @deanscherrypie, @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog, @deanwinchesterforpromqueen, @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester, @deliciouslyshadowymilkshake, @demonangelimpala, @demondeansdomme, @end-lessnights, @faith-in-dean, @fandommaniacx, @feelmyroarrrr, @fiveleaf, @gallxntdean, @graceforme86, @i-is-for-inspiring, @ilostmyshoe-79, @impala-dreamer, @jalove-wecallhimdean, @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes, @jencharlan, @jensen-gal, @jotink78, @just-another-busy-fangirl, @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms, @katnharper, @kittenofdoomage, @kristaparadowski, @lipstickandwhiskey, @littlegreenplasticsoldier, @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid, @love-kittykat21, @loreleilara, @lunarsaturn88, @luv4jensen, @lynnebla, @marilynnlew, @millaraysuyai, @mogaruke, @moonstonemystyk, @mrsbatesmotel53, @mrsjohnsmith, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @mzpearlz, @nightmaredean, @notnatural-supernatural, @paintrider13-blog, @pinknerdpanda, @plaidstiel-wormstache, @rizlowwritessortof, @roxy-davenport, @salvachester, @seenashwrite, @septicxsoulxdarkxmind, @scorpiongirl1, @skathan-omaha, @spnrvt, @supernatural-jackles, @supernaturalyobsessed, @theafinnerup, @thedevilinthedetails, @thegreatficmaster, @vote-for-pedro, @waywardjoy, @wi-deangirl77, @wonderange, @wheresthekillswitch, @withoutaplease, @wonderless-screwup, @xtina2191, @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou, and @yume-deaimashou

If you want to be removed from or added to my forever tag list, send me a message/ask! Only 18+ please!!