#SPN AU fics

[zepskies]

IF I STAY - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Yes, here’s another firefighter AU! Based on a request from one of my lovely Patreon members: @redhoodieone. She requested pretty much all the major beats of this story, so hopefully I did her request justice! This is also partially inspired by Fools Rush In, a beautiful movie with Salma Hayek and Matthew Perry (Rest in Peace, King).

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis

Word Count: 8.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, thick thirty, hints of body insecurity, but also body appreciation, angst, and hurt/comfort.

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 1: Fools Rush In

Slowly, your eyes slide open into the waking world. Your head is resting on something warm, firm…and a little sweaty. You pick your head up, despite the disorienting, muddy feeling of a slight hangover.

A groan bubbles in your throat. Your gaze travels downward, and you realize that what you’re looking at is more of a who.

Your eyes widen. Oh…my…God…

Not only are you very naked, but your firm pillow is too. It happens to be your best friend’s brother.

Yes, holy fucking shit! You slept with your best friend’s brother.

Biting the inside of your lip, you can’t help but take him in, here in the raw light of day as he lays peacefully on his back. His head lolls to the side on your usual pillow. Your eyes roam over the bow of his lips, the dark eyebrows, lightish brown hair that's softer than it should be between your fingers.

He’s painfully handsome. There’s a slight hesitation in your touch, but you softly trace the cut of his jaw and the stubble spread across it. That roughness feels familiar, and not just under the pads of your fingers, though the thought makes you blush. You begin to remember the night before, almost like a movie reel through your mind… 

Ooooh, right. That’s what happened.

It starts at Sam Winchester’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party at a nice hotel downtown. He and Eileen aren't the "strippers and coke" kind of party couple. They're more the "wine and brie en croute with pickled olives" on the expensive crackers you can't afford—kind of couple.

They look perfectly in love, if a bit long-suffering while Dean gives a hilarious, somewhat inappropriate, but still ultimately heartwarming toast to their happiness. After lowering the glass of champagne from his lips, his gaze catches on yours in the crowd. You suck in a subtle breath. 

Technically you’ve met him already, being one of Eileen’s bridesmaids, but there’s something about his green eyes that pin you to the floor. When he hands over the mic to Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, his head turning away from you to offer her a smile breaks the spell. It allows you to breathe.

Dean later finds you by the bar. You’re drinking a rum and coke with your slice of cake, trying not to get a single crumb on your dress. You've put a lot of work into affording it, let alone fitting in it. He leans his elbows casually on the counter and looks over at you.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he nods at you with a smile, subtly taking you in first. Then, his eyes go to your plate. “Ooh, red velvet. Gotta get me some of that.”

You smile back at him. “It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, looks good in your hand,” he says, adding a teasing wink for good measure.

You don't know why that does it for you, but a half-flattered, half-nervous laugh tumbles out of your mouth. Sam has warned you before about Dean. Apparently his older brother is a bit of a flirt; a ladies’ man.

A man whore, are the words Eileen used.

You’re honestly surprised he’s talking to you when Eileen’s other bridesmaids, Lisa and Jo, are sipping martinis together down at the other end of the bar. Guess they didn’t want cake.

They look beautiful in their lithe, strapless little cocktail dresses. You’ve had to give up chocolate, bread, and cheese for three months straight to fit into this dress, something slinky and red that drapes over your thicker, curvy figure. But you’re proud of the fact that you’re letting yourself eat cake tonight, even though you’ve often felt like Mrs. Doubtfire while standing for pictures next to Lisa and Jo.

They’re Eileen’s friends, not so much your crowd. No matter how much you’ve tried to get to know them while helping the wedding planning in whatever way you can, you still get a high school clique vibe from the women, if with more “polite smiles.” Then they’ll typically go back to talking about crystal centerpieces—or whatever in-depth conversation they were having before you were there. 

But right now, Dean’s focus is on you. When he asks you more about yourself, you tell him about recently earning an elementary education degree.

“Ah, but you already knew that, because Sam told you we graduated college together,” you realize, with warmth tingeing your cheeks. That subject came up pretty quickly when he introduced you to his brother.

Dean’s smile confirms your suspicions, so you just keep filling the silence on reflex.

“Well, I actually just started teaching my first ever semester of second graders. They’re a bit of a handful, but overall, they’re really sweet.” Your smile falters. “Except for this one kid who likes to put little tacks on my chair. He’s kind of a menace, but I think if I bribe him with enough lollipops, he’ll give it a rest. I mean, it’s a behavioral issue and I should probably call his parents. But it's kind of hard to tell them their son is trying to make my ass into a pincushion."

Dean's laugh comes out in a sharp burst, like he wasn't expecting what just came out of your mouth. You didn't either, honestly. You giggle more out of embarrassment, ducking your head.

"He’s in second grade, you know?" you say, in between laughter. "I don't think that little footnote needs to end up on his permanent record. But then there's Micah. He's so friggin' smart. He can read at the fifth grade level already. Can you believe that? And I know I'm not supposed to have favorites, but his grades on his spelling tests get him a spot in the comfy bean bag chair pretty much every Friday. Honestly, I think that's what I like about working with kids. I get to see that spark on their face when something just finally clicks for them. Their little faces get all bright and happy and…ugh. God, I'm sorry. I'm rambling, right?”

You stop yourself with a hand sliding over your mouth, not quite covering your smile of embarrassment.

Dean’s grin just widens, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

"It's okay. I kinda like it," he teases.

You duck your head, biting your lip against a groan. He chuckles and reaches out for your hand, earning your nervous glance. He quirks his head.

“Hey, you're passionate about what you do, helping kids. That's nothin' to be ashamed of,” he says, brushing his thumb over your hand. “But sweetheart, I gotta ask. Am I making you nervous or something?”

God, yes, you think, especially at that sweetheart thing. It’s making your heartbeat tick up a syncopated rhythm, but you shake your head, biting the straw of your rum and coke.

“No, not at all,” you say, in a hopefully “breezy” kind of way. You touch your fingers to his wrist. “Tell me about you though. Sam mentioned that you’re a firefighter?”

“Ah, yeah. Firefighter in training,” he says, with a more genuine smile.

He just started at the Fire Academy, and he tells you about all the drills he’s had to learn and all the training he’s had to do to be able to keep up with his classes. You subtly eye him while you sip at your drink, and you notice the crisp cut of his buttoned-down shirt and leather jacket, the definition of muscle across his thighs under the slacks, even while he casually sits.

Your gaze subtly travels down his long bowed legs, smart dress shoes. His cologne is woody and masculine, but not overpowering; maybe bergemot and sandalwood. It pleasantly wafts under your nose every time he gestures with his hands while he talks.

“Aw man, I can’t hold out anymore. I think I need to get me some of that cake before it’s gone,” he says, getting up from his chair.

You’re a bit disappointed that he’s leaving, until he stops short.

“You want another piece?” he offers, gesturing at your empty plate that’s been resting on the counter.

You blink in surprise, but you shake your head. “Oh, no. I probably shouldn’t.”

“Why not? It’s a party,” Dean reasons. His grin is too damn infectious. It has you smiling, and begrudgingly agreeing.

Not only does he bring you more cake, but you watch him eat three whole slices before he asks you to dance.

The rest of it flashes through your mind like strobe lights—the way he’d started small and respectful with his larger hand closed over yours and the other along the curve of your waist. He guided you closer and closer, until you were turned around into his arms, and you could feel his warm breath on your neck.

You felt his lips teasing your skin. Then those hands tantalizingly drifted down your every soft curve, as if showing you a preview of everything he could do to you, and every way he’d make you come apart. You believed him.

And when he whispered in your ear, asking if he could take you home, you let him.

You let him drive you in that big black piece of history he drives. Used to be my dad’s car, he said. A Chevy something. You couldn’t really remember much when his hand was drifting up and down your thigh like that.

His presence burned hot at your back when you two eventually got to the front door of your apartment, your hands just barely shaking as you got the key in. Twist and click—

He waited until you flipped the lights on. Then he turned you around slowly in his arms and pulled you in close, all the while asking you with his eyes and raised brows. This okay? You want this?

“Do I still make you nervous?” he asked, his lips twitching at a smile when yours do.

You nodded, uttering a small giggle. “In a good way.”

That was when he finally kissed you, hot and slow, like he meant to devour you whole. He moaned at the taste of you, at the feel of your ass squeezed in his hands. You clung onto him strong, breathing into his kiss and trying to meet every single demand of his lips.

It soon became a fiery tear to your bedroom, one lamp flicked on, hot breaths and nice clothes crumpled to the floor. You didn’t feel self-conscious even once when he guided you under him on the bed, because he wasted no time in taking you apart, inch by inch.

His lips kissed and licked and sucked a burning trail down your neck, over your collarbone and between your breasts. You felt his hardened length trapped between your bodies while his hands explored you, teasing your breasts and sensitive nipples, and he mapped his way down with his lips.

You explored every part of him you could—every dip of muscle, firm shoulders and the slopes of his back, and then back up to tangle in his hair. Your heated gasps and whimpers filled the room when his sinful mouth found what it was looking for between your legs.

It wasn’t often that you had a strong pair of shoulders to rest your thighs on, but Dean’s grip was hard enough to leave deep fingerprints of pressure on each thigh while he slipped his tongue through your folds and feasted on you.

“D-Dean, oh God,” you gasped. Every sound you made was a sensuous symphony in his ears, washing over his skin and making the well of his desire churn hot in his lower belly. He had to roll his hips into the mattress for some relief for his aching cock, even while he moved his mouth up to your clit, circling the swollen bud with his tongue. He had enough room to slip two fingers deep inside your sopping wet channel, exploring you deeply, stroking and twisting to find what you needed.

Your thighs trembled and squeezed tight on either side of his head. When he sucked your clit tight between his lips, you uttered as gasping moan as that coil snapped its release. Your inner walls fluttered around his fingers. Yours clenched tightly in his hair, threatening to rip out a few strands.

Dean stroked you all through your first orgasm, giving slower licks to your clit. He seemed to sense when you couldn’t handle anymore though. You tugged more sharply on his hair, and he finally pulled away, moving back up your body to gauge your reaction.

You’d collapsed boneless against the bed, but you still managed to smile up at him as you caught your breath.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked. But his self-satisfied grin almost made you laugh. You took his glistening face between your hands and pulled him down for a grateful kiss.

After a moment to savor your lips, he broke away for a second to catch his breath himself. You stroked his back all the while.

“You know, for a minute down there, I thought you might not let me come back up,” he teased.

You choked on a laugh, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Honestly wouldn’t have minded if you did suffocate me,” he chuckled, accompanied by a slap to your left ass cheek. You squealed, and blushed hotly at the way he was grinning down at you.

“Ready for more, baby? Or you want to call it a night?” he asked. His tone was playful, but it was actually a serious question. You blinked in surprise. You’d never had a guy be this, well…generous, and not expect anything in return, especially not for just a hookup.

But you shook your head and sat up, slipping a hand behind Dean’s neck. After a beat of hesitation, you guided him down to you for a slow, sensuous kiss.

“No, I don’t want to call it a night,” you whispered. Your hand drifted down his bare chest, and lower still. You showed him just how well you could return the favor.

And now, come the morning, you’re blushing down to your neck as each scene flashes through your mind. You feel the ghost of his hands all over your body, and how you’d never quite felt quite as bold and sexy and beautiful with a near stranger as you had with Dean effing Winchester. Your best friend’s brother.

You begin to worry your bottom lip with your teeth. How the hell are you going to tell Sam? Especially after he warned you about exactly this. Plus, there’s a reason you don’t typically do the one-night stand thing, and this has the potential to become something very complicated.

You know what, it’s fine! you think. We’re two consenting adults. We’re both single. And maybe…maybe it could be more than a hookup. Maybe we can see each other again, see where it goes.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Dean says, his voice croaking with sleep.

You look down at him in surprise. His eyes have cracked open and he has your hand captive, stopping you from continuing to idly trace patterns on his bare chest. You smile in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you say. Again, you bite your lower lip. “Um, good morning.”

“Morning, sweetheart,” he grins lazily. “You sure wore me out last night.”

Your smile becomes more genuine, even if you turn your face away somewhat shyly.

“Aw, don’t do that,” Dean says. He slides his hand up your arm and behind your neck, tangling into your already tangled hair when he guides you down to his lips for a kiss. “You were awesome.”

You giggle against his lips. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says, kissing you again.

You shake your head a little. “You were…”

Amazing. Unbelievable. Probably the best night I’ve ever had.

“Perfect,” you decide. Because it’s the truth. The word comes out of your mouth before you can filter yourself though, making you pause. Dean does too, but after a beat, he slowly smiles.

“Oh yeah?” he asks.

You lick your lips, and you nod. “Definitely.”

“Well, then,” he says. His hand moves down to squeeze your hip. “You down for a repeat performance?”

You smile. “Only if I get a turn.”

Bracing your hands on his chest, you slide your thigh across his lap so you can straddle his hips. Dean grins and goes along with your idea. He gets a nice healthy handful of your thighs and helps settle you on top of him. But first, he reaches over into your nightstand drawer and finds another condom, ripping it open with his teeth.

Just like you did for him last night, you take the packet, as well as his generous length in your hands. You gently stroke him to full mast, smiling pleased at his groan of pleasure. Then you carefully fit the condom over him.

“You’re so gentle with me,” he teases. 

“Just returning the favor,” you quip, just before you position him at your wet entrance. Slowly, you sink down over his cock.

You both moan at the feeling of him stretching you again, warm and thick and fitting perfectly nestled deep inside. There had been moments last night where he wasn’t all that gentle, actually, but his passion had only spurred yours on more. You know you’ll probably find fingerprint marks on your thighs and ass, but it’s fucking worth it, you think, as you begin to bob a rocking rhythm that serves you both.

Dean arches his back underneath you, his knees coming up to press against your ass.

“Goddamn, baby. Givin’ me quite a show,” he says, in a panting voice that’s deep as sin.

You utter a breathy laugh.

Dean means it though. He’s enjoying the way you brush your hair out of your face, your beautiful tits in his face while you truly let loose for him. He guides you by the stronghold he has on your hips, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh as he ruts up into you, meeting your thrusts.

Your breath quickens, your nails digging into his chest on reflex, and your heart races as that delicious pleasure builds. But when Dean snakes a hand between you and further parts your folds to massage tight circles over your clit, your vision flashes white. You utter a scream of pleasure on his name, your inner walls choking him tight as you throb around his cock. His release hits him like a goddamn freight train.

“Aw, fuck,” he grunts.

He slams your hips down hard, making your thighs slap against his. A ragged groan escapes him in a rush. His hands move to your thighs just under your ass, where his fingers press into flesh hard enough to leave forensic ID, giving him leverage to bury himself deep into your pussy as he spills a hot release into the condom.

Goddamn…

He can almost imagine that he’s coming free inside you, that you’re milking his cock for every drop, until there’s nothing left for him to give.

The thought surprises him. It almost takes him out of the moment, honestly. That’s not a thought he’s ever had before—not with a woman he barely knows (which is most of his hookups, if he’s honest).

In that delicious, fractious moment just after it hits, it’s like those few seconds are suspended in zero gravity. Your arms are shaking, and your forced to collapse against his chest. Dean welcomes you there for a little while, letting you come down while he smooths a hand over your hair.

Though he can't help the urge to let his big hand drift down over your dewy skin, down the gentle slope of your back and over the curve of your generous ass. He gives one cheek a teasing slap. The sound echoes in the room.

"Goddamn perfect ass," he says roughly, smirking at your squeal. You end up grinning hard against his neck.

"'S that my new nickname?" you quip.

He chuckles deeply, moving you along with his chest. "Hell, sweetheart, if you want it to be."

Eventually, you lean back to give him a smile and one last kiss before you pull away from him. You slip off his lap to find your robe, at least. You definitely need a shower.

“So I’m thinking, after we get cleaned up, I could make us some breakfast,” you offer. “Or if you want, maybe we could go somewhere. I know a little diner down the block.”

“I like the sound of food,” Dean agrees with a smile. Ge reaches over for his phone on the nightstand, to check the time. His eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

He has to get his ass over to the Fire Academy. He has class in barely twenty minutes.

He tears out of bed and nearly trips on the coiled sheets.

“Sorry. Gonna need to take a raincheck,” he says. He hurries to find his clothes strewn all over your bedside floor.

“What’s the matter?” you ask with wide eyes. You cross your arms under your breasts, but it’s more like you’re hugging yourself over your robe. You watch him tear through your bedroom in a tempest of movement.

Dean spares you a glance, but not much else as he yanks up his slacks and belt and dress shirt.

“Gotta get to class,” he confesses. Thank God he has his uniform in the trunk of his car for exactly these kinds of emergencies. He grabs his phone, wallet, and keys, and quickly kisses you on the cheek. He gazes down at you apologetically. “Sorry I gotta cut and run, sweetheart, but it’s been fun.”

Your smile barely reaches your eyes. He’s pressed for time, but he still notices.

He slows himself down and cups your cheek. “Hey.”

He gets your pretty eyes looking up at him, and he gives you a real kiss, nice and slow. He cradles your cheek and brushes his thumb across your skin.

“Thanks,” he says. His now familiar grin manages to make you smile. “And I mean that.”

You shake your head at him. “Okay go, Mr. Future Fireman. Be safe out there, okay?”

He gives you a playful salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

You can’t help but laugh. This guy’s too much. But you don't think you've had this much fun having sex in...

All right, let's not put a timeframe on it.

You watch him leave your apartment, even though you have a sinking feeling in your chest. You knew this was just a hookup for him, for both of you. Part of you just couldn’t help hoping that it could’ve led to something more. 

Dean means to call you.

He really does.

After that truly awesome, you shook me all night long, kind of a night, he thinks about you more than he’d like to admit over the next few weeks. However, he finds himself locked into his training. He’s so close to finishing strong and earning his badge, he just can’t afford any more distractions.

Still, he should’ve known that Sam would find out—either through Eileen, or through you directly. He also should’ve expected the way his brother let him have it.

“And you didn’t even fucking call her. See? This is why I don’t set you up with any of my friends anymore,” Sam bitches at him from his side of the small two-seater dinner table. They still share an apartment, though in just a month and a half, Sam’s going to be moving out. He and Eileen already found a house that they’re moving into after the wedding.

“Look, I was going to call her, man. They’ve just been bustin’ my ass at the Academy!” Dean argues.

“Bullshit.” Sam levels him with the same finger that holds his beer.

Dean’s brows raise, high and annoyed. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I’m calling bullshit. Because if you really liked her, respected her, and respected me, you would’ve made the time,” Sam says.

That falls heavy between the brothers for a moment while they eat their pizza.

“Look, I know her. She doesn’t do hookups that often, which means…she probably liked you,” Sam adds. “And honestly, when are you going to give it a real try with someone? You can only visit that free clinic so many times.”

Dean shoots him a glare. He’s had a clean bill of health from said clinic for six months straight.

“Jesus Christ. Enough, all right?” he grouses. “What’re you, Mom?”

“I’m just saying,” Sam says, lowering his crust to the plate. He levels his brother with a more earnest look, lightening up from his anger. “Look, if it’s about what happened to Dad—”

“What, you mean the way he drank himself to death after Mom died?” Dean says. His voice cuts through whatever softball glove Sam is trying to handle him with. “You think that’s the kind of thing I should be looking for in my life?”

“Oh, and what, do you think I’m making a mistake marrying Eileen?” Sam counters.

Dean sighs, shaking his head. “Damn it, don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m saying, it’s just…I don’t know. Maybe that kind of life—the house, the wife, the 2.5 kids and the dog. Maybe that’s just not my life, okay?”

Sam gives him a long look. He lets go of a deep breath, and he shrugs.

“Okay,” he says. “If you think hooking up night after night for the rest of your life is going to make you happy, then fine.”

Dean nods, glad that they can put an end to this little After School Special.

“Okay.”

Still, he can’t finish his third slice of pizza. He keeps picturing your face when he left you that morning. No matter how you tried to hide it, he still saw the tinge of disappointment in your eyes. It brews something uncomfortable in his stomach, and a sting in his chest.

You’re eating lunch alone in your classroom, finally on your break, when an unfamiliar number flashes across your phone screen. You look down at it in confusion, but with all the caterers and florists and things you’ve helped Eileen with on the wedding, you figure it could be important. You pick up the call and greet whoever’s on the line.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

You drop your ham and cheese on your keyboard, gaping in surprise.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he chuckles slightly. “Sorry, I know it’s been a minute.”

You frown, because you’re confused more than anything.

“Yeah, like almost a month,” you reply. You put the call on speaker so you can grab up your sandwich and quickly brush off the crumbs from your keyboard. You struggle to say something cool, clever, sexy even. “I’m okay. Just, um…what’s up?”

Smooth, real smooth. You cover your eyes with your hand.

“Nothin’, I was just thinking of that night,” he says. “I had a good time.”

Your frown deepens, despite the beginning of a blush warming your cheeks. If he’s calling you just for another hookup…

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.”

And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

“I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

That part throws you though, you’re not going to lie. What, is this a Netflix and chill situation—with a side of fries?

You consider it. You weigh pros and cons at a frightening speed in your mind, almost like Sherlock Holmes contemplating the layout of a dead body and deducing within moments that his wife committed the murder, despite the man no longer wearing a ring.

You want to let yourself be bold and spontaneous and carefree...but it's just not who you are at your core. You're a planner, a cautious person who looks three ways before crossing the street. Letting Dean take you home that night was certainly one of the most spontaneous, wild things you've done since your friends took you out to a strip club after you aced your final round of exams back in college.

(Sam hadn't been there that night, but he did get an embarrassing drunken text from you at 3:00 a.m., along with a few shame-ridden pictures fueled by questionable substances. Yes, he still had the evidence.)

You just don't know if it's smart to let yourself hookup with Dean again. Mostly because you know your heart has the tendency to get attached, no matter how much you warn it not to.

“You know, Dean, I’m pretty busy with my job right now. I just started here a couple of months ago, and I think I just need to focus on that right now,” you say. Part of it isn’t a lie, even though your soft heart is stinging.

“Ah, okay. Yeah. I get that,” he says. You hear his disappointment too. “But I just need to say, I really am sorry for not calling you sooner.”

Your lips tug at a smile. “It’s okay, Dean. Look, you’re Sam’s brother. I just feel like, maybe it’s better if you and I stay friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Dean says wryly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t have three rounds of steamy hot sex with any of my friends.”

Your blush comes swiftly again, burning in your cheeks.

“Be that as it may,” you say, “I just don’t want to do anything that will distract from Sam and Eileen’s wedding.”

“Oh, I’m a distraction, huh?” Dean says flirtatiously. 

You begin to smile in earnest. “I think you know damn well what you are, Dean Winchester.”

His deep chuckle practically resonates through the phone and into your chest, going straight down to your pussy. You clench on nothing just at the sound of his voice, making you cross your legs under your skirt. Dear God…

How are you supposed to be even remotely normal around this man now? 

But for Sam’s sake (and your own), you’ll have to try. 

Two months later, Dean has taken Sam’s dating advice to heart. A week or so after you turned him down, he ran into Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, while he was at the grocery store buying beer and Twizzlers. She was a smart, sharp, sexy brunette. A yoga instructor, he soon found out. So he took a chance on asking her out. They’ve been going slow and steady ever since. 

Dean hasn’t heard from you since the rehearsal dinner, but he sees you again at his brother’s wedding. All the bridesmaids are wearing long, royal blue dresses that drape off the shoulders and hug the bust and waist, flaring gently at the skirt. Lisa and Jo wear it beautifully, their hair perfectly smooth and coiled. 

But when you step out into the hall outside the church ballroom to join them, Dean actually pauses in what he’s saying to his brother. He nearly double takes when you enter his line of vision—mostly because he hasn’t seen you in a dress since that night. You were sexy as hell then, a lady in red. 

Today, you’re absolutely stunning. 

After greeting Sam with a warm hug, you turn to him with a nervous kind of smile. “H-Hey, Dean.”

With that, he snaps out of it. Dean smiles, eyes crinkling, and goes over to give you a hug as well.

“Good to see you,” he says, trying not to inhale too much of your nice perfume. It’s even in your hair.

“You too,” you reply. Your smile is a little brighter, more genuine. Though there’s something behind your eyes that he can’t quite place.

What he doesn’t notice is the way Lisa is watching you and her boyfriend, a hint of suspicion on her face.

You do though. You pull away from Dean and assemble into a line with Lisa at the helm. As the Best Man, Dean stands with her, followed by Jo and Brady, another one of Sam’s buddies. You and Benny bring up the rear. Benny’s dad used to work with John, Sam and Dean’s father, on the police force.

According to Sam, John Winchester worked a beat for twenty-six years before his liver finally gave out on him. Dean almost went to the Police Academy to follow in his dad’s footsteps, but Benny, already working his way up to Lieutenant, suggested Dean become a smoke eater instead. The suggestion stuck.

Benny Lafitte is slightly shorter than Dean, but just as broad-shouldered, his auburn beard neatly trimmed. Even though you might’ve thought he was rough around the edges at first, his kind blue eyes spoke the contrary. He offers you his arm like a gentleman.

“Well aren't I lucky, getting the prettiest girl on my arm,” he says, with a charming smile.

You smile, and even begin to blush at the way he subtly takes note of you from head to toe.

“Well, thank you. You’re very handsome yourself. Although, hold on.” You slip your arm out of his for a moment so that you can fix his tie. It’s slightly crooked. You make sure that it lays flat under his collar, smoothing down all the edges and picking off any small dust particles that landed on his collar. Benny watches you with an indulgent smile.

“Am I good?” he asks.

“Very,” you reply.

“I appreciate it, thank you,” he says. You don’t know if he means to sound flirtatious, but his voice is a deep drawl that washes over you pleasantly. You find yourself blushing down to your neck as you slip your arm back around his.

You also don’t notice how Dean glances at you and Benny over his shoulder.

As much as you love Sam and Eileen, it’s difficult for you to keep your mind from spinning into fractals as the ceremony goes on. You can’t help but glance at Dean. He stands there behind Sam dutifully, but you see brotherly pride in Dean’s eyes, in his smile. It makes you smile too. You too love Sam like a brother, and it brings a well of happy tears to your eyes to watch him have his moment with his new wife.

It just also reminds you of what you need to do.

After the ceremony ends and the bridal party files out behind the bride and groom, you excuse yourself from Benny apologetically. You wait until Lisa and Jo go off to take pictures with Sam and Eileen, and you grab Dean’s wrist, pulling him aside.

“I need to talk to you,” you whisper.

Dean gives you a confused look. “They’re gonna need us for the pictures.”

“I know, but this is important,” you say. Your voice trembles with nerves, and so do your hands. Dean notices, frowning in concern. He grasps your arm to try and steady you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Just come with me,” you implore him. You take his hand and lead him into the women’s dressing room attached to the church sanctuary you all just came out of.

Dean raises his brows at the mess you and the rest of the bridesmaids have made of the room—pantyhose and makeup and clothing litter the floor and most available surfaces, while leftover breakfast sandwiches, grapes, salami, and cheddar cheese cubes are splayed out across one of the vanity counters. Dean is tempted to steal a morsel, but he focuses on you first.

You close and lock the door, which makes his brows raise high again. You know he has a girlfriend now, right?

“Uhh, look, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but—”

You heave a sigh. Again, you take his hand and guide him to sit with you at the vanity. The old stools squeak, the overhead lights a bit too bright. This is not where you want to do this, but you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Dean, I’m pregnant,” you confess.

He freezes. His breath stills in his lungs. His eyes slowly widen as the words click in his brain.

“What?” His head tilts, as if he didn’t hear you right.

You squeeze his hand; to ground him or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I’m about two months pregnant. I found out last week.”

Dean swipes his free hand over his mouth while he tries to compute. He squeezes your hand, tighter and tighter. He points to himself.

“It’s…it’s me? It’s mine?”

You give him a weary smile. “You’re the only one I’ve been with in the last few months. It could only be you.”

Oh fuck. The man’s face begins to pale as he descends into shock.

“But we…I used a condom,” he reasons. “All the—all the times!”

You bite your lip. If you weren’t freaking the fuck out yourself, you’d probably be laughing right now. Granted, you’ve had a bit more time to process this than Dean.

“I know, I was there,” you reply, releasing yet another sigh. “One of them probably broke. That’s all I can think of… Honestly, Dean, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just didn’t want to disrupt the ceremony or cause a scene before the wedding. But now you know.”

Dean falls silent then. He hasn’t let go of your hand, which you think is a decent sign. He’s likely forgotten that you’re still holding it as he stares off into the middle distance for several seconds.

Eventually, he shakes his head and returns his gaze to yours. He looks uncertain, his handsome face the true epitome of holy fucking shit.

You know the feeling.

But he asks the most important question.

“What do you want to do?”

Briefly you close your eyes as you take a breath. You squeeze his hand before you let go of him.

“I’ve thought about this a lot, and…I’m keeping the baby,” you tell him, though you raise placating hands. “I don’t want money, or anything like that. I just wanted you to know that it’s yours. How much you want to be in his or—or her life, that’s up to you.”

Dean takes a beat before he answers, but you don’t have to wait so long holding your breath.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll help you. Don’t worry,” he says.

And just like that, all the time you spent giving yourself pep talks for this, telling yourself that you’ll need to be strong no matter what he says, all of it crumbles into relief. Your lower lip trembles, and your body shudders as you break into tears. You try covering your face to hide your shame, but Dean grasps your shoulders.

“Hey, hey. It’s all right,” he says. He tentatively pulls you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You nod into his dress shirt, probably staining him with your running makeup.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you so much.”

He holds you a bit tighter in response.

You and Dean agree to keep this to yourselves for now, at least until Sam and Eileen get back from their honeymoon. It’s difficult to explain why your eyes are all red and your makeup is smudged, but you promise Sam that you’ll tell him later. You know it’s pointless to lie to him though. As a lawyer, his bullshit meter is far too high.

However, you also know that he’s half guessed it by the time you all make it to the reception. When you and Dean came out of that dressing room to join the bridal party for pictures, you're sure that you looked emotionally wrecked. Dean had looked pale as a sheet, his body coiled and tense, as willing himself to seem normal. Sam had clocked both of you with a raise of his brow, but he didn't say anything then, especially after you gave him a pleading look.

While Eileen greets her family without him for a moment, Sam pulls you aside. He notes your glass of diet coke, in a moderate sea of guests drinking champagne and cocktails.

“Are you okay?” he asks knowingly.

Tears well up in your eyes again. You don’t know if it’s your damn hormones going haywire, or just the way Sam asks you, with the love of a friend in his eyes. He squeezes your shoulder gently, prompting you with your name.

“Yeah, I think I will be,” you say.

"Is it the same reason you're not drinking?" he asks. "You and Dean earlier..."

You hesitantly confirm with a nod. Sam blows out a harsh sigh, raising folded hands to his mouth as he processes. You begin to look around on reflex, trying to see if anyone's watching you and Sam have this conversation in the middle of the reception. To your relief, everyone around you seems occupied with drinks, hours d'oeuvres and conversation.

“What did he say when you told him?” Sam asks. His gaze is firmer. You get the idea that if he doesn’t like what you tell him, then he’s about to go grab his brother by the ear himself.

You grab his wrist and give a placating squeeze. “He said he's going to help me, be there for me.”

“Damn right. So will I,” Sam nods, and glances back at Eileen, his new bride, with a smile. “We both will.”

“I know,” you nod as well. “I’ll be okay, Sam. You don’t have to worry so much. Just enjoy your wedding day. It’s the only one you’re gonna get. Well, you know…hopefully.”

You tease him with a wink.

Sam laughs, cupping your cheek. He kisses your other cheek.

“I love you, you know that right?” he says.

You give him a trembling smile through your tears.

Meanwhile, Dean has a beautiful woman in his arms. He turns Lisa on the dancefloor, trying not to trip on his own dress shoes, all the while knowing that his brain isn’t here in his body. It’s across the ballroom, watching you talk to Sam. Dean can tell that he knows, just in his Big Bird body language. He’d also recognize that accompanying Bitch Face anywhere.

“Dean, what’s wrong,” Lisa asks him, and not for the first time. She’s getting annoyed, he can tell. She finally looks over to where he keeps glancing, and she notices you with a frown. It’s also not the first time she’s caught him staring at you tonight.

“What was that earlier in the dressing room? She didn’t really get food poisoning, did she?” she asks pointedly. “What, did you two used to date or something?”

He gives a wan smile. “Yeah, kinda. We…had a thing once.”

“What kind of thing?”

Dean closes his eyes and tries to keep himself calm. He’s pretty sure if he tells her the truth right now, she’s going to find the nearest cocktail and dump it over his head.

But shit, here it goes.

“Well…”

After a long day at school, you drive over to Dean’s apartment. You’d agreed to meet there and wait for him to get off his shift at Firehouse 83, where he just started as a full-fledged firefighter on probation. When he gets home, he’s supposed to go with you to an important appointment with your OB-GYN. 

You were hoping he’d already be done with work by the time you got to his place, but Lisa's there to open the door for you. Apparently, he’d already given her a key.

Moving kind of fast, but okay, you think. A second later, you could’ve rolled your eyes at yourself. Pot, kettle, me. Got it.

Lisa greets you with a “polite” smile at best, but she does offer you water at least. You really can’t blame her for not liking you though. She found out her boyfriend got another woman pregnant right before he started dating her. Really, she has more balls than you for staying with him. You wouldn't put it past Dean to somehow have smooth-talked her into giving him a chance.

Or she really loves him. The thought sobers you as you lower yourself down to the couch beside her. Both of you sit there in silence for a moment, trying to figure out something to talk about.

“So, you’re what, six months pregnant?” she asks.

You correct her in thinly veiled annoyance. “Three months, actually.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know why I thought it was six.”

You have a feeling her awkward chuckle is fake, however. She knew good and damn well that you’re not six months pregnant. In her eyes, you must be the size of a parade float. 

“If you want, I can recommend a holistic diet to help you get your body back after the baby’s born,” Lisa offers. “No pills, no chemicals. Just good clean weight loss.”

You feign interest. Honestly, you’d like her to cram that offer right up her hooch.

“I can even give you a discount if you want to try out yoga,” she says. “It’s low impact, but you burn plenty of calories. I have a beginner’s class, not too strenuous. Even my least flexible clients manage to do the poses.”

Is that why Dean likes you? Because you’re bendy? Bet if I sat on you, you’d pop like a fucking balloon.

You hide all of these thoughts behind a “polite” smile of your own.

“That’s really nice of you, thanks,” you reply. It’s non-committal enough, but hopefully it’ll get her off your back.

No such luck.

“You know, maintaining a healthy diet is really important for the baby’s health too,” Lisa adds. “It’s not just about avoided raw fish and dairy products. Oh, and processed food is obviously a no-go. Like, I’m sure you haven’t been hitting Taco Bell and all that stuff, right?”

As a matter of fact, you’ve been eating clean since long before you got pregnant. Not that it’s any business of hers whether you enjoy the occasional quesadilla or not.

Your temper snaps at its leash. You open your mouth to reply, when the front door unlocks and opens to Dean, stepping in through the threshold.

Thank God, you and Lisa both think. She gets up quicker from the couch than you, greeting her boyfriend with a kiss. You avert your gaze while you begin to get up yourself.

Dean reaches out to help you, grasping your arm in support. You shoot him a smile.

“I can still get up by myself,” you snip.

“Yeah, all right. Just in case,” he says with a smile. “Ready to go?”

“Oh, yeah. Let’s rock and roll,” you say, trying to hide your worsening mood. You’re exhausted, and irritated, and probably more than a little hangry. Except now, the idea of food just has you feeling guilty for even being hungry.

“Bye, hun. Hope you have a good appointment,” Lisa says, giving your shoulder a pat. You give her the most genuine smile you can muster as you thank her. It's possibly that she's one of those women who don't realize when they're being cunty, but you find it highly unlikely. She's too smart for that.

You follow Dean out the door and over to his car, big and black and sleek as you remember. You settle into the passenger seat with your arms crossed in silence. Dean switches the cassette to one of his favorite Led Zeppelin albums, though he notices your grumpy face.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

You give him some side-eye, but you’re reluctant to say anything. You just shake your head. As irritated as you are, you don’t want to be the friend who badmouths his girlfriend.

God, are we even friends? You wonder. Or am I just his knocked-up baby momma?

And again, you realize that this whole situation is probably hard for Lisa. You just don’t know if she’s jealous, or if she just…doesn’t like you.

“I’m okay,” you tell Dean.

He raises a skeptical brow. Looks like Sam isn’t the only one with a finely tuned bullshit meter.

“All right, how about this,” Dean says. “Let’s grab some burgers after this, huh? From your favorite spot. Shake Shack, right? Side of fries, frozen yogurt. I think I’ll get chocolate this time… Hmm, I doubt Lisa will want anything. She’s gone on an all-vegan kick or something.”

For one shining moment, you were happy and touched at his consideration. But now your body stills in your seat when you remember Lisa’s words. Tears well up in your eyes with a hot sting, and a sob escapes your throat.

Dean is cut off from thinking about getting extra bacon on his burger. He looks over at you in alarm. “H-Hey, what’s the matter?”

You scoff at him through your tears. “Are you kidding me? I can’t eat burgers anymore, Dean. I was already fucking fat. Now it’s just gonna get ridiculous.”

“What?” Dean’s brows knit together in confusion, along with his deepening frown. It gets worse as he tries to watch the road ahead, while at the same time, watching you continue to crumble.

“And after the birth, I’m just going to be an even fatter slob who can’t take care of her baby,” you sniffle and weep, trying in vain to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself.

Dean grits his teeth, his jaw twitching. Fuck it.

He turns the steering wheel sharp enough to startle a gasp out of you.

“Dean!”

He pulls the car over onto the side of the road, ignoring the honking SUV behind him. He shifts into Park and shuts off the radio—a big red flag, in your opinion. He’s upset too, and fucking serious, more so than you’ve ever seen him. You stare back at him with wide eyes.

“I’ve never once heard you say that you’re fat,” he says.

You blink at that, but eventually, you’re able to get your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth. You wipe the remnants of tears from your cheeks. Your face is already hot from your upset, now tinged with embarrassment.

“You haven’t known me very long,” you say quietly.

It doesn’t help. Dean’s jaw ticks again.

“Well, I’ve never thought it. Not even once,” he says. His jade green eyes are firmly set on yours, and he gestures between you and him with a pointed finger. “The reason you and I are here right now, is because the minute I saw you, I wanted you.”

One corner of his lips kicks upwards. “And that night, you didn’t disappoint.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. You don’t know how to respond, but you do know that a full blush is warming your face and neck. His words have power, and unbidden, they bloom a similar warmth between your legs. You swallow a bit nervously as you bite your bottom lip.

Dean glances down at your mouth when you do. He can remember what your pretty mouth did for him that night. Oh, he remembers all too well. He even had the shade of your lipstick streaked across his skin until he showered up at the firehouse.

He locks that all away when shifts the car back into Drive. If you’re going to make it to this appointment on time, he needs to get going.

And you both have to leave whatever that was right here by the side of the road.

AN: Woo! 😮‍💨 Yep, this is only Part 1, friends. Lisa is a bit different in this. My take was that without Ben in her life, she might be less mature and a bit more catty. As we get into Part 2 I'll leave it up to you to decide why she decides to stay with Dean, and perhaps more importantly, where the reader and Dean can go from here as co-parents. 🤔

If you enjoyed Part 1, please let me know!~

Next Time in Part 2:

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look, I…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours, and achingly familiar.

⋆˙⟡ Keep Reading: Part 2

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Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @kaleldobrev

@globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdeanwrites @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @0ccvltism

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @cheynovak @jollyhunter

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005

[leclercsainzz]

Can I request a reader x wolff one please? where reader and non f1 male were the ultimate couple, so it came as a shock when they broke up. With many people being sad about their split, since they seemed perfect for each other. However recent rumors have surfaced that maybe she might be seeing toto, which causes quite a stir among fans, who are now speculating about the potential new relationship?

NEW ROMANTICS

PARINGS: toto wolff x fem!reader

TYPE: social media au

yourusername

liked by jaredpadalecki, lewishamilton and 567,738 others

yourusername: @vanityfair oscar date night

view 4,748 comments

genpadalecki: 😍 stunning as always!

↳ yourusername: i love youuu 😘

user: can jensen fight?!??

user: MOTHER OMG

user: where’s jen?

user: stunning 😍

user: she does NOT age, i swear 😩

misha: 😃

↳ user: castiel energy frr

user: did jensen go with her??!?

user: mom where’s dad?!???

user: she’s soooo mother, omgg 😍

user: @jensenackles can you fight, bro?

user: lewis, what are you doing here?!?? 👀

user: the definition of MOTHER

user: has anyone noticed jensen hasn’t liked/comment?

↳ user: what are you insinuating??!? 🙄

↳ user: haven’t seen them together for quite a while, actually

↳ user: obviously they won’t be out in public 24/7

user: kindly step on me 😩

user: did her and jensen break up or something?!? 😭😭

user: anyone else noticed the mercedes boys in the likes?

user: 😍😍 gorgeous!

user: jensen’s one lucky ass mf 😩

user: waiting for jensen’s comment and like

user: ATE and left NO CRUMBS

sofiavergara: 😍 wow

user: mother is mothering 😍

user: why are ppl saying her and dad are broken up?!!?

user: 😍😍😍😍 goddess

jensenackles

liked by jaredpadalecki, misha and 788,825 others

jensenackles: a little bts of yesterday’s photo shoot

view 5,736 comments

user: the man that you are, oml 😮‍💨

user: the fact that yn’s getting this everyday 😭😭

user: they’re still together right?!!??

jaredpadecki: 😘

user: so fine

user: apparently he might be single again sooooo 😏

user: he’s fine and he knows it

user: WHAT A MAN 😍😍

↳ user: indeed 😩

user: are yn and jensen still together?!??!??

↳ user: of course, why wouldn’t they be?!?

↳ user: there’s been rumors going on about them breaking up

↳ user: they better not be true 😭 wtf

user: why are people saying jensen and yn broke up??!?

user: father of my kids (im kidding) (im not)

user: aged like fine wineeeee 😮‍💨

↳ user: he gets sexier each year 😍

user: SEXIEST MAN ALIVE

user: @yourusername is so luckyyy

↳ user: supposedly, they broke up 🤷🏻‍♀️

↳ user: sAy SIKE RN

user: how can i get his attention? 😩

user: another day another slay

user: finest man ever 🥵

user: that’s my dean winchester

user: i need to know if mom and dad are still together or not

↳ user: girl, frrr 😭😭 it’s been weeks

user: where’s yn??!?? she hasn’t liked nor commented 🤨

user: sirrrrrr 😍

user: so sexyyyy of him

yourusername

liked by lewishamilton, evalongoria and 600,839 others

yourusername: life lately

view 5,746 comments

user: YN A MERCEDES FAN?!!??!???

| liked by yourusername

user: is thAt toto wolff?!??

user: gorgeous 😍

user: missing dad hours 😓

↳ user: we’re ALL going through it right now:’(

user: mercedes?! lewis liking all her post?!? tell me u all see it?

↳ user: we all see it, i assure you 👀

genpadalecki: gorgg 😍

↳ yourusername: ❤️

mercedesamgf1: thanks for coming, pretty lady 😘

↳ user: ADMIN?!!??? WHAT IS THIS?!!?

↳ user: lewis is definitely behind all this, i just know it

user: WHERE’S JENSEN???? 😭😭😭

user: lewis is great and all but jensen?!!?!?

user: can we talk about toto’s back? 😩

↳ user: she really got the best angle

user: who got you smiling like that? 🤨

user: the most beautiful woman ever, i swear

ruthie_connell: 😍😍😍 beautiful!

user: get back with jensen, please 🙏🏼

user: please tell me you’re dining with dad in the 5th slide

user: your beauty is unreal 😩

user: wait— who’s lewis?!!?

↳ user: formula one driver

↳ user: 8x world champion

↳ user: 7* but okay 🙄

user: mother 😍

user: yn being a mercedes fan is everything to me

user: mad i didn’t see her at the race 😭😭

yourusername

liked by realmarksheppard, pierregasly and 679,738 others

yourusername: 💗

tagged: @genpadalecki

view 4,846 comments

user: tHAT DOES NOT LOOK LIKE LEWIS?

user: who is that?!??

jaredpadalecki: @genpadalecki 😍

↳ yourusername: our wife’s gorgeous, isn’t she, moose?

↳ user: nOt moose 😭

user: that ain’t lewis?!??

user: i’m just going to pretend that’s jensen for my sake

user: missing jensen:((((

user: her friendship with gen is everything

user: gen and yn are the female version of sam and dean

feliciadays: beautiful ladies 😍

user: and everyone thought it was that hamilton guy LMAO

user: still not over her and jensen 😭😭 they were perfect

user: MOM, WE WANT DAD BACK 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲

user: anyone else think that looks like toto wolff??

↳ user: tHat’s what i Said!

misha: thanks for the invite btw 🙂

lewishamilton: 👀

↳ user: sIR, wHAT DO YOU KNOW?!??!?

↳ user: mind sharing with us??

carmenmmundt: 😍😍😍 gorggg

user: IS SHE DATING TOTO?!!?!????

user: lewis AND george liked? 👀

↳ user: even gasly’s nosy ass liked

↳ user: that’s why his forehead so big 😭 he knows it allllll

user: her side profile, omg 😍😍

user: he definitely screams toto wolff

user: idk who this wolff guy is but i want jensen back

user: her and jensen were supposed to be endgame 😭😭

user: ngl but her and toto would definitely make a cute couple

user: i love how everyone just assumes she’s with toto now

yourusername

liked by georgerussell63, sofiavergara and 687,863 others

yourusername: ft a small photo dump

view 6,527 comments

user: THAT BACK LOOKS SO FAMILIAR

user: tHat’s TOTO OMG

user: toto?!?!?? 😮

genpadalecki: my loveeee 😍

↳ yourusername: 😘 love yaaa, girlfriend

user: oooh to be yn

user: ynjensen is really over 😞😞

user: toto, that’s a nice back you’ve got;)

user: toto’s one lucky mf

user: I MISS JENSEN 😭😭😭

user: yn, babe, this ain’t you, get back with dad

user: that’s a hot back

user: lordddddddd 😍

user: TOTO?!!??

user: mother 😍

user: IS THAT TOTO, OMG?!??

↳ user: yessss

lewishamilton: 👀

user: ariana (lewis) what are you doing here?

georgerussell63: nice back there, mate

comment has been deleted

user: we saw thAt comment george

user: toto is so fine omg 😩

user: my man is so fine

user: her side profile is everything

user: oNE CHANCE, YN, PLEASE 🙏🏼

user: toto’s soo lucky huh? 😭😭

user: did anyone else see george’s comment?!?!?

↳ user: what comment???

user: MOM MOM MOM MOM

user: you cannot tell me that isn’t toto

user: his back bro 🥵

user: what about jensen???? 😭😭😭

yourusername

liked by lewishamilton, pierregasly and 678,629 others

yourusername: life lately <33

view 6,510 comments

user: “life lately” and post THE TOTO WOLFF?!! 😮

user: bitcH OMG

user: yn pulls the hottest men ever 😩

↳ user: nah frr — first jensen now toto??

user: idk if i want to be yn or be with her

user: can i be your sugar baby?

mercedesamgf1: finest couple ever! 😮‍💨

↳ user: admin— you’re so real for this omg

↳ user: admin knows what’s up

user: can toto fight?

↳ user: can’t fight for a championship that’s for sure

mercedesamgf1: the boss says you’re gorgeous

↳ user: GIVE THIS PERSON A RAISE FOR THEIR HARD WORK

genpadalecki: wifeee 😍

↳ yourusername: love yaaaaa 🫦

user: nooo, i miss jensen 😭😭

user: i KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT

user: okay but how did toto bag her??? like come on

user: gorgeous ladyyy 😍

ruthie_connell: 😍😍😍

user: nOt pierre being in the likes

↳ user: loves the gossip lmao

jensenackles: @misha @jaredpadalecki told you

↳ user: DAD?!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!!

↳ user: told them what?!!?

↳ yourusername: 😭 leave me alone, i love my chocolate

↳ jaredpadalecki: it’s always the chocolate

↳ genpadecki: chocolate is addicting okay

user: JENSEN COMMENTED?!???

↳ user: glad to know they ended on good terms 😩

user: yn, you’re sooo gorgeous

user: the woman that you are, omggg 😍

user: mother frrr

user: they make such a hot couple

user: yntoto 😮‍💨

user: i just need to know you and jensen are still friends

↳ yourusername: always <3

lewishamilton: gorgeous - toto wolff

lewishamilton: i don’t have instagram - toto wolff

↳ yourusername: text me, love 😘

↳ user: please this is so cute

user: nOt the sign off by toto himself 😭😭

christianhorner: 🫡

[deansbeer]

✶ MARKED BY SIN ݂ ౨᭪ ׂ 

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

📖 LIBRARY !

PAIRING. demon!dean x f!reader.

SYNOPSIS. while dean's fucking you deep and rough, he's obsessed with those little dermals on your lower back—just another excuse to touch you.

WARNING(S). smut | rough sex | dominant behavior | manhandling | back dermal piercings | possessiveness | strong language | he's a lil mean (obviously).

KARI TALKS. i'm missing him terribly rn !!! so i hope u enjoy whatever this is <3

DEMON!DEAN'S grip is bruising, fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you back onto him with every deep, punishing thrust. the motel room is dim, bathed in the dull red glow of a flickering neon sign outside, casting everything in shades of sin. it fits.

his hands roam, sliding over your sweat-slicked skin, tracing the curve of your spine until they find the tiny, glinting dermals embedded in your lower back. his pace falters for just a second, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he presses his thumb against one, feeling the cool metal against your fever-hot skin.

"fuck, sweetheart," he rasps, voice thick with something dark and dangerous. "always forget you've got these."

you whimper, barely holding yourself up on shaking arms, your body rocking with every thrust. he's relentless, setting a brutal pace that has you gasping, moaning his name like it's the only thing you know how to say.

DEMON!DEAN chuckles—low, smug—as he palms the small of your back, his fingers brushing over the piercings again. "bet you got 'em just to drive me crazy, huh?" his breath is hot against your ear as he leans over you, chest pressing flush against your back. "knew i wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you."

you can't even form words anymore, just broken moans and choked whimpers spilling from your lips. he fucking loves it. loves the way you're trembling beneath him, completely at his mercy.

he grips your hip with one hand, the other spreading across your stomach, pulling you back harder. "c'mon, baby, let me hear it," he coaxes, voice dripping with amusement. "tell me how good i’m fuckin' you."

you try—you really do—but all that comes out is a shattered moan, his name falling from your lips like a prayer to something unholy.

DEMON!DEAN just smirks, pressing a kiss to your jaw before sinking his teeth into your shoulder, claiming you the way only he can.

"that's what i thought."

꒰୨୧꒱ SPECIAL TAGS. @titsout4jackles @floralscented @bluemerakis @unfortunate-brat @beausling @aileenunfiltered @honeyryewhiskey @figthoughts @lacydollette @ultravioletrayz @soldiersgirl @deanssun @abox-of-rocks @whisperingdaze @eepwtf @rafespreciosa @deanswidow @deansbite @voidsuites

[bettystonewell]

TO YOU I BELONG SERIES MASTERLIST

Main Masterlist || On AO3 || On Wattpad

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn’t looking for a mate. Not only does he think he doesn’t deserve one, but the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain’t real. He still has free will, and saving you from monsters is just another part of the job.

The demons in your life, though? They’re closer than he realises, more personal, and his inner alpha won’t let him leave you behind with them. But can Dean embrace everything that comes with claiming someone? 18+ only MDNI

Tags: omegaverse, soulmate AU, pregnancy, strangers to lovers, hurt/comfort, SMUT, breeding, claiming, knotting, nesting, angst, fluff, endgame is Dad!Dean (and the parenting skills we all know he has), Protective!Dean, (dual POV), somewhat of a fix-it

WARNING: This story implies/references some potentially triggering topics including domestic abuse, sexual assault, a past miscarriage (chemical pregnancy), and follows the journey of how the characters deal with it. Please consider these carefully before reading. I can’t stress this enough!

A/N: This all started out as a one shot idea of Dean playing with kids and nerf guns. That one shot hasn’t been written yet because my brain wanted to know where the kids came from, but Dean will get his hands on a nerf gun in this fic.

uploading weekly on Fridays 🇦🇺🕕

Chapter 1 - Yearning

Chapter 2 - Harbouring

Chapter 3 - Confronting

Chapter 4 - Familiarising

Chapter 5 - Languishing

Chapter 6 - Domesticating

Chapter 7 - Honeydaying 04/04

Chapter 8 - Disconcerting

Chapter 9 - Ruminating

Chapter 10 - Saddling

Chapter 11 - Containment

Chapter 12 - Sentiment

Chapter 13 - Derisionment

Chapter 14 - Announcement

Chapter 15 - Dissappointment

Chapter 16 -

Chapter 17 -

Chapter 18 -

Chapter 19 -

Chapter 20 -

TIMESTAMPS TBA

EXTRAS/RELATED

Writing Game Snippet

100 Followers Celebration Sneak Peak

WIP WEDNESDAY (20/02) Chapter 16

Please Remember folks, abuse isn’t always physical. It’s also not easy to admit when you’re going through it, or sometimes even realise. Look after yourselves, and keep an eye out for signs from those you love. ❤️

If you'd like to be tagged in this series or any of my other works, please let me know, or you can add yourself HERE

I’ll be tagging all the lovely people signed up for my DEAN TAGLIST too, of course 🥰

[alexsoenomel]

POV: Texts from Sam

[maddie0101]

𖤐 playing with fire (dean x fem!reader)

𖤐 summary: a house party, a few too many drinks, and a skirt that’s driving dean out of his mind. what starts as a harmless game of truth or dare quickly turns into something else, something that’s been building between him and the reader for way too long. one reckless decision later, and there’s no going back.

𖤐 warnings: smut (mdni), truth or dare, college!au, porn w plot, best friends to lovers, high sexual tension, teasing, reader's skirt almost sends dean into a coma, dirty talk, cussing, hair pulling, oral (female receiving), overstimulation, dean is a freak! (we love it though), p in v, mirror sex, skirt stays on!, lots more but I can't list everything off lmfao.

𖤐 word count: 7.5k (don’t ask me how I did this tbh. my fingers just kept moving)

𖤐 note: well…this was supposed to be maybe 2-3k words max, but I’ve done it again and I can’t help myself. i def couldn’t tag everything but enjoy! ❤︎

The house was packed with bodies moving together in the living room, red cups in hand, half-empty bottles of liquor cluttering every available surface. Someone had hooked up a speaker to blast a playlist that was way too bass-heavy, and the floor vibrated with every beat. The air smelled like cheap beer, sweat, and faint traces of perfume—an unmistakable blend of house party chaos.

Dean wasn’t even sure why he had come.

Well. That wasn’t entirely true.

Sam had dragged him here. Well, technically, Jess had dragged Sam here, and in turn, Sam had forced Dean out of the apartment under the guise of “having fun for once.” That was bullshit. Dean could have fun anywhere—a bar, a diner, sitting on the couch with a beer in hand, but instead, here he was, dodging some drunk dude waving his cup around like a damn sprinkler while scanning the room for a familiar face.

Or more accurately, your face.

Dean exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He hadn’t seen you all day, which was a little weird since the two of you talked constantly. You were his best friend, had been for years, and yet, when you’d mentioned earlier that you were coming to this party, Dean had found himself oddly… uneasy. Not that he was worried or anything. You could handle yourself just fine. But the thought of you here, surrounded by drunk, handsy assholes, looking hot as hell—not that he was picturing that—yeah, it had been enough to convince him to tag along.

But he still hadn’t spotted you, though.

Instead, his eyes landed on Sam and Jess standing near the staircase, laughing at something between them. Dean made his way over, shoving past a couple making out against the wall.

“Dean,” Jess greeted, lifting her drink in acknowledgment. “Took you long enough to show up.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Traffic.”

Sam snorted. “Traffic? Dean, you live ten minutes away.”

“Shut up.”

Jess grinned and leaned into Sam’s side. “You’re looking for her, aren’t you?”

Dean froze. “What?”

“You know,” she said, tilting her head slightly, her eyes glinting mischievously. “Her.”

Dean scowled. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “You are so obvious.”

Before Dean could argue, Jess nodded toward the kitchen. “She’s in there, last I saw. Taking shots.”

Dean’s stomach did something weird, something he would not acknowledge. Instead, he shrugged and muttered a casual, “Cool,” before turning in that direction. And then—

Oh. Oh, fuck.

There you were. Standing by the counter, tilting your head back as you downed a shot of something dark, your lips wrapping around the rim of the glass before you placed it back on the counter. Your tongue flicked out briefly, licking away any stray drops.

Dean’s brain completely short-circuited. He barely even registered the fact that he had stopped in his tracks, mouth slightly parted. Because—holy hell.

That skirt. That damn skirt.

It wasn’t like you never wore stuff like this. But this? This was different. The way it clung to your hips, stopping so high up your thighs—Dean swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. The black top you wore didn’t help either, hugging your curves just right, exposing just enough skin to make his head spin.

Dean wasn’t sure what the alcohol content of whatever you were drinking was, but he was pretty sure he needed one now. Badly.

His fingers twitched at his sides, and he shifted uncomfortably as a very inconvenient problem began to arise in his jeans. Shit. This was not the time to be getting a goddamn boner.

Dean clenched his jaw, inhaling through his nose.

Pull it together, Winchester. You are her best friend. You are—

And then you turned.

Like you felt him staring. Your eyes locked onto his, and for a split second, everything else—the music, the crowd, the heat of the room—just faded into the background. A slow smile curled at the corner of your lips, and that was when Dean knew he was really screwed.

You looked good. And not just in the casual oh yeah, she looks nice kind of way. No, this was dangerous. This was the kind of good that made his stomach twist, that made his heart slam against his ribs, that sent heat rushing to places he did not want to deal with right now.

And then, as if you hadn’t just ruined his entire ability to function, you grabbed another shot from the counter, tilting your head slightly. “Want one?”

Dean swallowed, forcing his brain to restart. He took a slow step forward, desperate to think of something normal to say. Except, the closer he got, the worse you got. Because now he could smell you, some sweet, intoxicating mix of vanilla and something else. And now he could see just how smooth your legs looked in that goddamn skirt. And now—

Well now you were struggling, too.

Because Dean Winchester in a fitted black T-shirt, dark jeans, and those stupidly broad shoulders? Yeah. Not fair. Your fingers tightened around the shot glass. The way the fabric of his shirt stretched across his arms was practically sinful. The way the dim lighting highlighted the sharp angles of his jaw was even worse. He looked good, in that effortlessly rugged kind of way, and the alcohol coursing through your veins was not helping you pretend otherwise.

You blinked up at him, trying to keep your expression neutral. “You okay there, Winchester?”

Dean exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

Liar.

You raised a brow, smirking slightly. “You sure? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Dean let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Just—” He wet his lips. “You, uh. You look nice.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest. You knew you looked good tonight—you had dressed with a little extra effort, even though you’d never admit why—but hearing Dean say it? Yeah. That did something.

You tilted your head, amused. “Nice?”

Dean ran a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath before clearing his throat.

“Fine. Hot,” he admitted, voice lower now.

Your breath caught. The tension stretched thick between you. You should’ve said something. Something witty, something teasing, something to lighten whatever this was.

But then Dean reached out, grabbing the shot from your hand. His fingers brushed against yours, and that tiny touch sent a sharp jolt up your spine.

You both inhaled and Dean knocked the shot back, his eyes locked onto yours the entire time and when he lowered the glass, he licked his lips.

You almost groaned. Fuck.

This was not going to end well.

You were still trying to get your head straight when Jess walked into the kitchen. “There you two are!” she grinned, her voice a little louder than usual, clearly a few drinks in. “We’re starting a game in the living room. Get your asses in there.”

Dean blinked like he’d just snapped out of a trance. “Uh… what kind of game?”

Jess smirked. “The fun kind. Come on.”

Before either of you could argue, she grabbed your wrist and dragged you toward the living room. Dean trailed behind, his eyes flicking downward — yeah, that fucking skirt was still driving him insane.

The living room was packed, people sprawled across the couches and floor, drinks in hand. The bottle sitting in the middle of the coffee table made Dean’s stomach tighten.

“Spin the bottle?” He raised an eyebrow at Jess.

“Oh, no. We’re past that,” she grinned. “We’re playing Truth or Dare — but with a twist.”

Dean groaned under his breath. “Of course we are.”

“You scared, Winchester?” you teased, arching an eyebrow.

Dean shot you a look. “Of you? Never.”

Which was a goddamn lie. He was terrified —because this whole night had been a dangerous game of self-control, and right now, he was hanging on by a thread.

You both ended up sitting on the floor, way too close, your bare knee kept brushing against Dean’s thigh, and every time it happened, it felt like someone had dropped a match on gasoline.

The game started off easy, dumb dares, embarrassing questions, lots of laughter. But when it was your turn, things shifted. Jess grinned like she was about to start shit. “Alright, Y/N. Truth or dare?”

You barely hesitated. “Dare.”

Jess’s smile widened. “I dare you to sit in Dean’s lap for the rest of the game.”

The room erupted in laughter and catcalls, and your stomach dropped.

“Oh, come on,” you muttered.

“You picked dare,” Jess said sweetly. “Better get moving.”

Dean leaned back, running a hand down his face like he was mentally preparing himself. When he lowered it, he shot you a crooked smile — cocky as hell, but you didn’t miss the flicker of nerves in his eyes. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he drawled. “I won’t bite.”

God help you. You swallowed hard, stood up, and crossed the small space. Every eye in the room was on you as you slowly settled into Dean’s lap, his hands instinctively landing on your waist.

It should’ve been fine. Should’ve been funny. But fuck.

Dean’s thighs were solid under you, his broad chest warm against your back. His hands, rough and steady flexed just slightly, like he was fighting the urge to squeeze. “Comfortable?” Dean muttered near your ear, his voice lower than usual.

“Yeah,” you said, but it came out breathy.

The game moved on, but you barely heard a word. Dean’s hand slid down your waist, innocent enough, but his thumb brushed the bare skin just above your skirt. You nearly jolted at the contact.

You twisted your fingers in your lap, trying to focus. But then Dean shifted, just a little, and Jesus Christ, you felt everything — the strength of his legs beneath you, the heat of his body against yours.

“You good?” Dean murmured low in your ear.

“Peachy,” you lied.

“Bullshit,” he muttered back, his breath warm against your neck.

You sucked in a sharp breath, and Dean’s fingers flexed again — but this time, his grip lingering just a little longer.

“Alright, Dean,” someone called out, dragging both of you back into the moment. “Your turn.”

“Truth or dare?”

Dean smirked, but his fingers stayed on your waist, still toying with your skin. “Dare.”

“Let Y/N give you a hickey.”

The room howled.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Dean muttered, running a hand down his face.

“Don’t chicken out,” Jess taunted, wiggling her eyebrows.

You turned your head slightly to look at Dean, your face way too close to his. “We can just fake it,” you offered, voice soft enough for only him to hear. “Play it off.”

But Dean’s eyes locked onto yours and something flickered behind them, something darker. “Yeah,” he said, low and rough. “Or we can’t.”

Your breath hitched. He was serious.

“You sure?” you murmured.

Dean’s gaze flicked to your lips, then back up.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m sure.”

The room had gotten quieter now, like people were actually waiting to see what would happen. Your pulse hammered in your ears as you turned in his lap, your legs sliding across his thighs, your chest brushing against his. Dean’s hand slid to your lower back, steadying you, his fingers splaying wide.

You leaned in, your lips brushing just below his jaw, and his breath hitched. You kissed his skin once, soft and slow before sucking just hard enough to leave a mark. His fingers dug into your waist, and you swore you felt his chest shudder against yours.

You were supposed to stop there, but you didnt. Something told you to kept going. Your mouth lingered, your lips just barely brushing over his skin again. His fingers trailed down your side, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your hip.

“You’re killing me,” Dean muttered, barely above a whisper.

“You started it,” you whispered back but you didn’t pull away and neither did he. The air felt thick and heavy. You could feel his pulse hammering under your lips, the tension in the air growing thicker by the second.

“Alright,” someone called, breaking the moment. “I think that counts.”

You slowly eased back, your face still way too close to his. Dean’s gaze dropped to your lips, then flicked back up to your eyes.

Yeah. You were fucked.

“Yeah,” Dean said quietly, voice rough and strained. “That counts.”

The game moved on, but your body was still burning from the way Dean’s hands lingered on your waist, the feel of his breath against your skin. You hadn’t even fully processed what just happened when Jess turned toward Sam with a glint in her eye.

“Alright, babe,” she said sweetly. “Truth or dare?”

Sam chuckled. “I’m pretty sure I don’t have a choice, so let’s just get this over with.”

Jess smirked. “Dare.”

The room erupted into laughter, and Sam groaned, shaking his head.

“I dare you to…” Jess tapped her chin, drawing out the suspense. “Take off your shirt and let me write something on your chest in Sharpie.”

Sam rolled his eyes but reached behind his head, pulling off his shirt in one smooth motion. The sight of Sam Winchester, half-naked in the middle of the living room, earned a few whistles and teasing remarks. Jess grinned as she grabbed a marker, uncapped it with her teeth, and scribbled 'Property of Jess' across his chest.

Dean snorted. “Jesus, Sammy, you gonna let her brand you like that?”

Sam shot him a dry look. “Like you have room to talk.”

Dean’s smirk faltered just slightly—probably because his hands were still gripping your waist, and he hadn’t let go since you sat down. But the tension between you and Dean was a wildfire, growing hotter with every second. His hands still rested on your waist, his fingers burning through the thin fabric of your top. You were hyper-aware of every shift of his body beneath you, every breath he took, the way his thighs felt firm under you.

Sam and Jess had just finished their dare, leaving everyone laughing while Sam scowled, still sporting the ridiculous drawing Jess had sketched onto his bare chest.

The game carried on, but you barely heard a word of it.

Someone dared Mike to shotgun a beer, and the room erupted with cheers when he spilled half of it down his shirt. Someone else was dared to prank-call their ex. Everyone was laughing, talking too loud, caught up in their own chaos.

But you? You couldn’t focus on any of it—because Dean was still beneath you, solid and warm and way too much. His hands rested loosely on your waist, fingers occasionally flexing like he was trying to ground himself. He hadn’t said much since you’d settled on his lap, but you could feel him—every breath, every subtle shift. And every time you moved even slightly, his grip would tighten.

You were trying so damn hard to act normal, to focus on literally anything other than the heat radiating off his body or the way his chest felt beneath your hands. But then you shifted, just a tiny adjustment to get more comfortable—and that’s when you felt it.

Oh… shit. You went still. Heat rushed straight to your face as your brain struggled to catch up with what your body already knew. Dean was hard. Very hard.

His fingers flexed again, harder this time, like he knew exactly what you’d just realized. Your pulse hammered in your ears. For a second, you considered pretending you didn’t notice—just staying perfectly still and riding this out. But then Dean shifted beneath you, a quiet, strangled breath slipping out of him and something inside you twisted.

Fuck it.

You moved. Slowly and deliberately you shifted in his lap, rolling your hips just enough to feel the hard press of him against you. Dean’s fingers dug into your waist and his breath hitched, sharp and rough right against your ear. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

You bit your lip, heat pooling low in your stomach.

Everyone else in the room was still talking, still laughing—completely oblivious to the way Dean’s fingers were now gripping your waist like a lifeline, or the way your thighs clenched tighter.

And then you did it again, slow, teasing, shifting just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath through his teeth.

His mouth dropped to your ear, his voice a low, strained whisper that shot straight down your spine “You’re fucking killing me.”

A shiver bolted through your body—sharp and electric, leaving your breath shaky and your heart racing. You didn’t dare look at him. If you turned your head, if you caught even a glimpse of his face, his flushed cheeks, his darkened green eyes, you knew you’d lose whatever thin grip you had on your self-control.

But his breath stayed hot against your ear, and his hands—fuck, his hands—were sliding down to your hips now, gripping you just a little tighter. “You wanna keep playing that game?” His voice was low, almost dangerous. “Because I promise you, sweetheart…” His fingers flexed, teasing at the curve of your hips. “I can play too.”

Your stomach flipped. Oh fuck.

The air between you was thick, almost too thick. You could barely breathe past it, past the heat curling low in your stomach, past the way Dean’s voice sent another sharp, aching shiver down your spine. His hands on your hips were heavy, warm, possessive, like he was seconds from losing whatever thread of control he was clinging to.

And fuck, you wanted that.

You swallowed hard, pulse thrumming in your throat. You should stop. You should...

But instead, you shifted again, just barely. Just enough to feel him twitch beneath you. And Dean exhaled through gritted teeth, his fingers tightening against your hips as his head dropped forward, forehead brushing your shoulder.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N,” he rasped.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. The way he said your name, low and wrecked made something hot coil tighter in your stomach. You were still frozen in place, thighs clenched, caught in the unbearable tension pulling both of you closer.

Then his fingers flexed, and his thumbs traced slow, firm circles against your hips. A barely-there touch, but it sent a bolt of heat straight through you.

Fuck. Fuck. Your breath stuttered.

And Dean—the asshole, he noticed. Because suddenly, his lips were right there, brushing against the shell of your ear, his voice a low, dark whisper.“Tell me to stop.”

Your stomach flipped.

The teasing tone from earlier was gone. Now, he just sounded wrecked. If you told him to stop, he would. But you didn’t want him to and fuck, he knew it.

You turned your head, just barely, finally meeting his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, his jaw tight, his breath uneven.

Say something, your brain screamed. Say literally anything. But before you could, someone shouted—

“Alright, next dare!”

The world rushed back in all at once. Dean tensed beneath you, eyes snapping toward the others. Your head whipped around just in time to see Jess grinning, pointing at some poor guy across the circle.

The spell shattered but Dean’s hands were still on your hips and the heat curling between your legs? Still there.

Your throat felt dry as you tried to regulate your breathing, as you tried to not focus on the fact that Dean Winchester had just whispered in your ear like he was about to ruin you right in front of everyone.

And as the game dragged on, voices rising and falling, bursts of laughter breaking through the low thrum of music, it all felt distant, muffled like you were underwater. None of it mattered. Not when you were still perched in Dean’s lap, still feeling the weight of his hands resting heavy on your hips.

You knew you should move. You should get up, put some space between you, cool down before you did something reckless. But every time you shifted even a little, you could feel him, hard and pressed against your thigh and you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

At one point, you dared to steal a glance at him, only to find him already watching you. His eyes were darker than usual, pupils blown wide, and when your gaze met his, he looked away fast. But not before you caught it, that barely restrained tension, the kind that felt like a live wire stretched too tight.

Yeah, you weren’t the only one losing control.

“Alright, I think that’s it for me,” Jess announced with an exaggerated yawn. She stretched her arms over her head, clearly playing up the exhaustion. “I’m heading to home before this gets even messier.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, I think we’ve done enough damage for one night.”

Sam and Jess stood, gathering their jackets and drinks, muttering half-hearted goodnights to others. The noise dipped just enough for you to hear Dean let out a slow, steady breath, like he’d been holding it in all night.

You moved to stand, but Dean’s fingers flexed against your waist again, not quite holding you there, but not exactly letting you go either.

When you finally pushed yourself to your feet, your legs wobbled. The warmth of the alcohol was settling heavy in your limbs now, leaving you unsteady.

“You good?” Jess asked as she appeared at your side.

“Yeah,” you lied. “Just… need some water or something.”

Jess’s gaze flicked to Dean — still sprawled on the ground, his head tilted back, fingers gripping his knees like he was barely keeping himself together.

“You sure that’s all you need?” she asked, her voice dipped knowingly.

Heat prickled up your neck. “I’m fine,” you said too quickly. But you weren’t. The tension was still coiled tight inside you, winding hot and restless beneath your skin. You could still feel Dean’s touch like he’d burned it into you. And no matter how hard you tried to shake it off, it wouldn’t let go.

“Alright,” Jess said slowly, clearly unconvinced. “I'll see you tomorrow, love you.”

"Love you too." You gave her a smile and turned toward the kitchen, desperate for space, for something cold. But you didn’t get far because a warm hand curled around your wrist.

“C’mere.” Dean’s voice was low and rough.

Before you could respond, he stood towering over you, his fingers firm but careful as he tugged you away from the lingering party noise.

“Dean,” you muttered, voice tight. “What are you—”

But he didn’t answer. He just kept walking, guiding you down the dim hallway, past the closed doors and dark corners until his hand reached for a doorknob.

The bathroom. The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the sounds of music and voices.

“Dean,” you started again, your back barely pressed to the door before his hands grabbed your waist, fingers digging in, and he pushed you back against the door — not hard, not rough, but enough to steal your breath.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean muttered, dropping his forehead against yours. His breath was warm, whiskey-sweet, ghosting over your lips. “I can’t— I can’t fucking think right now.” His thumbs swept under the hem of your shirt, dragging slow, burning circles against your skin. His breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling too fast, like he was barely keeping himself from snapping.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” he rasped. “And if you keep looking at me like that…” He swallowed hard, his mouth brushing yours as he spoke. “I’m not gonna be able to stop myself.”

Your heart pounded so hard it shook your ribs.You didn't think. You only grabbed his shirt, fisting the fabric tight and yanked him in.

The kiss hit like a spark hot and fast and desperate. His mouth crashed against yours, teeth scraping, tongues tangling. His hands slid higher beneath your shirt, fingers splaying wide against your bare skin.

You gasped into his mouth as his hands roamed upward tracing the curve of your waist, your ribs and Dean groaned, low and wrecked, like you were killing him all over again. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered against your lips, voice gravelly and broken.

“Good,” you whispered back.

His mouth dragged lower, down your jaw, your neck, his stubble scraping your skin, leaving a hot, tingling path in its wake.

“Dean,” you breathed, voice barely a whisper.

“Yeah?” His lips were at your collarbone now, hot and wet and lingering.

“Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” His lips crashed back into yours with a hunger that sent your head spinning. His hands were everywhere, gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, fingers digging in like he couldn’t get enough. He kissed you like he’d been starving for it, like this was something he’d been holding back for far too long and now that he’d started, there was no way in hell he could stop. Dean's thigh slid between yours, and you gasped into his mouth at the pressure.

“Fuck,” Dean muttered, his lips trailing down your neck again, his stubble dragging rough and perfect against your skin. He nipped at your pulse point, just enough to make you gasp again, before soothing the spot with his tongue.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, his voice low and wrecked. His mouth brushed against your collarbone, hot and lingering. “No fucking clue what you do to me.”

“I think I’m starting to figure it out,” you teased, but your voice broke when his teeth grazed your skin.

“Yeah?” His breath fanned over the damp spot on your neck before his mouth found yours again — deeper this time, slower, like he wanted to savor it. His hands trailed down your sides, warm palms sliding under your shirt, fingers flexing against your ribs. His thumbs brushed just beneath your bra, teasing, testing.

“Dean,” you gasped against his mouth, arching into his touch.

He groaned, deep and rough, like he was barely holding himself together and grabbed your thigh, hiking your leg up around his waist. The shift pressed you even harder against him, and you felt him, solid and straining beneath his jeans.

“Jesus,” he muttered against your lips. “You’re fucking killing me.”

His hips rolled, slow, deliberate, grinding into you just enough to leave you breathless. You gasped, your fingers curling tighter in his shirt, and you couldn’t help it as you rocked your hips against him, just a little, just enough to pull a ragged groan from his throat.

“Don’t,” Dean warned, his voice dark and rough. His forehead dropped to yours, his breathing uneven. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

But you wanted to finish it. You’d wanted this for so long — every stolen glance, every almost-touch building and building until it felt like you were going to burst. So you did it again, rolling your hips against his, slower this time, teasing him the way he’d been teasing you all night.

And Dean swore under his breath, fingers digging hard into your thigh. “You’re playing with fire,” he growled, but his voice was strained, almost desperate.

“Maybe I wanna get burned,” you shot back, dragging your teeth along his bottom lip.

That was it, that was what broke him. Dean grabbed your other thigh and lifted you fully off the floor, pinning you against the door like you weighed nothing. Your legs wrapped tight around his waist, and his mouth crashed into yours again, harder--hungrier. His hips rolled into you, slow but relentless, and you swore you saw stars.

“You like that?” he muttered, his lips barely leaving yours.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Yeah, I do.”

His teeth grazed your jaw as he moved to your ear. “Good,” he rasped. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Dean’s mouth crashed back onto yours, his kiss hot and desperate like he couldn’t get close enough, like he needed you more than his next breath. His fingers dug into your thighs as he held you against the door, his body pressing firm and solid between your legs. Every slow, deliberate roll of his hips had you biting back a gasp, heat curling low in your stomach.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered against your lips, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. “You’ve been driving me insane all goddamn night.”

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, your voice breathless. Your fingers curled in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low groan from his throat. “You’re lucky I didn’t lose it the second I saw you in that shirt.”

Dean chuckled, low and rough, nipping at your bottom lip. “Yeah?” His voice dipped, gravelly and dark. “You like this shirt?”

“I like what’s under it,” you corrected, sliding your hands down his chest, tracing the firm lines of muscle beneath the fabric. Dean groaned again, the sound low and wrecked, and suddenly you were being lifted higher. Your back hit the door harder this time, and Dean’s mouth was on your throat, hot, open-mouthed kisses dragging down your skin like he wanted to leave a mark.

“Dean…” you gasped, arching into him. His name left your lips like a plea, like a prayer. Your head tipped back against the door as his mouth dragged lower, his stubble burning deliciously against your skin. His hands slid up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher, his fingers pressing into the bare skin of your hips.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your collarbone. “This little skirt — you know what you were doing when you put this on, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” you teased, your breath hitching when his fingers flexed again.

Dean let out a low laugh, dark and rough, before his mouth claimed yours once more. His kiss was hot and heady, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that left you lightheaded. His fingers dug deeper into your hips, rocking you against him, and heat bloomed low in your stomach, spreading like wildfire. “Shit,” Dean groaned. “You feel so fucking good.” His hips rolled again, harder this time, and you couldn’t hold back the soft moan that slipped from your lips.

“Yeah?” he muttered, his mouth brushing your ear now. “That good, sweetheart?” His voice was low and smug, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you, like he knew you were just as wrecked as he was.

“Shut up,” you shot back, but your voice broke on the words when he did it again, another slow, hard grind that had you clenching your thighs tighter around him.

“Make me,” Dean growled, his teeth catching your earlobe. Your head tipped back against the door, your breath coming fast and shallow. You couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but Dean — his hands, his mouth, the way he felt against you. The party outside had faded into nothing, the distant sound of voices and music nothing more than a dull hum.

Dean’s body was still pressed flush against yours, his hands gripping your thighs like he couldn’t bear to let go. His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing hard, like you’d just run halfway across town.

Then, without warning, Dean’s hands flexed, his grip tightening as he adjusted his hold on you “C’mere,” he muttered, voice rough and strained.

Before you could react, he pushed off the door, lifting you with him like you weighed nothing. Your arms tightened around his neck as he carried you across the room.

The cool marble of the bathroom counter kissed the backs of your thighs as Dean set you down, his body still caging you in. His hands slid from your legs to your waist, fingers flexing like he couldn’t stop touching you. His gaze dragged over you, his eyes flicking down to where your skirt had ridden up your thighs, the hem dangerously high now.

“That fucking skirt,” Dean muttered, almost to himself.

You blinked at him, still trying to catch your breath. “What about it?”

Dean huffed a dark, breathless laugh. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, skimming featherlight along your skin, just enough to make you shiver.

“You know what about it,” he rasped. “I’ve been losing my goddamn mind since the second I saw you in this thing.” His thumb dragged higher, tracing a lazy circle on your inner thigh. “Spent all night trying to pretend I wasn’t staring.” His mouth tilted into a smirk, dark and lazy, as his hand drifted higher.

“Figured if I kept my distance, I wouldn’t end up…” He trailed off, eyes flicking up to yours. “Wouldn’t end up like this.”

Your breath caught. “And now?”

Dean grinned, slow and wicked. “Now?” His fingers slid higher, knuckles grazing the softest part of your thigh. “Now I’m not pretending anymore.”

He dipped his head, and his lips pressed to your skin warm, soft kisses that started just above your knee. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers twitching against his shoulders.

“Dean…” His name left you on a breathless exhale, but he didn’t stop. His lips moved higher, brushing featherlight over your skin. His stubble scraped just enough to make you squirm, your thighs instinctively starting to shift closer together.

Dean’s hand shot out, fingers curling around your thigh to hold you open. “Ah-ah,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “I’ve been thinking about this all night…” His lips ghosted higher, just barely brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “…You’re not getting out of it now.”

You let out an involuntary gasp as his open mouth kisses started to trail lower and lower down your soft thighs. You should’ve known better. The second your gaze dipped down to him, Dean’s eyes snapped to yours like a damn magnet, locking you in place. He didn’t just look at you while he presses kisses closer and closer to your heat-- he held you there, like he knew exactly what was running through your mind and wasn’t about to let you escape it.

And when his knees hit the cold tile beneath him, Dean didn’t break eye contact-- not right away. He held your gaze, his eyes dark and heavy, like he was drinking in every shaky breath, every tremor rolling through you. His fingers flexed against your thighs, strong and sure, as if he was grounding himself or maybe holding himself back.

Then, slowly his eyes dragged downward, tracing the curve of your body until his gaze landed between your legs. His breath hitched, chest rising and falling a little faster, and when his tongue flicked out to wet his lips, your stomach twisted into a knot so tight you thought you might snap.

You were exposed, open and vulnerable but the way Dean looked at you? Like you were something he was about to devour? It set your skin on fire.

“Baby,” he rasped, his voice low and rough. The word left his lips in a breathless exhale, thick with want. His hands slid around your hips, fingers curling into your skin like he couldn’t bear not to touch you. His thumbs found the hem of your skirt, teasing along the edge, slow, torturous drags that left goosebumps in their wake. He traced lazy circles there, fingertips brushing just beneath the fabric.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” His voice dropped even lower, the words barely more than a growl, like he was fighting to keep himself in check and was losing.

The sight of your wet cunt, soaking your red lace panties almost sent him over the edge right then and there. "So wet f'me already." A low, guttural groan rumbled from Dean’s chest as his hands slid up your thighs slowly, his calloused fingers dragging over your skin like he was memorizing every inch.

His touch lingered, teasing, before his fingers finally curled around the delicate lace at your hips. With one firm tug, he dragged your panties down your legs, his knuckles grazing your skin the entire way down.

"Dean, I-" you didn't even get to beg him for it because Dean already planted his mouth onto your pussy. A loan moan ripped through your throat as Dean started to swirl his tounge, hitting every spot that made you squirm above him. Large and warm hands quickly pressed down on your thighs to hold you in place as Dean groans at the taste of you. "S'even better than I imagined."

His piercing green eyes, dark and filled with lust locked back onto yours for a second, watching you writhe as his tounge circling around your clit. You panted and started to whimper Dean's name, feeling that coil within your stomach tighten.

The feeling of Dean's stubble against your heat, along with the wonders he's doing to you quickly sends you over the edge. You thread your fingers through Dean's hair, pulling him closer to you as he rides you through your high. Nothing but your moans and wet slurping noises fill the air as you cum so hard your vision goes blurry. His name slips past your lips like a prayer, repeating over and over again as your body starts to shake.

But Dean isn't nowhere near done with you because as soon as your hearing comes back he growls "Not done" and pushes your thighs back open, wider for him and continues to swirl his tounge around your clit and suck.

"Dean-- oh my god." You barely manage to let the words to fall from your lips as whimpers and moans escape from your throat.

"Taste so fuckin' good sweetheart." Dean breathes between licks before inserting two fingers into your slick folds. The sensation makes your eyes roll into the back of your head as Dean's mouth and fingers work together, ultimately sending you into another world. Dean's name falls from your lips over and over again as he works you through it, ignoring your pleas.

"Dean--S'too much." You squirm above him, "Fuck"

Dean doesn't answer, only continuing to work you through your earth shattering orgasm. Blood rushes to your ears, a rare sensation you've never felt before. And before you know it--your body trembles, shaking violently as you did something you've never done before. You were squirting. And Dean lets out something between a groan and a moan at you coming undone for him. The pleasure surging through your body was something you'd never felt before, completely different from other orgasms.

"God you're so hot." Dean finally spoke as he broke away from your cunt and almost came at the sight of you so wrecked. "C'mere." He barely gave you enough time before gripping your waist and tugging you off the counter. Your legs wobbled underneath you as you tried to gain control of your breathing again.

"You're gonna watch me fuck you." Dean growled before pushing your lower back so you bent a little. A sharp gasp escaped your throat as Dean kicked one of your feet, spreading your legs. "The skirt stays on." Dean said before fumbling with his belt.

Your mind reeled, you felt absolutely weightless as the buzz from the alcohol, earth shattering orgasms, and just the thought of Dean's cock inside of you danced around your mind. The quiet clink of Dean’s belt unfastening filled the air behind you, the sound sharp and deliberate. Your breath hitched, and instinctively, your eyes flicked up to the mirror in front of you.

You couldn't believe this was finally happening.

The feeling of Dean's tip against your folds quickly pulled you out of your throughts as your eyes met his darkened green. His gaze was almost predatory as he began teasing you, loving the way you bit your lip to keep from crying out.

"Tell me you want this baby, let me hear your pretty little voice."

"Want this..." you barely managed to get out, "quit teasing me, De."

And that was all it took for Dean to slip his cock inside of your insanely wet cunt. You didn't even get a chance to catch your breath before he started moving, snapping his hips. You moaned as your nails dug into the counter and his name slipped from your lips.

“So fucking perfect, so fucking mine,” Dean groans, his hips rocking into you without ceasing. His breathing becomes just as ragged as yours as he slams in and out of you. Moans and the sound of skin slapping fills the thick air around you as your head goes limp, not being able to keep it up from the insane pleasures wracking through your body.

Dean's hand quickly grabs onto your hair and tugs, causing your head to snap back and your eyes to go wide. "Want you looking at what I'm doing to you baby." Dean grunts in between his hips snapping, "watch me fuck you till you see stars."

You moan loudly as your eyes lock onto Dean's in the mirror. The way his mouth is slightly agape and the way his eyebrows are creased as he fucks you from behind. All of it mixed with the pleasure builds rapidly, the coil in your tummy tightening as you clench around him.

"Dean I can't take it anymore--" you whine, "I'm gonna--"

"This pussy was made f'me." Dean growls, "Cum for me sweetheart."

Your vision quickly blurs and your eyes roll back into your skull as you moan, not caring that someone might hear from the other side of the door. The only thing that matters right now is Deann pounding into you, riding you through your third orgasm.

Just the sight of you coming unglued for the third time sends Dean over the edge. His hips snapping and rolling sloppily as he paints your walls white. He groans as he cums and lets his sweaty forehead fall onto your shoulder.

Your breathing gradually steadied, each inhale a little less shaky than the last. With effort, you dragged your gaze back to the mirror in front of you. Your body still trembled, the aftermath of everything that had just unfolded leaving your limbs weak and your skin flushed. A warm blush crept up your cheeks as Dean slowly lifted his head, his eyes finding yours in the reflection.

His gaze changed. Before, his eyes were dark and intense, burning with pure, unfiltered want. But now? Now there was something else in them, something softer, deeper. His eyes were heavy-lidded, almost dazed, like he couldn’t pull himself out of whatever spell you’d put him under.

And yeah, you knew he wasn’t drunk, but the way he was looking at you? Like you were the only thing in the room that mattered? It was enough to make your breath catch. It wasn’t just lust anymore, it was something more, something raw and real and terrifying.

It was the way someone looks at you when they’re completely fucking gone for you-- when they’re in love and can’t hide it even if they wanted to.

“I love you.” Dean’s voice was low, rough like the words had been clawing at his throat, desperate to get out. Your breath hitched, heart stuttering in your chest. For a second, you thought maybe you’d imagined it, maybe the haze of everything that had just happened was messing with your head. But then he moved.

Dean slowly slid out of you, his hands still firm on your waist. You barely had time to catch your breath before he gripped your hips and turned you around to face him.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N.” His eyes locked on yours with no hesitation, no doubt, just raw, honest truth. His face was still flushed, hair a mess, lips pink and kiss-swollen, but none of that mattered.

Because his gaze… fuck, his gaze had you pinned in place.

Like he’d just laid his heart out in front of you and was waiting to see if you’d crush it.

“I mean it,” he added, voice quieter now, like the words were something fragile. “I’ve been in love with you for… God, I don’t even know how long.”

Your heart pounded so hard it hurt. “Dean…” you started, but your voice came out shaky, breathless.

“I know,” he cut in softly, like he was sure you were about to turn him down. “I know this is probably—”

“Shut up.” You didn’t let him finish, you just grabbed his face and kissed him, hard. His sharp inhale turned into a low groan against your mouth, his hands sliding back to your waist like he couldn’t stand to let you go.

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips. “I’ve always loved you.”

Dean let out this soft, broken laugh, one that shook a little, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Yeah?” he asked, voice rough.

“Yeah,” you breathed, smiling against his mouth.

And then he kissed you again, deeper this time, like he was pouring every ounce of love and want and relief into it. His fingers dug into your waist, holding you close like he was terrified you might slip away.

“You’re mine now,” Dean murmured against your lips, voice low and sure. “And I’m never letting you go.”

author’s note:

yeahhh, that was pure filth…hope you guys enjoyed! wrote this in public bc I’m a freak like that, LMFAOOO. lmk if you want more smut! :)

— requests are open.ᐟᅟ please read request rules.ᐟᅟ

also, special thank you to @bejeweledinterludes for helping me develop this fic! luh you pookie 🫶🏼

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @star-yawnznn @exansation @darkrose064 @megara0224 @imsiriuslyreal

If you would like to be tagged please fill out THIS form and I will add you to the list! ❤︎

my works

© maddie0101 do not copy, or repost my works without my permission

[wildgirllz]

Your camera roll if you hunted with Sam and Dean.

[angelsberrymilk]

soldier boy (ben) x sam winchester

multiverse travel au

Post 1

Post 2

a/n: because wincesties understood my vision for this pair. u don't have to know shit abt the boys or soldier boy. soldier boy is a superhero. he's like a twisted dark version of captain America and they're in HIS universe where Sammy ends up. no demons or monsters. only superheroes and normal ppl.

warning: +18. mdni. dark content ahead.

because everything is so different and supes are everywhere, Sammy feels lost and confused, magic and spells don't seem to work, all he wants is some answers and he can't even summon a mere crossroads demon, he feels helpless and he doesn't like it, at all.

Sammy really tries not to mope around like Dean– Ben. Ben keeps laughing at him, and tells him to relax a little bit because he's with the Soldier Boy, and nothing can happen to him when he's with him. Ben is not too awful to live with, driving from one motel to another, usually on a stolen car, and after breaking someone's arm or other body part for whatever reason, or maybe because Ben fucked someone's wife and they have to move out of their motel room.

Ben is messy, throws his shit around and doesn't clean much after himself, so Sam is left to pick up after him, and he's annoyed, because “Aren't military men supposed to be clean and tidy?”

Ben’s hand freezes mid-air, about to chug half a bottle of beer and stares at Sam. Sammy freezes too, like a deer in the headlights, realising this man can break every bone in his body without breaking a sweat. But all Ben does is smile, “I'm not in the army now, am I?”

Sammy nods, noticing the smile not reaching his eyes and just gathers the clothes in his arms, putting them in the hamper near the wall, letting out a shuddering breath as Ben watches him clean around their motel room as if he's his housewife.

Ben, who gets a bit too comfortable around Sammy, walks around butt naked, and hollers at him to order them some food, and laughs when Sam turns red and shouts at him to put on some trousers. Ben who likes to eat a worrying amount of pizza while watching the TV, a hand on Sam's thigh, squeezing hard whenever Sam moves a little, just so he doesn't leave. and when Sam finally complains that he has to go use the toilet, Ben turns his head and looks at him without blinking. For a second Sam is terrified he'll tell him to hold it, but all Ben does is slide his eyes down at Sam's jean clad lap and stares openly at his groin. He doesn't say anything for a long time then takes off his hand from Sammy's thigh, “Go, and bring back a six pack with you, Sammy boy”

Sam slides out of the sofa, sweat collecting at the nape of his neck, his brain screaming at him to run away, to run and never look back because this man was not his brother. He may look like him, behave like him to a certain extent, but Sammy can't leave him, he needs Dean. in whatever version he can have him.

Sam also realises that this man sleeps like shit, he sleeps for short intervals at a time, waking up shouting from nightmares, his body surging up with energy and concentrated compound V running in his veins. Sam eventually pries some answers from him, after some quietly asked questions and giving him pitiful puppy eyes and Ben cracked. He was uncomfortable when he told him, tried to hide it, tried to make it seem like it doesn't haunt him still, but Sammy knows he's lying. Ben tells him they did experiments on him during WWII, injected him with all sorts of chemicals, fed him dreams of glory and American Patriotism, made it seem like he was saving the nation. Nobody is born like this, everyone was made into a Supe, and whatever they tell people nowadays on the Internet and Television, it's all bullshit.

Sam feels a little bad but tries to remind himself that this Dean probably committed countless of war crimes and God knows what else, if those theories on Reddit are anything to go by. and he understands why these theories would be popular on certain places of the Internet. Soldier boy was built to be a weapon, and he was but a man, driven by desires and emotions. He's broken, wrong, sinful and dangerous, but Sammy can't bring himself to be disgusted, not when he himself is too tired, so tired of not having what he wants, and all he wants is the one thing he can have, this Dean, this man who wears his brother's face.

He knows it probably makes him a shitty person to stay with this 105 year old racist prick, but this man looks like he's only in his 30s, walks like Dean, sounds like Dean, looks like Dean, even smells like him.

Sammy found that one day after he found himself burying his nose in the man's dirty t-shirts that were thrown over the sofa. He's embarrassed at his weakness and tries to forget how the smell of sweat, musk and something so Dean made him feel weak in the knees and an army of butterflies errupted in his stomach.

Sammy has also been close enough to smell him and feel the warmth of his body against his. It happened in the middle of the night, when Soldier Boy was once again woken up by a nightmare. So Sam blinked his eyes open and turned his head to look at him on the other bed, but a big warm calloused hand pressed the side of his head down on the pillow hard so he won't move. he can't move. not with the type of strength Ben possesses. Sam held his breath, praying Ben won't snap his neck in half, mistaking him for an enemy soldier, mind broken, fractured and riddled with PTSD.

But all Ben did was lean down, his hot breath washing over Sam's face, his body frozen in fear. He didn't say anything for a long time, and Sam knew he was looking at him, then he whispered in his deep and heavy voice, “Sleep, Sammy.” Sam’s heart jumped in his chest, and he bit his lower lip so he wouldn't whimper and felt his mattress dip. Ben slid under the covers, easily pushing Sam’s body further in the bed, making space for himself, practically plastering himself to the back of Sam’s body, throwing a heavy arm over Sam's waist, getting comfortable right behind him, their bodies touching from top to bottom.

Sam gulped and parted his lips, breathing out a weak, “Ben-”

Ben didn't like that. So he clasped a hand over Sam's mouth, pressing hard, covering both his mouth and nose at the same time, Sam fought against his instincts telling him to kick that man as hard as he could but he can't, he may as well just ask Ben to kill him right then and there.

Ben lifted his head and breathed down Sam's ear, his nose touching his flesh, “Shut the fuck up, Sammy,”

Sam nodded before he could help it and Ben let go, finally granting him permission to breathe. While Sam gulped in oxygen and Ben got comfortable on the bed, squeezing Sam to his body like a giant pillow, “You're warm,” Ben whispered, sounding tired.

Sam’s heart broke a little, but that didn't last long when Ben added, “Shame you don't have a warm cunt to match,”

And right as he said it, he rolled his hips and Sam felt like throwing up at what obviously was Soldier Boy’s half hard cock right against the crack of his ass, then he settled, Sam listened for Ben's breathing and his heart finally stopped hammering in his chest when Ben's breathing evened out and he was surely asleep.

Sammy was terrified, but also safe at the same time, but also simultaneously in danger of losing one of his limbs if Ben has another nightmare or kills him in his sleep. Sam has never felt this close physically before to Dean, never so warm and cozy, but also so horrified and sick to his stomach because this isn't how brothers are meant to behave. But Ben isn't his brother. That's one of the first things he ever told him. That he wasn't his brother.

Sam closes his eyes tight and prays for his safety and for a way to go back home. And shivers when he realises he wants to take this man with him back home. Obviously nobody gives a shit about him in his world, and he'd do much good back in theirs. Soldier Boy was strong, a supe, and with the right training he can easily be one of the best hunters there was. And Sam is sure Dean wouldn't mind, not when this man kept Sam this safe for so long, looked after him, and plus this man may not be Dean, but he's still family in a way, and Sam's not very keen on leaving him behind. (That's Sam convincing himself that he'll be the one deciding to take this mfer with him when he knows that Ben will demand to go back with him, Ben won't let Sam leave him alone.)

.

tagging the ppl kind enough to tell me they enjoyed my insane ship :) this is for you <3

@klingyklaus @toasty-broski @28confusedthoughts @winchesterdefender @blackkmariah @106skin @redpopcat @arwenadreamer @nguyetdahuong @asongfortheunloved @rancidlovers @bcatwinchest @supfan67 @unabashedhonesty @hellfire-fist @nanacupid @arthrodira @loserluizard @jocelynfan @waywardsamdean @sastielbeltscene @sam-sinchester @masoena @winchestermylove @sammybeann @azrielrose @saltmonellas @boypussysam @monkibizznes @daddysboydean @notanotherthembo @i-already-know-im-going-2-hell @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis

[pinkiebieberpie]

Hi! Ok so I'm pretty sure it's Canon that Sam Winchester is a morning person? Idk I'm only on season 1 and he's always the one waking Dean up so he seems like a morning person

I was wondering if I could request headcanons for Sam x female reader who is not a morning person

Because that's literally me I wake up with my curly hair looking poofy and super tangled, bags under my eyes, grumpy and like super confused and out of it 😭

oh sammy is 100% a morning person!! i love this idea ♡ thank you for the request!!

— dating sam is like dating an angel but THERE IS A BUT!! he wakes up at 6am like a crazy person and it doesn't matter if he has a day off or not,

— usually he is after his 2nd coffee and a morning run when you are waking up,

— he jokes that he could read three books in the morning waiting for you to wake up,

— "morning sunshine!" when you are confused and you have no idea what year it is,

— "i can FINALLY make some bigger breakfast",

— he eats something small alone when he wakes up and then he waits for you, you won't be eating cold meal and he won't be starving for hours while waiting for you,

— "you could just go to bed a bit more early...",

— "sammy, we are going to bed TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME!!",

— he tried sleeping longer, but he just can't, it's against his nature,

— and he loves watching you sleep sometimes, so peaceful and sweet,

— it'd giving grumpy x sunshine in the mornings and he is the sunshine,

— it's all just funny and silly, he's not mad and he finds you adorable the way you are ♡♡♡;

masterlists

[sams-princess-hair]

Okay, hear me out on this. Please. What if Sam and Dean were actually completely crazy and monsters don't exist. Hear me out! Mary died in a house fire, and John was never the same, he moved the boys around a bit, trying to visit family and friends so he has support while he grieved, He tried taking the boys to church so they could grow up with good friends and values. That's where it started for Dean, angels, and demons. He convinced himself that a demon killed their mother, he began to leave salt circles around his and Sam's bed, stealing knives and keeping them under his pillow. Sam grew up with his brother's words in his ears, seeing what he saw, and they fed each other delusion. They are beautiful and mad, frantically trying to save people who aren't in danger, killing people who pose a threat. They found the old bunker, which was actually a very expensive nuclear war shelter built by a wealthy man after WW2. They dug themselves in and filled their minds with old scriptures of thousands of religions. Every new book fills their world with more monsters, all looking for them.

[zepskies]

IF I STAY - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Deep breaths Are you ready for a rollercoaster of emotions? 😘❤️

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” and “It’s Now or Never” by Elvis

Word Count: 13.1K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, pregnancy feels, hurt/comfort, fluff, time jumps and flashbacks, sexual tension, mutual pining, spice~, and an ending…

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 2: It’s Now or Never

At the doctor’s office, Dean goes in with you for the first trimester ultrasound. There you learn that you’re going to have a boy. Tears well up in your eyes and slip down your cheeks.

Dean wears a look of amazement as he sits on the edge of your bed. He takes up your hand and squeezes gently. He tries to be a strong support, even though he also tries to hide the fear that begins to churn in his gut.

For one of the first times in his life since Sam was born, he feels the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. In a good way. In a fucking scary way.

He looks at you and sees the wonder written across your face while you watch the tiny shape of your baby on the screen. His heartbeat thwaps fast and loud in the speakers.

Dean realizes something else then; the decision you're making is changing the course of your whole damn life…and it’s his fault.

With his weekly hookup rate, in the very back shelves of his mind he knew something like this could happen, even though he thought he'd been careful. (Apparently, condoms are fragile little shits.) But here, in this white wall-to-wall room that smells like hospital antiseptic, that thwap thwap thwap of a heartbeat reverberating in his ears, the reality of this is crashing hard on his shoulders and rattling down to the base of his spine.

Despite his earlier happiness, those thoughts stay with him when you two eventually get back into his car. You have the pictures of the sonogram in your hands. You smile down at them before you put them back in your purse for safekeeping.

However, you notice Dean’s sudden melancholy as he stares out at the road. He’s started the car, but he hasn’t moved to pull out of the parking lot yet.

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you, incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours and achingly familiar. But ultimately, it’s chaste. He pulls away and settles back in his seat.

When you blink your eyes back open, your expression is slack in shock.

“I’m sorry,” he says, seeming sheepish, and guilty. “I meant to say thank you. Just didn’t know any other way to say it.”

After a moment, you smile at him. It’s warm and almost shy.

Dean clears his throat, trying to ignore the way his face is heating up. He doesn’t say anything more. He just takes the wheel and shifts gears, pulling the car out of the parking lot. 

You don’t know what possesses you to bake cookies. Dozens and dozens of them, all the chocolate chip cookie recipes you can find. You’re in search of the perfect one. This will be the recipe your son will grow up on, and every time he eats them, he’ll remember how much you loved him.

And then, he’ll be ruined for any other chocolate chip cookies that try to grab his taste buds. He’ll say, Blech. Chips Ahoy? These aren’t as good as Mom makes!

…Or something like that.

Yes, these cookies have to be perfect. You’ll even write the ingredients down on a notecard and hide it away, and it’ll become your family secret recipe.

Once you feel like your cookie game is strong enough, you decide to test these babies out. You bring two dozen painstakingly baked confections to Firehouse 83, where Dean works. The man is a bottomless pit, to be sure, but you also want other people’s unbiased opinions. For science.

You park your car on the side of the road, making sure you’re not blocking the driveway where two huge fire trucks are parked. You head inside the firehouse with your big container under your arm and your purse on the other. Now at seven months into your pregnancy, you’ve gotten to the embarrassing “waddle” stage.

You’re still determined to be active though! You plan to keep working until you have the baby. Your parents live a few hours away, but you’re grateful that they want to help out as much as possible.

Even though they weren’t happy to hear about how you got pregnant, by now they've met Dean and begrudgingly admitted to liking him. He's really stepped up to the responsibility of a future father, insisting on baby-proofing your apartment, helping you shop for the essentials, and going with you to as many doctor’s appointments as he can. He’s even agreed to giving you child support payments, even though you hadn’t wanted to ask for it.

You look for him now as you enter the firehouse, trying to push the heavy glass door open with one hand.

“Here, I got you,” says a familiar baritone voice.

You’re pleasantly surprised at the man who helps you inside.

“Benny! It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, been…a while,” he chuckles, glancing down at the swell of your belly, but he squeezes your shoulder and leans in to hug you gently.

“Dean filled you in?” you ask. You hope so. Having to explain the story to one of his own friends would be embarrassing, especially since this is the man you walked in Sam’s wedding with. It reminds you of that day, and the way you told Dean that news in a glorified closet, with shaking hands and the wrong kind of butterflies.

Thankfully, Benny nods. “That he did…but come on, I’ll show you around. And I see you’ve brought somethin’ special for us?”

He gestures at the container you're holding and offers to take it off your hands. You give it to him, grateful for the help.

“Yeah, and I want you guys to give me your honest opinion.”

Benny tosses you a wink and a smile. “That I can do.”

Your cheeks begin to warm in a blush, but the way he helps you to a comfy couch in the common room earns your smile. There are still good men left in this world, and you’re glad to know that Dean works so well with one.

“You want some coffee, or water? Think we might have some lemonade,” Benny says.

“Water would be great, thank you,” you reply, as you rub your belly. The little man has decided to kick at your liver today. “I stopped drinking coffee for the baby. ”

It's your biggest challenge, to be honest. Try wrangling a group of fifteen to twenty six-year-olds while running on green tea, the fumes of sleep deprivation, reduced bladder control, and as much vim as you can muster.

“Ah, right,” Benny nods. “My sister has two kids. She cut out coffee, pain meds, some dairy stuff. But she claimed cheesecake was all right, ‘cause it’s got cake in the name.”

You giggle. “I see no flaw in her logic.”

Down the hall of the firehouse, Dean is just coming back in from going through a set of drills. He’s still the Candidate—the freshest blood in the house—so they’ve been putting him through his paces for the past several months. He’s eager to learn and to prove himself.

His ears perk up in confusion though. Did he just hear your voice?

Why does it smell like a bakery in here?

When he rounds the corner, he sees you in the common room, smiling and giggling like a teenager at something Benny said to you while he eats a soft baked cookie right out of a Tupperware container. You must’ve brought it for the firehouse.

This cozy little scene kind of annoys Dean somehow, though he doesn’t know why. He does know that it shouldn’t.

“Hey, look who’s here,” Dean says, forcing himself to smile. It becomes easier when you look his way, your eyes brightening at his arrival.

“There you are! Come ‘ere and try these,” you say, pointing at the box Benny holds. “Tell me if our son’s going to have the best PTA mom ever.”

Dean can’t help but grin after trying a big bite of one of your cookies.

“Oh, mah Gah,” he says, holding a hand under his mouth so nothing comes crumbling out.

“Good?” you ask.

“Good friggin’ cookie,” he confirms, after he swallows. “You’re gonna have the other parents frothing at the mouth. Who’s gonna be able to compete with this?”

Benny nods in agreement. When Dean squeezes your shoulder, your sweet, happy smile makes him smile too.

She’s going to be a good mom, he thinks. He can only hope against hope that he can be the man his son needs.

Two months later, the time has finally come. Your water breaks when you’re in the middle of teaching your second graders how to spell exaggerate—and no, Joey, it’s not e-g-g-zagerate.

However, the embarrassment of him pointing out the fluid beginning to stain your slacks is swiftly cut off by your shock. Your first call is to the principal, to have her send someone to cover your class. Your next call is to Dean, telling him to meet you at the hospital.

“Why the hell did he have to bring her,” you mutter to yourself, wiping sweat from your brow. Here you are, gritting your teeth through contraction after contraction in this damn hospital bed, and Dean is outside the room talking to Lisa.

You know you have no real reason to be upset. She’s been trying her best to be your friend in recent months. Hell, she helped Eileen and your mom plan your baby shower. She even brought you flowers when she got to the hospital, but you notice how less than five minutes after she got here, she and Dean became embroiled in yet another argument. It seems to you that all they do is argue, break up for a week or two, and then get back together again.

The sex must be explosive, like the fireworks at goddamn Disney World.

But Dean eventually does come back into the room alone. His support grounds you over the next few hours. He lets you basically break his hand, all while he gives you encouragement (and stands by your shoulder, so he doesn’t see anything you’d rather him not see).

And then, your son is born. Every muscle, every cell in your body is exhausted, but the pain meds have kicked in, and you’re in that blissed out state between abject reality and being entirely entranced by the bundle in your arms. His perfect face is just there, sleeping for the moment after the nurses taught you how to breastfeed.

Dean returns to sit in the chair beside you. He gives you some water and a piece of a protein bar. You’re not that hungry, but he pointed out that you haven’t eaten since before your water broke.

“Sam and Eileen are on their way up,” he says.

You nod in reply. You’re too into your son right now to think of anything else.

Dean shakes his head in wonder as he reaches out with a tentative hand, brushing his fingers over the baby’s downy head. He was born with a little tuft of brown hair.

“Okay, down to business,” Dean says, shooting you a playful look. “I vote for Zeppelin.”

You groan. “Dean, no. Veto. I’m not naming my son after a rock band.”

“Aw, come on. It’s a badass name!”

“What about Aiden?” you suggest.

“Veto,” he snorts. You two agreed to getting five “vetos” each, but this discussion has been more like a battle of wills over the last several months.

“Okay, what about Daniel? That’s strong, classic,” you pose.

Dean considers it with a tilt of his head. “All right, that one’s a maybe.”

Again, he strokes the baby’s soft cheek. You look over at Dean with a small smile.

“You’re going to be a good dad, you know,” you tell him. It earns his gaze. Although he’s trying to stay strong, you read the hidden insecurity there, the worry and fear. You rest a hand on his arm. “You are, Dean. You’re a good man, and you’ve really stepped up these past few months. This obviously isn’t how either of us thought our lives would go, but if this had to happen with someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

Dean’s expression softens. He hesitates, but he lays a hand over yours and squeezes gently.

“Thanks,” he says.

Your eyes meet, and it’s a moment charged with something you can’t even name. It’s not the first time you’ve felt this feeling with him. It both fills your heart with warmth, and makes you ache.

Then the door opens. It’s Lisa, Sam, and Eileen. Dean’s hand slips away from yours as they all pour in to congratulate you and Dean, and of course, meet the baby. There’s a lot of soft cooing and playful shushing.

In that small chaos, your parents call to tell you that they’re finally almost here. It really sucked not having your mom with you, but your parents live far enough away that they were going to take a train and stay with you for at least a week. Their train unfortunately got delayed due to mechanical failure.

It's okay though. Getting through the past several hours has made you realize that you’re stronger and more capable than you think, and even though part of you is still scared to death, you don’t need a husband to be a good mom. You’re going to give this your all, no matter who’s beside you…

And that's no more apparent than when Dean soon has to step out again, leading Lisa out of the room. He saw how her “helpful” suggestion to have a get-together at their apartment to celebrate the baby’s birth was setting you on edge. Really, you just want to sleep for the next 24-hours and not have any more pictures of you taken.

It gets loud enough outside your hospital room that Sam and Eileen feel they have to intervene. Lisa is Eileen’s best friend, and she’s the best equipped to try and deescalate the argument from that end, while Sam deals with Dean. It’s messy, it’s irritating, and it means that even today, you can’t just have a little bit of peace.

You sigh and cradle your still nameless baby close to your chest. He’s all that matters. Already, your heart is so damn full just taking him in.

“What’s your name, my little love?” you whisper. “What am I going to write on your certificate, besides Winchester?”

“How about Benjamin,” comes a Louisiana drawl.

You perk up and smile in surprise. “Benny, hey.”

He greets you with a slightly hesitant kiss on the cheek. He’s brought the baby an adorable teddy bear, and you a beautiful bouquet of white and blue roses, along with a box of chocolates.

“It’s the assorted kind, but they’ve got plenty of the caramel ones you like,” he says, then gazes down at the baby. “Aw, he’s a little charmer. Already got more of you than Dean, that’s for sure.”

You laugh lightly at his teasing. “I don’t know about that.” You hope your son inherits Dean’s strong jaw, and his green eyes.

Benny scratches the back of his head. “Also…sorry if I’m crossing some kind of boundary here. Looks like it’s a bit of a circus outside.”

You shake your head and smile through burgeoning tears. You set the chocolates on the end table where he’s placed the flowers and the teddy bear.

“No, it’s very sweet. Thank you,” you say. You glance out the window of your room to the hallway, where the arguing between Dean, Lisa, Sam, and Eileen seems to finally be calming down. You’re so damn tired, you don’t give a crap about whatever they’re hashing out now.

You look down at your son, and despite your strong thoughts earlier, insecurity begins to creep back into your mind like inky claws.  

“How are you holding up?” Benny asks. His face is kind and concerned when he notes the change in you.

You meet him with a wobbly smile. “Honestly? I’m afraid. I know I have a lot of people who want to support me, and I’m grateful, but…I just have this terrible feeling that we’re going to end up alone, him and me.”

You look down at your son, and you have to wipe away a tear from your eye before it falls on his face.

A large, warm hand rests over yours. Your gaze raises slowly, and Benny smiles at you. He’s serious though.

“Don’t you worry about that,” he says. “You’re not gonna be alone.”

FIVE YEARS LATER... 

For all that changes, there are some things that stay the same.

Dean and Lisa are still the world’s most “off again, on again” couple you’ve ever met. Sam and Eileen are still going strong as the hardworking, driven career couple. Your son is growing more and more every day and just started kindergarten this year.

(You ultimately caved on Dean’s idea to name him Robert, as in Robert Plant, lead singer of Led Zeppelin.)

Oh, yeah, and the “you and Benny” thing? That’s been going well for two years now.

What can you say? The man is persistent, but respectfully so. He’s considerate, reliable, and always calls you when work at the firehouse has him running late.

You haven’t yet invited him to move in with you. That part you’re still hesitant on, mostly because of your son, but Benny helps you drop off Robbie at school and makes breakfast for you all whenever he stays over your apartment. Benny takes an interest in your son’s life and keeps up with all his energy, taking him to the park to run himself ragged before dinner, and helping you tuck him in at night.

Benny is a bit closed off though, the strong stoic type. He’s hard for you to get a read on, and sometimes you wonder if he’s just indulging you when you ramble on about your day or make silly jokes. Even now, sometimes you withhold the first thought that comes to your mind, hoping he doesn’t think you immature or…too much.

But Benny shows his caring in all those little things he does for you. They add up into the big things, and he makes you feel supported. He makes you feel safe.

He even helps you plan your son’s fifth birthday. Robbie wanted to go all out on a dinosaur theme; he’s been hooked on Jurassic Park ever since Benny “accidentally” let him watch it with him on one of your rare nights out with your friends.

So you set up a little party at the park by your apartment. You managed to reserve the biggest gazebo, where there are three picnic tables covered with dinosaur plates, and tablecloths, streamers in different shades of green. You even bought a big dinosaur cake—also in a radioactive green color that you hadn’t been sure about, but your son talked you into. Robbie thinks it’s awesome.

He’s running around on the playground with a few of his friends from school. Their parents (along with Sam, Eileen, and Lisa) are talking amongst themselves at one of the picnic tables while you try to figure out how to get the Bluetooth speaker to connect with your phone.

“Haha! Got it. If you're so smart, Alexa, why don't you connect on the first try?” You fist-pump the air triumphantly, just as Benny comes to your side. He wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek, making you smile.

“How’s it going out there?” you ask, nodding at the kids. Plus Dean, who’s gamely been the one to keep them entertained with different games. Right now, it’s a thrilling game of Cowboys and Outlaws, where Robbie and his friends are the cowboys, and Dean is the outlaw. He’s been hiding under the slide, behind trees and other playground fixtures, while the kids have little squirt guns to pelt him with water every time they find him.

It's pretty damn cute, and you’ve been taking pictures. You smile at the sight of Dean leaping out at Robbie and the kids, catching them off guard.

“You’ll never take me alive, Sheriff!” Dean declares.

“Oh, it’s goin’,” Benny remarks with an amused shake of his head. “Still hard to believe that guy’s about to make it to Lieutenant.”

“Hahaaa, gotcha!!” Dean cackles. He’s grabbed up Robbie and yanked him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Robbie screeches with laughter while his dad runs around the playground, being chased by a bunch of five-year-olds with squirt guns.

Your smile threatens to make your cheeks hurt. You know your life is…unconventional, to say the least, but Dean is a good father to your son. He’s also been working hard at his job. He just took the Lieutenant’s test, and even though Benny already occupies that position at Firehouse 83, a spot at another firehouse might open up for Dean to transfer.

“Part of me doesn’t want to,” Dean admitted to you last week, while he was working on fixing your stubborn, leaky sink. “All the guys there, they’re like family, you know?” “I understand,” you nodded. “You have to do what feels best for you, whether that’s staying where you feel comfortable, or moving up in your career somewhere else. If it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it.” He took in your advice with a slow nod. “Yeah, thanks. Guess I have to time to think about it. Lisa had other ideas.” “Of course,” you said with a smile, but it soon dropped. “Why, what did she say?” “Do what I can to move up,” he sighed. “She’s got a point. That title comes with a pay bump, one I could really use right now.” “I get that. Totally valid,” you said. “But I just think it’s important for you to be happy with it too. Especially with what you do, helping people, saving people…I’d imagine being in the right mindset for all that is important, right? Who you work with can be just as important as the money stuff.” Dean considered you with a smile. “Yeah, exactly.”

As you think about it now, you have to admit that he’s grown up a lot.

Dean has to lean against a tree to catch his breath. Am I already getting too old for this crap?

Feels kind of young to have a stitch in his side after a few rounds with these kids, but even he has his limits. Lisa comes to bring him a bottle of ice-cold water, which he appreciates. He’s tempted to dump it over his head like he does after successfully neutralizing a fire. It gets literally hot as hell under that helmet and mask and all his gear underneath.

“Need an iron lung?” Lisa teases.

“Toss in a new pair of knees, thanks,” he wheezes. He downs half the water bottle in one go, but he smiles at seeing his son keep running around with his friends. He’s just got that manic kid energy that goes on for days. But Robbie’s also smart; like Dean, he likes taking things apart and putting them back together in new and ingenious ways.

Dean hopes his son likes the new model car set that’s waiting for him on the picnic table full of presents. In fact, he’s still surprised that you didn’t go with the race car theme he suggested for the party, but apparently, Robbie’s more into dinosaurs now. Dean wishes he knew that before he bought the model car set.

He looks over and catches sight of you and Benny wrapped up in each other. He has his arm around your waist while you fiddle with something, but the way you lean over and whisper near his ear elicits a smile on Benny’s face.

Dean’s good mood diminishes.

“Well, don’t they seem cozy,” he mutters.

Lisa arches a manicured brow. “Yeah, pretty sure he’s getting ready to propose.”

That earns Dean’s attention, his head swiveling back to her in surprise.

“Really?” he asks. “Who told you that?”

“His sister,” she replies. “Meg’s in my intermediate class, remember?”

Dean nods, sipping at his water, even though he’s a bit absent in the eyes. Lisa watches him shrewdly.

“Why do you seem upset about it?” she asks. “Benny’s your friend.”

“I know,” Dean says. He doesn’t need that reminder, or the guilty twinge. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong.

“And she seems happy,” Lisa points out. “Don’t you want the mother of your kid to be with a good man who treats her right?”

He nods, trying to hide his growing annoyance. “‘Course I do. I just…I don’t know. I still don’t see them together, I guess.”

“Well, they’ve been together for like, two years.”

Again, Dean nods his acknowledgement. It’s hard for him to believe that so much time has passed already. He honestly didn’t think you and Benny would be together this long. He’d always felt a little uncomfortable with one of his best friends dating you, but you’d seemed happy about it, so he didn’t discourage it. But he’d never been very supportive, either. At least, not about your relationship.

Lisa sighs and grabs his arm, pulling him aside before he can rejoin the party.

“Listen, we need to talk about something,” she says.

Dean restrains a tired groan. “Can this wait ‘til later?”

“I think we should do this now,” she says. A hallmark Lisa-ism. She’s opinionated and strong-willed, something Dean’s always respected about her. Sometimes though, the timing is damn irritating. He doesn’t want to get into another argument with his girlfriend in public, especially not at his son’s birthday party.

“Speaking of commitment,” she says with a sigh. “I think it’s fair to say that we’ve been on a five-year rollercoaster, you and I. You know why that is?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me,” Dean says, crossing his arms.

“It’s because you’re spread too thin,” she says. “Between the firehouse, construction jobs on the side…not to mention other things.”

“What? What’re you talking about?”

Lisa’s lips purse, before she pointedly gestures over at you with her eyes. “Well, for example. You’re still going to her place after your next shift to fix her fridge, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, should be pretty simple. I’ve just gotta swing by the hardware store and grab this specialty tool I ordered—”

“Dean,” Lisa deadpans. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about.”

She heaves a deep breath, running her fingers through her long brown hair.

“I get that navigating this situation hasn’t been easy for you,” she says. “It hasn’t exactly been easy for me either, but look.”

Lisa takes his hands in hers, uncrossing his arms. “I want to get married someday. I want kids too. And I want that kind of life with you…I’m just not sure you want it with me.”

Dean expels a heavy sigh. “Lis—”

“Don’t answer me right now,” she says, but she levels him with a serious look. “You need to decide though, Dean. Five years is long enough. You should know by now if you want to be with me.”

After letting go of his hands, she softens the edges of her words with a gentle kiss on his cheek. Then she turns to join the group now gathered around the picnic table where the food is, all the kids cheering for pizza and cake.

After the party, Sam, Eileen, Lisa, and Benny pack up their cars and yours with the leftover food, party supplies, and presents. Dean helps you clean up the trash, all while keeping an eye on Robbie getting out the last of his sugar-high on the playground swing.

You shake your head tiredly, if with a fond smile. “That kid’s gonna be up all night hype on that radioactive cake.”

Dean chuckles. “You want me to take him tonight?”

“It’s okay. I think he’s going to want to play with his toys,” you reply.

“Well, he could just as easily do that at my place,” he reasons.

You consider it, but you shake your head. “Yeah, but we got him the bike. He’s probably gonna want to try it out for a few minutes before we get him cleaned up.”

“By ‘we,’ you mean you and Benny,” Dean says, his tone becoming surly. “And about that. Don’t you think a bike is something you should run by me? That’s typically a ‘dad’ kind of gift.”

You pause what you’re doing at the sound of his tone. Your brows knit together.

“Sorry, but I feel like a bike isn’t exclusively a dad thing,” you say.

“My dad got me my first bike,” Dean replies. “Spent a whole three days teaching me how to ride.”

You take a minute to think about it. You understand where Dean’s coming from, so you nod.

“Okay, I get it. You want to be there to help teach Robbie? I’m sure he’d love that.” 

Dean tosses a wadded-up ball of frosting-covered napkins and stops, letting his hands fall to his sides in frustration. He draws closer and helps you untie the balloons from the picnic table.

“Yeah, I do, but that’s not the point,” he says. “Why can’t I take him home tonight?”

You blink up at him in confusion. “Well, like I said. The bike—”

“That I should’ve gotten for him,” he snaps. “Which, let me guess, Benny picked out. Right?”

You frown at him in earnest now. “Dean, why are you getting so upset about it? It’s just a bike.”

“Well you know what, it’s not! And it’s not just the damn bike either.” He swipes a hand over his face in annoyance, a telltale sign you’ve come to read well on the man. “Look, I’m missing too much shit, all right? Like, like the dinosaur thing! And the fact that I only get him on the weekends.”

You turn toward him, trying to put a cap on your own annoyance. This isn’t the first time you two have had a conversation like this. 

“We’ve gone over this before, Dean. Your schedule at the firehouse is just too unpredictable,” you say. “Robbie needs as much stability as possible between us. But…okay, if you want to take him tonight, that’s fine. We can bring the bike over to your place and show it to him there.”

You’re trying to be as reasonable as possible, and Dean knows that. Still, anger prickles just under his skin, and he can’t help but push his luck.

“You still should’ve asked be before you got the bike in the first place,” he argues.

Your brows raise high. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Look, it’s not like we bought him a Honda Civic. Honestly, Dean, why are you picking a fight with me right now?” you ask. “Did you and Lisa get into it again or something?”

Dean looks away and crosses his arms, giving you all the confirmation you need.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you nod. “I saw you two over there on the playground, looked pretty heated. But do me a favor. Don’t come at me with that energy, because I’m too damn tired of it!”

When you walk away from him, Dean can’t help but stare after you. He knows he fucked that up, just as he knows that you don’t deserve him snapping at you. He’s just too irritated to admit it.

For the entire week that follows, Dean finds himself distracted. He sticks to his word and helps Benny teach his son how to ride a bike in between their shifts at the firehouse, but Dean comes home each night feeling even more frustrated and drained than before. It’s too much, knowing Benny’s slowly but surely carving out a father-figure role in Robbie’s life.

These thoughts follow Dean to work, even while he climbs up the firetruck ladder in the rain. It’s parallel to a busted utility pole that still sparks with electricity, even in this torrential downpour. His task is to get up to the top and grab a large branch that’s tangled in the lines.

Rung after rung, he climbs. His safety mask protects his eyes from the rain, but he wishes they had some mini windshield wipers to keep his vision clear of the droplets pelting him in the face.

He also can’t help thinking of you. If Lisa’s right, then Benny’s about to become a more permanent fixture in Robbie’s life, and yours. 

Okay fine. It’s not like Dean expected you to be single forever, but did you really have to get with one of his best friends? Does it really have to be Benny, who seems so natural with Robbie, and more patient than Dean, and more of a support to you and Robbie than Dean can ever be?

And then there’s Lisa’s little ultimatum. He understands why she’s frustrated with him. Honestly, he’s surprised she’s stuck around this long. He knows she’s not going to wait too much longer for him to get his act together. For him to decide, as she put it.

It’s not that he’s not sure about her, it’s just that…

Just that what? he wonders.

He manages to grab the wily tree branch and maneuver it out of the power lines. 

He just doesn’t realize that his glove doesn’t have quite enough friction on the metal side panel of the ladder. Not only does his hand slip, but he’s forced to let go of the branch while he loses his balance. The branch falls to the sidewalk, far, far down below.

“Dean!” Benny shouts in alarm.

Luckily, the truck itself breaks Dean's fall.

Holding Robbie’s hand tightly in yours is the only thing keeping you steady as you lead him through the hospital. After the receptionist had checked you both in and gave you the room number, you hastened down the hall and up to the right floor. 2005.

Robbie breaks into tears when he finally gets to see his dad, laid up though he is in his hospital bed. Your throat tightens at the sight of Dean hooked up to all those monitors. He has his arm wrapped up and fitted into a sling. He has a thick piece of gauze taped to the side of his face, covering a wide, angry abrasion, but he seems to be resting easy on his back. The bed is at an incline, with most of the overhead lights turned off.

Robbie rushes to the bed before you can stop him. He hesitantly touches Dean’s non-injured right hand. “Daddy?”

“Robbie, wait,” you say, keeping your voice quiet. You quickly go over to the bedside and grab ahold of Robbie’s shoulders, but Dean takes a deep breath. His eyelids crack open.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, attempting a smile. His voice is rough and weak, but at least he’s awake.

Robbie’s lower lip wobbles as tears fill his eyes again.

“Come ‘ere,” Dean says, a little stronger. When he reaches out to his son, the kid hops up onto the bed and buries his face into his father’s chest. Dean holds him as securely as he can, soothing his hand over the boy’s hair and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“It’s okay, little man. ‘M okay,” he promises. Robbie nods, but he still continues to cry.

You can’t help but do the same. Tears slip down your cheeks without your consent. Dean beckons you over too, gesturing with his chin and a slight smile. You’re more tentative in the way you sit down at the edge of his bed. You run your fingers through Robbie’s light brown hair to help reassure him. Then, you meet Dean’s gaze and lay a hand on his good shoulder. You don’t know whether you’re steadying him, or yourself.

“How do you feel?” you ask. “The hospital called me. Benny told me what happened.”

The thought reminds you to text your boyfriend. You hadn’t had a chance to tell him you made it here yet. He must be downstairs grabbing a bite to eat, because he’s the one who rode with Dean in the ambulance and has been with him for a while.

“The hospital called you?” Dean notes in slight confusion.

“Eileen told me that Sam is in court right now, so I must’ve been next on the list,” you say. He also must have taken Lisa off his emergency list the last time they broke up for almost a month. He probably forgot to update it again.

You reach out a hand to almost touch the bandage by his temple. Instead, you hesitantly hold the side of his face to see the area better. Dean closes his eyes for a moment. You can see he’s in pain. Your hand lingers on his cheek, but you know, deep down, that it shouldn’t.

Dean doesn’t stop you though. He lets out a deep breath, savoring how nice the gentle touch feels when the rest of his body feels battered to hell.

“Fell off the ladder. Was a stupid rookie move,” he explains, but when he sees that look on your face, he tries to inject a little more joking into a smile. “S’ not so bad.”

“You could’ve broken your head as well as your arm,” you say, more sharply than you mean to.

Robbie whimpers and clings tighter to Dean. You cover your mouth, as if you can trap the words back inside. You don’t want to upset your son more than he already is, so you fall silent. Another tear works its way down your cheek, but you brush it away. Dean shakes his head.

“Hey, I’m okay,” he reassures you too. He manages to smile as he pats Robbie’s back. “Right, buddy?”

The boy’s head perks up. His eyes are still shiny, but he smiles too. He’s not one to speak when he’s upset though, so he just curls up against Dean’s chest and hangs onto him. Dean rests his good arm snugly around him.

You smile and stroke Robbie’s back. Though your hand lowers, resting on Dean’s hand. You take in a deep breath to calm yourself down. Dean’s fingers curl around yours, prompting you to glance up into his eyes. The way he’s watching you is soft, grateful.

Until the door creaks open. Benny steps in with a subtle clearing of his throat. You jolt internally, and you slip your hand away from Dean’s. You offer your boyfriend a wan smile.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey, baby.” He comes over and greets you with a kiss to the side of your head. He smiles at your son gently. “The gang’s all here.”

“Oh! Let me call Sam, and Lisa too. They still don’t know what’s going on,” you say. You get up from the bed to grab your phone out of your purse. Dean nods in agreement and thanks you, while Robbie plays with his dad's long fingers.

“How you holdin’ up, brother?” Benny asks, after you step out of the room. He settles into the chair near the foot of the bed.

“Ah, you know me. I’m like a cat. Always stick the landing,” Dean says, smiling lazily. The morphine is starting to kick in again.

Benny smirks. “Maybe you do got nine lives, the amount of close calls you like gettin’ yourself into.”

Dean’s good humor fades. He considers his son in his arms, and he shakes his head.

“Yeah, well, no more,” he says. He got a taste of what it would be like to leave his boy behind, and he’s not fucking doing it. He’s not leaving you to raise Robbie by yourself. The mere idea tears a new hole in his heart.

His eyes sting just enough that he has to blink a bit harder, swallowing past a thick well of emotion in his throat. He presses another kiss to the top of Robbie’s head. Then, Dean meets Benny’s gaze.

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it.

Benny nods.

“You got it, brother.”

When Lisa steps off the hospital elevator on the second floor, you happen to be coming out of the bathroom to fix your racoon eyes. You’ve been crying way too much. You attempt to greet Lisa with something reassuring, but she cuts you off. 

“What happened, and why didn’t the hospital call me directly?” she asks.

Her tone is cutting, and it takes you aback.

“Well, Sam and I were listed as his emergency contacts—”

“Why?” she snaps. “You’re not his wife or his girlfriend. I should’ve been listed.”

Jesus Christ. At this point, you can’t help it. You’re too tired and emotionally drained to lasso in your temper with this woman.

“Maybe if you and Dean stayed together longer than five minutes at a time, he’d put you back on the short list,” you sling back. “But the truth is, you’ve never just…been there for Dean. Not without demanding something from him.”

Lisa scoffs incredulously. “Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you. You’re the reason he can’t commit to anything. You think your little world is the only one that matters, and you call Dean for any little thing! What, don’t you have a boyfriend to help fix your goddamn sink?” 

You open your mouth to retort, but you pause as her words seep into your mind. She might actually have a small point about that one. You realize then just how often you’ve been asking Dean for his help, not just with your apartment, but with your car, and other logistical things that usually have to with Robbie. Dean’s just such a good handyman, and you thought he genuinely liked being able to help…even though Benny did mention once or twice that he’d be just as happy to help you.

“Lisa, this is a lot more than a leaky sink. I just wanted to get here with Robbie and make sure Dean was okay,” you try to explain.

“Good. I’m glad his son was the first person Dean got to see when he woke up,” Lisa says. “But I should’ve been the second.”

She brushes past you before you can even think of what to say. You’re in a state of shock, feeling guilty, incensed, and on the verge of tears all at once.

A familiar voice calls your name, and you turn to Benny just as those tears begin to fall. He gathers you up into his arms and holds you there in the middle of the hallway.

“She shouldn’t talk to you like that, no matter how high tensions are today. I’ll talk to Dean,” Benny says. You shake your head and bury your face in his chest, clenching your fingers in his red flannel shirt. 

“No, it’s okay,” you reply, despite the sob that shudders through you. You’ve lost the will to fight.

Benny shakes his head and presses a kiss to your forehead. “It ain’t okay, baby.”

“Please, don’t bother Dean with this. Especially not right now,” you say. You take a moment to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself. “I’m gonna go get Robbie so Dean can rest.”

You can’t shake the feeling that Lisa is right. You do rely on Dean too much. You just don’t want to think about why that is.

Dean makes a full recovery after a few months. He never does hear about what happened in that hallway, but he knows that things need to change. 

He decides to dig out his mom’s engagement ring from a locked box of his parents’ keepsakes, though he’s still waiting on the right time for it. He and Lisa start looking at houses though, for real this time. She hires a realtor and everything. 

He’s making a firm decision, and he thinks it’s the right one. He wants to be there for his son, but he doesn’t want to keep “spreading himself too thin.” He has to figure out how to set some roots, and some boundaries with you while he’s at it. He’ll just have to come to terms with the idea that he won’t get to be there for everything. 

He has to be okay with the fact that you’ll probably marry Benny. You’ll keep making him cookies and cakes, giving him your smile and your time and your body. And Robbie will probably think of Benny as more of a father than his own Weekend Dad. 

Meanwhile, you’ve spent the past few months keeping yourself in check as well. You’ve stopped calling Dean for help whenever something breaks down in your old-ass apartment. You try to keep your conversations less about life and troubles and whatever funny thing your students did that day in class, and more focused on Robbie–strictly about his schedule and his needs.

It’s kind of painful, if you’re honest with yourself. Sam will always be one of your closest friends from college, but in the past five years, Dean has truly become your best friend. Because you’ve told him things. The things that come from sharing a child with someone, like Sunday dinners with your parents, flipping through old yearbooks and childhood pictures—and the details of day-to-day schedules and little stupid things that happen in moments between moments.

Dean also knows the deep cuts. Like being pregnant and scared and breaking down crying on the side of the road. Like sharing the deepest well of your insecurities with someone who knows your body intimately, even if just for one amazing night...a night you’ve never quite been able to put out of your mind.

However, you know that things can’t stay the same. From now on, he just needs to be your son’s father. Nothing more, nothing less. 

So today, on a crisp April 24th, you’re getting ready for a highly anticipated evening with your boyfriend. Robbie is sleeping over your parents’ house, and Benny has been planning something special for your third-year anniversary. 

You slip into your new dress, a deep emerald green, with a pair of black heels you’ve rarely worn since before you got pregnant. Come to think of it, you were wearing these the night of Sam and Eileen’s bachelor-bachelorette party. The night you…well, the night Robbie was conceived. 

You shake your head to rid yourself of those thoughts. You even consider changing. 

You’re being silly, you shake your head. They’re just shoes. 

And yet. Thinking of that time so long ago, it reminds you of a recent Sunday dinner at your parents’ house.

Two Months Ago...

Your parents live modestly, but comfortably in rural Kansas. Their ranch-style home boasts a creek in the backyard, where your dad is teaching your son how to catch minnows. Your mom is inside working on an apple pie, knowing it’s both Dean’s and Robbie’s favorite.

You and Dean have kept close to the house under the shade, sitting on a bench made more comfortable by a pair of old polyester cushions with red, faded flowers.

“How much longer do you have to wear that?” you ask Dean. He glances down at his cast-covered left arm.

“Doc says it’s about ready to come off,” he says.

You nod, allowing yourself a certain smile. “How bad are you itching to grab my mom’s garden shears and cut it off right here?”

“Woman, don’t tempt me,” he says, his lips twitching at a grin. “I’ve been eying those overgrown scissors for the past half hour.”

You laugh and take another sip of your glass. Yours holds sweet tea, while Dean’s has some of your dad’s favorite whiskey. You both raise your heads when Robbie yells across the backyard.

“I caught a minnow!”

“Good job, buddy,” Dean grins. “See if you can catch a marlin!”

“A marlin?” Robbie questions.

“Yeah, like that orange guy in Finding Nemo,” Dean calls back.

Your dad gives Dean the same wry look you do, though yours is tinged with more amusement.

“Dean, that’s a clown fish,” you say. “He’s not gonna find that in the creek.”

“Aw, shit,” he tries to quiet his laugh. “Ah well, should keep him occupied for another twenty minutes.”

You bite your lip to stifle your laughter as well. Though something else occurs to you the longer you watch your son play and explore in the creek. Your dad has the patience of a saint as he puts yet another bait worm on the hook for the kid.

“He’s starting to ask questions, you know,” you tell Dean, in a quieter voice. “‘Why aren’t you and Daddy married? Why can’t we all live together?’”

Dean's brows raise. His good humor dims when he looks over at you.

“What do you tell him?” he asks.

You take in a deep breath, considering your words now as carefully as you did with your son.

“That we care about each other a lot, as friends,” you say, meeting Dean’s eyes. “And we love Robbie very much. Nothing’s going to change that, even if you and I aren’t together like a normal mom and dad.”

Saying it like that makes your heart twinge, for more than one reason. The way Dean’s mouth twitches into a rueful smile just makes it worse, but you try your best to ignore it.

“I never thought about having to explain it to him,” he says, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

It’s that anxious tell of his again. You notice every time he does it.

“I have,” you admit. “I just didn’t know for sure what I was going to say until it was coming out of my mouth.”

Dean smirks a little. “Yeah, that sounds like you.”

You roll your eyes and sip your drink, crossing your arms as well. Dean considers you then, looking at you in a way that makes you raise a brow in question.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing, it’s just…” He sits back against the bench and rubs his hands down his jean-clad thighs. “For the record, I did try to ask you out once.”

“What?” you scoff incredulously. “No, you’ve been with Lisa since the beginning.”

“Before Lisa,” Dean says.

He isn’t joking. He isn’t teasing. He’s serious as he stares back at you with those green eyes of his. Your brows furrow as you wrack your brain. Did he drunkenly leave you a voicemail on one of those “off again” episodes between him and Lisa? No. You know you’d remember something like that.

“It was a few weeks after the bachelor party,” Dean says. “I called you up, remember?”

Your eyes widen. Finally, that jogs your memory.

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.” And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

You have to laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Dean, you did not ask me out,” you say. “You wanted to hook up. There’s a distinct difference.”

Dean frowns at you. “No, I was. I invited you over—”

“For essentially some Netflix and chill,” you retort.

“Hey, I offered to make you dinner,” he argues. “I didn’t say anything about hooking up.”

You pause at that. His earnest denial makes you actually think back to what you remember about that conversation on the phone.

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.” And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition. “I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

You cover your lips with your fingers as you begin to realize…

“That was you asking me out?” you ask incredulously.

Dean’s brows furrow and he throws his hands up. “What? Who doesn’t like a little movie night?”

“Dean,” you huff another laugh. “You could’ve made it sound more like a date.”

“Well, ‘scuse me. Sorry I couldn’t afford the Ritz at the time,” he grumbles.

You sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

The more you think about it, the more you just shake your head at yourself. Why did you have to overthink it, like you do everything?

“Wow,” you say, softer and more contrite. “I honestly never thought…”

“Yeah,” he says. He shifts his gaze out ahead.

You glance over at him, now more unsure of yourself. He wouldn’t have any regrets, you think. He has Lisa. As much as they go at it, they always inevitably get back together. And now you know they hired a realtor. They’re about to start making solid steps forward.

But Dean surprises you with another question.

“Do you think if…”

He doesn’t finish it, but you think you know what he’s asking. You hesitate, your fingers flexing around your glass that beads with condensation. You set the glass down beside you. 

Just as you open your mouth to reply—

“All right, pie is cooling and dinner is served!” your mom calls out. Her head pokes out of the sliding glass door to the backyard. You offer a smile, trying to hide how you jolted in your seat.

“Okay, thanks, Mom,” you nod.

You turn back to Dean, who also hesitates. His eyes meet yours, but all too soon, he locks the moment away.

Bracing his hands on his knees, he rocks to his feet and goes out to get Robbie and help your dad bring in the fishing gear.

You grab Dean’s whiskey along with your tea on your way back inside the house. You consider the amber liquid disturbed in his glass, and you down the rest yourself. The burn down your throat is a good distraction. If he asks about it, you’ll say you got the glasses confused.

You know you’ll have to leave that conversation unfinished at the foot of the bench.

Now...

Benny comes by your apartment and helps you into the passenger side of his pickup truck, like the gentleman he is. He takes you to a nice restaurant in downtown, much nicer than the usual sports bar or kid-friendly restaurant. You're very much looking forward to eating at a restaurant that doesn't feature chicken fingers or "kiddie" corn dogs.

“This is gonna be really expensive,” you whisper to him, after he hands his keys over to the valet. 

Benny squeezes your hand in his, leaning over to kiss your temple. 

“Don’t you worry about that. We both deserve a night out.” His blue eyes gleam with amusement. However, his gaze gentles, becoming more sincere. “You work hard, carin’ for everybody around you. How about you let me take care of you for once.”

Your eyes begin to water, your throat constricting with emotion. You rub his arm gratefully.

“Thank you,” you say. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that.” 

It’s always easy with Benny. Nice and simple and easy. Nice, supportive, and considerate.

Nice and safe.

That thought follows you while you and Benny walk into to the restaurant. He’s reserved great seats in the back corner, overlooking a beautiful courtyard. It’s decorated with hydrangeas and light wood dining tables, all framed with a rod iron archway as the sun begins to set just so. After holding your chair out for you before he sits himself, Benny orders a bottle of champagne to kick things off.

He turns to you with a somewhat nervous look in his eyes, like he's steeling himself. It’s uncharacteristic of Benny, who’s always so calm and charming and sure of himself. It makes a zing of anticipation run down your spine, and…a dash of fear. You don’t know why, and you don’t know how to beat the feeling down as you fidget in your seat.

He subtly clears his throat, then takes your hand. “Sweetheart, I know I’m not all that good at the words you’re supposed to say. But I can say that the past three years with you and Robbie, it’s come to mean the world to me.”

Your smile softens. He brushes his thumb over the back of your hand, encouraged by your reaction.

“So I think it’s time I made it clear where I stand, and how much I want to be the man in your life,” he says.

Your eyes begin to widen in shock, but not for the reason he thinks.

“Dean,” you gasp.

Benny’s expression slackens. “What?”

You point over his shoulder, and Benny turns to follow your line of vision. Dean and Lisa have just walked into the restaurant. They notice you pointing their way, and they both pause in surprise as well. Lisa is beautiful as usual in a slinky black dress, completely backless (something you feel you could never pull off, unless you had an invisible bra to keep the girls perked up).

Dean is…well, you’ve very rarely seen him in a suit, but charcoal gray works for him. The open collar and white buttoned-down works for him, as do the three top buttons he’s left undone, showing a tantalizing strip of tanned skin. He stares back at you like he forgot you live in the same time zone, let alone the same zip code.

“Uh, hey!” he casts out an awkward wave, before he makes his way over to you and Benny. Lisa is less than enthused.

“We shouldn’t interrupt their night,” you catch her whisper to him, but Dean doesn’t seem to hear her.

“What’s up, party people! Of all the gin joints in all the world, huh?” Dean says, a little too loudly when he thumps Benny on the back. Benny grunts, giving a bit of a forced chuckle.

“Dean,” he greets. “I think I told you about this particular gin joint. Good to see you can actually clean up once in a while.”

“Ah, you know what, this monkey suit ain’t too bad,” Dean says, pulling at his collar.

You smirk in amusement. “Yeah, I remember how much you complained about wearing a simple tie for Robbie’s Christmas pageant.”

He smirks down at you. “Hey, ties still might not be my thing, but nothing wrong with a sharp collar.”

He pops his for emphasis. You don’t know why it makes you laugh, but it does. Maybe it’s just his face and the silly, endearing expression he makes when he pouts his lips in a “blue steel.”

“So, is this just a night out, or you guys celebrating something special?” Dean asks, gesturing at the champagne bottle and your full glasses of bubbly.

Benny gives his friend a certain look. “Yeah, as a matter of fact. Today’s three years.”

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. You smile back at him, though you’re a bit self-conscious at the way both he and Dean, and even Lisa have their attention on you.

“We should let you guys get back to it then,” Lisa says.

Honestly, it’s a relief. You and Benny nod, wishing them a goodnight.

For some reason, you notice how Dean’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But he goes with Lisa, laying a hand on the small of her back. You force yourself to tear your eyes away from them and refocus on Benny. You take up your champagne glass and raise it in offering.

“All right, where were we?” you ask, if with a nervous trill in your belly.

Benny smiles. He takes up his glass and clinks it with yours.

Lisa nearly sighs. She and Dean are back in line at the front of the restaurant, waiting to be seated. The second time she catches Dean glancing over at the table where you and Benny sit, she shakes her head and digs into her purse for the valet card. She’s done with this.

“I think maybe we should go to a different restaurant,” she says.

That finally earns Dean’s attention, mostly confused. “What, why?”

She just gives him a long look.

He realizes that whatever her reasons are, it’s easier to just give in than to fight her on it. He’s learning when to pick his battles. Or is he just giving up?

Also, if tonight’s “the night” he thinks it is for you and Benny, maybe he doesn’t want to stick around after all. Three years, huh?

“All right, fine. Let’s go,” he agrees.

Dean and Lisa wait for the valet to bring the Impala around. The minute he gets behind the wheel and turns the key into the ignition, she changes her mind.

“Look, let’s just go home,” she says. “I don’t really feel like eating out anymore.”

Dean’s brows raise. “What? Aw, come on. We’re already dressed and everything. You look great, Lis. Just tell me where you wanna eat.”

Lisa remains firm, with a small shake of her head. “Please, Dean, just take me home.”

After a moment of indecision, Dean sighs. He revs the ignition and does as she says.

It’s only a fifteen-minute drive back to their apartment, but in that stifling silence, it seems to drag on for a small eternity. He glances at her a couple of times. Lisa has her arms crossed as she stares out the window, watching the other restaurants and mom-and-pops shops and forest trees and old houses of Lebanon, Kansas go by.

Dean counts it a blessing when they’re finally home. He walks up the few short steps up to their ground-floor apartment and unlocks the door. He flicks on the lights inside, and she breezes past him to toss her purse onto the couch.

Dean takes off his blazer and begins to undo the buttons on his cuffs. He watches her all the while, knowing that a storm is brewing. She shucks off her heels and slowly paces the living room on bare feet, like her whirling thoughts are fueling every step.

“All right, I give. What’s going on?” Dean asks. “What’d I do this time?”

She pauses, with her back turned to him.

Shit, he thinks. He shouldn’t have said it like that.

He prepares for the inevitable blow up, but it never comes. Lisa just heaves a sigh. Slowly she turns, and Dean’s shocked and dismayed to see the tears welling up in her deep brown eyes. He makes quick strides toward her, but she raises a hand to keep him at bay.

“Dean, when you picture yourself happy, truly happy,” she says. “Is it with me? Can you imagine yourself marrying me? Buying the house, having kids, growing old together?”

If Dean was thrown for a loop before, he’s even more stunned by her question. “Lis…”

“Just be honest, for once,” she pleads. Her tears begin to brim over, but she blinks, somehow keeping them at bay.

It’s a bit too long before Dean realizes that he can’t give her an answer. At least, not the one he knows she wants to hear.

When he thinks of that picture in his mind, of course he sees his son. But the only other person Dean can imagine there beside him is…

“I…” He wills his mouth to work, but nothing else comes out.

The only face he can conjure is yours. Your eyes are warm and welcoming, your smile as bright and contagious as your laugh.

The only voice he can hear is yours, gentle and strong at the same time.

The only one he can see is you.

He knows the shampoo you use and the perfume you like to wear, how the sweet and floral scents mix together and linger in your hair and on your skin.

Even now he remembers the contours of your body, and how it could fit so well against his. He knows that you used to try and hide your shape under loose, baggy shirts and cargo pants that did nothing for you. He knows how much courage it took you to wear that red dress to his brother’s party, because you told him once, at one of those Sunday dinners at your parents’ house.

Come to think of it, there’s not a whole lot that Dean doesn’t know about you, except maybe what you see when you look at him.

“You love her,” Lisa finishes for him. “I think you always have.”

Dean’s throat tightens. Somehow he swallows anyway, and he shakes his head. 

“Lisa, I loved you.”

“Maybe you did, in your own way,” she says, laughing a little through her tears as she wipes them away. “But you already have a family, Dean. Go fight for it.” 

Dean doesn’t know what to say, but he knows what he can do.

He goes to her and kisses her cheek. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says. 

Lisa merely nods, wiping her face dry. She watches Dean Winchester walk out of her apartment, and out of her life for good this time. 

Dean calls your cell, but it goes to voicemail. He drives all the way back to the restaurant and doesn’t find you or Benny there. 

Dean realizes that what he’s doing, what he plans to do, is not fucking cool. He wouldn’t blame you or even Benny for being severely pissed when Dean shows up. He also knows that he can’t let another day pass where he keeps lying to you, and himself. 

He eventually finds you at home. What’s weird is that Benny’s truck isn’t in the driveway—just your car. He knocks on your door, and he waits.

He unconsciously holds his breath while he waits in that terrible existence of limbo. However, his heart thrums back to life when he hears your footsteps drawing closer to the door. Anticipation, excitement, dread, it all roils together inside him like a bad cocktail as the door swings open.

And he’s once again rendered a bit breathless at the sight of you in that dress. The color alone appeals to him, let alone the way it accentuates your every curve, from full breasts to the swell of your hips, the softer slope of your thighs, and bare toes painted. You’re fucking delectable, every curve, and a temptation without you even meaning to be. 

You’re just…you’re still so goddamn beautiful, like the night he first saw you. Even now, he can almost feel the give of your thighs under his hands, his fingers pressed to supple flesh. 

But then he’s drawn to your face, and your wide eyes full of surprise. Your mascara is a bit smudged though. Your eyes are red too, like you’ve been crying. His brows furrow in concern.

“Dean, what’re you doing here?” you ask.

“I need to talk to you, but uh…did something happen?” he asks. “You okay?”

You’re reluctant to tell him. Did Benny say something to upset you? Or was it something he did?

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say.

Instinctively, Dean knows it’s a lie.

“This isn’t a good time though,” you say, after clearing your throat. “Can we do this tomorrow, maybe?”

Dean leans a hand on the doorframe.

“Please, it’s important,” he says. His eyes implore you harder than his words. Please.

That does it. A sigh passes through your lips, but you let him in. He knows Robbie is with your parents for the night, which actually makes this easier.

Once he steps inside the apartment, Dean does notice that your bedroom door is open. Half the drawers to your dresser are open too, and empty. Certain frames that used to be on your coffee table are no longer there, like the one of you, Benny, and Robbie on a camping trip. 

“You want some coffee, or soda?” you ask. 

Dean declines and grasps your arm before you can busy yourself into “hostess” mode. He leads you to the couch, where you both sit down together.

“What happened tonight?” he asks. “Where’s Benny?”

Your lower lip wobbles, the beginning of your telltale cry face. Dean knows his son gets it from you, and it always breaks his heart. He squeezes your arm gently, trying to ground you.

“Benny proposed to me tonight,” you confess, taking in a sharp breath. “He proposed, and I couldn’t give him an answer.” 

You shake your head as the tears sting hot in your eyes. 

“He got so upset, he just—he left!” You throw your hands up. “But honestly, I don’t blame him.”

Dean tries to comfort you as you try and fail to wipe at your face. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, cupping your cheek to brush the tears away himself. 

“Why couldn’t you answer him?” he asks. 

You look up at Dean, and you finally notice the shine of hope in his eyes. Dean touches your cheek more tenderly. 

“Does it mean I have a chance here?” he asks.

Despite what your eyes tell you, you still gape at him in shock. “What? But…what about Lisa?”

“It’s over. For good this time,” Dean shakes his head. “I realized what I wanted for my life, and where my heart is…”

And he chuckles weakly. “Truth is, you’ve had it the whole time, sweetheart.”

You begin to crumble all over again. You pull away from him and his touch, because you can’t believe it. You cover your face with your hands, sniffling as you try to make sense of his words, his touch, and the warm flutter threatening to brim happiness in your heart.

“God, Dean. You can't just..."

"I mean it," he insists.

You're still reluctant to take him seriously...no matter how much you want to. It's a conflicting realization that hurts, and makes you feel stupid for taking so long to figure it out, and makes you hate yourself for hoping his words are true.

"Come the morning, you’re going to change your mind,” you reason, without looking at him. “Like you’ve done with Lisa a thousand times.”

“No,” Dean says firmly. He shifts closer and prompts you to look at him, really look at him.

“Not about this, and you know it,” he says, catching and holding your gaze. “That’s why you couldn’t say yes to Benny. Because you know what we’ve got. It’s the real deal.”

You still look uncertain, even though you can’t bring yourself to pull away this time. Dean has always had this way of looking into the very depths of you, like he can actually see every thought as it passes through your mind.  

“I should’ve said yes,” you say. “I can rely on Benny. I know he would stay by my side, and…and I know he won’t hurt me.”

Not like I’ve just hurt him, you think. Guilt still pricks at your heart. The last thing you ever wanted to do was lead him on, and yet, that’s what you’d done, wasn’t it? You thought you had loved him. You’re sure that you did, but maybe it just wasn’t the kind of love that could reach down deep and grab you, set your blood on fire, and make you ache when the burn was gone.

That spark licks across your skin when Dean takes your hands.  

“What if I want to be that guy for you,” he says.

You allow yourself to look at him. Really look at him.

You know Dean. When he gets an idea in his head, it inhabits every bone and shred of muscle in his body. There’s no mistaking his resolve, or the steady grip of his hands over yours.

“If you let me, I’ll stay. I won’t leave you,” he says. In his eyes, there’s a firm promise. “I can be the guy you rely on. The man you can trust. The man who’s gonna love you, come whatever. Because now I know what it means. I know how it feels.”

You bite your lower lip against the smile that wants to surface.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

Dean smiles for you. “If you wanna know the truth, I’m pretty sure I’ve been loving you since the day I heard Robbie’s heartbeat for the first time.” 

Your tears flow harder at that. A shaky breath escapes you, though it does nothing to steady you. Dean strokes your cheek gently with his thumb. 

“Please, just give me this one chance,” he asks. Begs, really. 

He doesn’t have to though. You nod, just a little. 

“Okay,” you agree. “Let’s try.”

Dean's smile spreads slow, but warm across his face. It’s your favorite kind, the kind that crinkles his eyes. 

He leans in and claims your lips with his own. The passion of it is familiar, but you don't think it’s the same as five years ago. Now, there’s an underlying note of tenderness in his touch and each new way he tastes you deeper. He holds nothing back this time, and neither do you. 

Your fingers tangle in his shirt, and then in his hair as you moan into his mouth. “Dean.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he answers against your lips, though he doesn’t give you much room to keep talking.

You haven’t heard him call you sweetheart in a long time. You feel your heart knitting back together, stitch by stitch. Tears sting in your eyes anew, but you squeeze your eyes shut against them.

“I…”

You can’t even continue the breathless thought. You hold his face desperately between your hands, pressing your forehead to his for a moment as you both catch your breath. But this man is like the sweetest, most seductive vice. Now that you’ve gotten another hit, you can’t resist. You no longer want to.

His arms wrap around you more securely, and he leans in to lure you back into his kiss. His tongue breaches past your lips to curl along yours with tantalizing strokes. His hands slowly move down your back and along your waist.

“Mmm, missed the hell outta this,” he groans into your mouth. Your heart flutters again at the way he holds you, the way his big hands squeeze you and feel you.

You let him guide you down onto the sofa cushions. He slots himself between your bare thighs and runs his hand up familiar smooth skin, bunching the skirt of your dress higher as he goes. He aims to get himself reacquainted with every soft part of you that welcomes him back.

For once, the gates around your hearts swing free. 

Dean never imagined that his own son would hand him the ring he gives to his wife, but today, it just feels like symmetry. He grins and winks at Robbie.

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean says.

His son’s beaming grin is wide and toothy, but the boy takes his job very seriously and delivers the other ring to you. You smile brightly and caress his cheek after you take the shining, white gold band from him. It matches the thinner band that Dean has for you; it'll soon join the engagement ring that once belonged to his mother.

Robbie had liked Benny a lot, but he loves his dad. He’s probably the happiest person in the room to see his parents take each other’s hands in front of the minister. 

Benny is understandably absent in the chapel today. You had met with him after that night of your botched anniversary to apologize to him, and so had Dean. Benny understood. He’d admitted that in the back of his mind, he feared this might happen.

“I wouldn’t blame you for being angry with me,” you said to him. “You can even hate me if you want.” Benny gave you a wry, melancholy sort of smile. “Part of me’s still mad at you, I won’t lie…but there’s no use in it. Not even hating you.”

Even though Benny bowed out, carrying his hurt and his grief on those broad shoulders, letting you go meant letting go of a friend too. He put in his paperwork to transfer out of Firehouse 83.

As he’d told Dean himself that day, and in fact, the last words Benny said to him…

“There you go, Lieutenant. A spot’s just opened up.”

Dean didn’t want to get promoted this way. He felt guilty enough as it was, and not just for Benny leaving the firehouse. Benny recommended Dean to the Chief himself though, saying that if they were going to give someone a Lieutenant’s badge, it may as well be the guy who got a perfect score on his test, and had the natural leadership skills to boot.

To the end, Benny was a gentleman.

Now, Sam beckons his nephew over. Robbie quickly goes to his uncle’s side and puffs his little chest out as he stands proud behind his dad. 

Dean is able to take you in, your beautiful white dress, and everything about you that makes him smile…including the way you smile back at him.

Man and wife is all he hears. It’s all he needs to hear, before he’s pulling you closer by your newly anointed hand. He dips you for a thorough kiss in front of all your family and friends. 

You squeal in surprise, making Dean smile hard enough for his cheeks to hurt. Giggling hard enough to make you tremble, you raise a hand to caress his cheek. But you give him another real kiss after he guides you back up to your feet.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. The words are just for him to hear. Dean pulls back enough to see the truth shining in your eyes. Beautiful.

“Can’t help it, right?” he teases. 

You smile in amusement, but you grab his chin and shake it. 

“You got me,” you reply. “I really, really can’t.”

Your beaming smile softens. Even though the entire room is clapping and hooting and hollering in celebration, in that moment, all you really see is Dean. 

Here in his arms, you know that this is where you were meant to end up. From now on, it’s where you’re meant to be.

AN: From Lisa and Benny to Robbie and everything in between. Dean and the reader certainly aren't perfect in this, but what do you think about how their story unfolded? I truly hope you guys enjoy this one, because I've had so much fun with it. 🥰❤️❤️‍🔥

**As a reminder, One More Day (Dean x Latina Plus-Sized!Reader) comes out on 4/04 - the day after my birthday!~

Until then, please let me know what you thought of If I Stay! 😘 I might write more for these two in the future...

"Shall I stay? Would it be a sin, if I can't help falling in love with you?"

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Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):

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[strawlessandbraless]

Dean Winchester, Supernatural Jennifer Check, Jennifer’s Body

I just think they’re neat, ok?

[silverdrws]

drawing my absolute favorite trope in this fandom as my au: hunter castiel in early seasons

+bonus if cas is secretly an angel

+ little doodles of my au

drawing my absolute favorite trope in this fandom as my au: hunter castiel in early seasons+bonus trope cas is secretly an angel

info for my au

-cas met sam and dean in the episode Bloody Mary s1ep5

-cas was adopted by human parents but they were killed by a demon when cas was 20 after that cas became a hunter to get a better understanding of what killed his parents and get revenge on them

-cas is actually an angel ‘reborn’ as a human infant

-his angel memories and grace are suppress somewhere in his head

[bettystonewell]

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 3

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 5k words

Chapter Warnings: canon typical violence, language, referenced physical abuse, referenced sexual assault, injuries to reader

A/N: The first two chapters I uploaded were partially rewritten from the original version I have elsewhere, but it’s not feasible for me to keep doing that, especially if I’m ever going to write new stuff; so from now on I’ll be uploading this story as is. Chapters 3 to 14 predate both, Another Notch On His Belt and Snickerdoodles & Special Sauce While I’d do some things differently, they’re all part of the journey. Enjoy! ✌️❤️

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

“Dick?” Sam gave a half-assed chuckle.

Dean’s eyes lit up mischievously. “Her mate.”

Oh, the mother fucking irony. He wasn’t just a dick, his name was Dick. Or Richard, to be more concise. Dean had passed over that insignificant detail and Ritchie, as you’d called him, to go with what he found to be the most fitting of the three.

While Ritchie suggested a plain loser, Richard sounded like a pompous jackass, which Dean figured didn’t fall far from the tree. But Dick? Dick narrated a scumbag he could work with.

He remembered Dick Roman and his crass grin all too well, and with his face in mind, Dean had run through all the satisfying things he wanted to do to your mate since the moment he’d found you in the park. Whatever manifested, or not, was for later Dean’s enjoyment, but everything his genius had concocted so far suited Dick to a tee.

Sammy, however, saw the bigger picture.

A tsk left his mouth. Followed by an eye roll and the shaking of his mop-hair through a downward glance. It was a wonder he could do both at the same time. “Don’t you think you should be worrying about her, not her ex?”

Dean’s head flicked over his shoulder to the door on the other side of the car park, where he presumed you were still fast asleep. The heel of his left boot even shifted backwards a fraction. All he had to do was fling his other leg towards the room, and your scent and stimulating curves would soon surround him again.

Was it possible for a heart to skip a beat? Because that action, with that very organ popping out of someone like Scooby Doo’s chest, sure described the way Dean felt at the mention of Dick’s finality in your life.

“I’m really getting soft,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Dean ran his fingers through his hair. “She’s still sleeping. With any luck, I’ll be back before she wakes up.”

“Dean.”

“Don’t Dean me.”

Sam could argue, meddle, and question all he wanted. Dean wouldn’t sway from his plans, no matter how stupid his method was. “I ain’t letting him get away with it.”

“I’m not saying you should. Just take a minute to calm down and focus on her, not him.”

“What part of he raped her, don’t you understand?” He sighed and drew his thumb and forefinger across his eyes. His voice, while not the loudest he’d ever produced, had been enough to make even Dean anxious.

He cared little about anyone else in the vicinity, but as with every other motel they frequented, the walls were paper thin, and the door you were behind was a mere thirty yards away. Yes. His guilt fueled conscience had him going stir crazy.

Him needing to be long gone before you woke up wasn’t for your benefit. It was for his own sanity. Sam’s too.

“I understand you want revenge. But she still went back to him yesterday.”

“Because I let—”

“You didn’t do anything!” Sam snapped, then shook his head. “They’re bonded. Chances are she loves him. That won’t change overnight.”

“I know that.” Of course he did. Dean wasn’t that unattuned with the world around him, as people always suggested. He got social cues and had feelings like any other guy. He simply chose not to wear his deepest ones on his sleeve out of survival.

Everyone else could still suck it. Sam could too.

“So why are you so set on doing this right now? Do you really wanna risk pushing her away by beating up the alpha she cares about?”

“It ain’t about him or me.”

“Yeah.” Sam scoffed. “Like I said, revenge.”

“No. Alright? Just, no.” Dean’s arm swooped through the air, as if shoving Sam’s statement off an imaginary table.

This wasn’t about Dean seeking retribution, although he’d never deny there wasn’t a small piece of him that found the concept enticing.

Okay, a large slice.

He had to find some fun in his shitty existence, especially after being careful for so long.

Ever since Sam had lost Jess, they both had been. Aware there were plenty of other fuckers out there besides the likes of yellow eyes. Crowley, for starters, even Cas and the other angels, Roman, the Steins, Chuck. And not wanting to risk history repeating itself, they turned to suppressants.

Though it took a single instance of him going feral and a stern warning from Bobby and his own shotgun pointed at his extremities, for Dean to see sense and allow his rut to occur once a year.

“One cycle with one of them fake dolls ain’t gonna kill ya, idjit,” he had said. And while that was a fond memory of Dean’s now, it had scared the crap out of him.

So, “If I let him walk, she’s a target. With my claim or not,” he said.

Sam should’ve known that, but his eyes grew wide and a grin made them lift even higher. “Are you going to?”

“I just met her!” And that was still the scariest thing in all this.

He and you were soulmates. Fated to be. Chosen for each other by who even knew? Someone who didn’t know you and expected you both to do what? Commit to each other at the drop of a hat?

Dean couldn’t bring himself to think, let alone say the L word. He’d avoided it on purpose when Sam had mentioned you loving Dick, and that was plain dumb. It was four fucking letters. He wasn’t a child, though he had done some crazy, adultly stigmatised shit on your behalf.

Taking you back to the motel as he had and cleaning your wounds. Sleeping close by and letting you take his jacket to nest with. Ordinarily, these things were tame, but law enforcement would say otherwise if Dick decided to press charges against him even before he did what he planned to do.

It was way too much, not because of the illicit nature, but because it was too soon. Too easy to fall. Too easy to be trapped into something more, and yet, he’d been thriving on every second of it so far.

As usual, Sam knew it, too.

“You’re thinking about it,” he said. “You should ask her to come with us.”

But he didn’t respond with how Sam wanted him to. “Keep an eye on her, would ya?” He patted him on the shoulder, once to steady himself, the second to reassure. “Call me if anything happens.” And with that, he strode ‘round to Baby’s driver’s side and got in. It was now or never.

When he reached your street, Dean parked Baby around the corner. Close enough for a quick exit, but further away from your building to avoid arousing suspicions. Not that there was anyone around to question him or his motives.

Just as it had been during the night, the neighbourhood was quiet and restful. Still early enough on a Sunday for most people to be in bed.

Not him, of course. But regular people. Civilians.

Someone like you, included in his picture of suburbia and the apple pie life he’d always admired from a safe distance. It was a shame that the bubble had burst when he found you in the park.

It looked different in the daylight hours as he moved towards the entrance. All that he’d witnessed tainted the luscious leaves, turning the hues dim. It didn’t help that the clouds overhead were already bleak with grey.

They made the white rendered walls of your apartment block appear worse than his original critique of the place. Even though this was your home, it was a home you shared with Dick. A place Dean would find no comfort in.

He entered the building and made quick work of the steps, bounding up them two at a time, guided by his nose. And the letterbox he’d read at the bottom that had your surname on it.

As he honed in on your front door, his ears perked for any movement besides his own, but all was clear, and he was able to thump on the wood without interruption.

Once.

Twice.

But by the third time, his patience had worn thin, and he resorted to his usual methods.

He wrapped his fingers around the ivory grip of his 1911 and drew it out of his waistband, cocking it in readiness. The cool metal, the perfect fit as always, satisfied his hand and the hunter within.

Was the gun overkill? Eh. That was up to interpretation. Just as he still knew little about you, he knew less about Dick, besides the name and what he had done. The weapon was a precaution. A scare tactic at best.

And with that in mind, the sole of his boot raised and collided with the door of the small apartment, sounding a loud crunch as the wood gave way. It made his bow leg twang from the force, but damn, was the rush of adrenaline worth it.

Fuck! He was pumped.

Ready for a fight or a match of words, though the former was far more enticing. Revenge would be sweet, no matter what Sam said. Which was such a shame because his grand entrance hadn’t paid off.

Dick was nowhere in sight, and Dean begrudgingly returned his firearm to its usual resting place. The fucker must’ve been out looking for you.

As Dean stepped over the threshold and past the now broken door, your familiar scent hit his nostrils. That, and the musk he’d caught in your hair. It was the smell you’d find labelled pine or forest in a gas station’s air freshener selection. Pungent, overpowering and something he’d never allow Baby to be exposed to, let alone his own skin, anymore.

Of course, anything that belonged to Dick was repulsive. The recliner Dean stared at had to be his. What with the high back, built-in cup holders that were the perfect size for a cold one or a Dean-sized arm holding a scotch, and a remote in the other hand.

The chair would be awesome in the bunker. Maybe he could… no. No, no. He’d get himself a new one. Along with the flat screen, comfortable-looking three-seater sofa, and the fluffy blanket that had to be yours.

His feet carried him over to the item and brought it to his nose. It was yours alright. The touch of cinnamon he’d savoured during the night had soaked into the colourful fibres and worn thread, and he could just picture you curled under it, cosy and warm. You would look even better with the one he’d buy you, on his bed, nesting, with his pup safe inside your belly.

God, he was being delusional. Conceited too. You nesting on his bed? His pup? The second you discovered the true extent of his meaningless existence, you would change whatever mind you had about him. As you should.

This window into your personality he wandered through reminded him of what he knew, though, and your world was far different from his. Soulmate or no, it would be selfish of him to ask you to give this lifestyle up to be in his where monsters and gore were a constant.

As for pups. Little versions of him mixed with you? The idea took over his body with warm fuzzies, but it was a pipe dream fueled by his instinct to mate and breed.

He knew that.

‘What the hell, man? You don’t even want a family.’ Not like that, anyway.

Fuck no. He’d already dipped his toe in that pool and found it too cold. Being a dad wasn’t for him. Not with the target on his back. And this infinite loop of yearning, then backtracking? It certainly wasn’t, either.

Was this what they meant by a mid-life crisis?

Or maybe it was Dick’s pheromones making him go awol? With notes that belonged in a can of axe body spray Dean had used as a teen before he presented.

His snort was comical.

At least he could put whatever this was to good use. That and the rest of his self worth and a smidgen of hate. They were the perfect recipe for a strong uppercut and Dean was lucky Dick didn’t keep him waiting long.

The unmistakable jangle of keys looking for their lock was the first thing that alerted Dean to his presence.

“Who’re you?” was the second.

Dean spun around on his heels, oozing confidence with his cocksure grin. He didn’t feel the slightest bit intimidated as Dick puffed his chest out. Nor when his gaze travelled the length of his body, top to toe. And rather than answering the other alpha before him, he thought it best to show him how badly he’d fucked up.

Dean’s language was action, after all, and he was finally about to have some fun.

His right hand moved to hover behind his back as the other’s fingers locked around the edging of his shirt collar, pulling it down in slow motion for added effect. He was an expert in gaining attention, even if it was purposeful to piss someone off.

The haughty laugh Dick produced was better than any reaction he could’ve hoped for, and it urged him on.

“Somethin’ funny?” Dean said.

“Guess I was looking in the wrong places. She swore you didn’t want her.” Dick stepped forward, slinking further into the room, unaware of what Dean could achieve.

Mistake number one.

On the outside, Dean was relaxed, too. Both arms returned to his side, keeping his distance with his front positioned towards the other alpha.

Inside, Dick’s every movement was under his scrutiny. He wanted him to fuck up. To say or do something stupid. That way, Dean had probable cause. It would make whatever he ended up dishing out sit better on his conscience if he heard Dick admit it himself.

So Dean poked the bear. Outright asking him, “Did she say that while you were raping her?”

“I marked her as mine.”

Those words were Dick’s second mistake. He’d just given Dean the chopping block.

“And I suppose she didn’t ask you to stop when you hit her, huh? When you tried to scratch my initials out of her skin?” Dean’s voice remained void of all emotion, even as the anger bubbled in his gut. If he held a mirror to his soul, Dick’s face would have been its reflection.

“The little slut is obviously yours now. What do you want?”

Other than using your name, there was nothing Dick could’ve called you that wouldn’t have resulted in him handing over the axe and a third strike.

“I came here to give you a taste of your own medicine. But I don’t swing that way,” Dean said as he withdrew his gun and held it in the air. “Then I thought I’d use this.”

Dick’s whole body flinched. A Mexican wave of nerves twitching all over if you had watched closely, as Dean, of course, had. “You’re fucking crazy!”

Dean was still casual, his smirk devilish. “Oh buddy, you’ve got no idea. If we’d have met last night, well, let’s just say you wouldn’t be here.”

It was all talk. Dean would never go that extreme, not now that he’d had some time to think. He’d meant that bit about being calm. But he loved watching Dick squirm.

His face was hilarious. Dick’s not Dean’s. Dean looked down for business, whereas Dick may as well have been down on his knees. “You want me to apologise? Never see her again? Done. She’s all yours.”

“You think I was waiting for your permission or something? Nah. But I’d appreciate it if you come at me first.”

“Why?” Dick scowled.

“So I can claim self defence.”

To Dean’s exhilarated surprise, his jaunts worked and Dick lunged forward, colliding his fist into his cheek. The muscle below throbbed, and the broken skin stung, but the blood that swirled through his mouth was worth it.

Dick was too dumb to realise Dean was playing with him.

He took blow after blow, waiting for the moment Dick wore himself down to absolute exhaustion.

A punch to the gut. Another to his ribs. With each new strike, more of Dean’s stock appeared on the other alpha’s knuckles. If it weren’t for the colour, he may have confused the patterns and added chunky bits with strawberry jelly, seeds and all, smeared over his pasty white skin.

“Is this what you did to her?” Dean taunted. As much as the truth would anger him, he wanted to know. The more he heard, the easier beating Dick to a pulp would be.

But Dick was too busy concentrating on his workout. Huffing and puffing, with zero energy to answer, or blow the house down.

“That all you got?” Dean made him work a little harder. He’d started dodging, adding some defensive blocks amongst the steps he took backwards. His goal, further from the door, knowing full well that by bringing Dick into a different room, there would be no chance of any witnesses.

It proved more difficult, what with his centre of gravity slightly off because of the punch he’d allowed Dick to land on his right ear. But now in the kitchen, with counters he could lean and bounce off of, Dean decided it was time. His defence turned into offence, and in a matter of seconds, his fist had shaped its way into Dick’s face twice, the butt of his gun another, satisfying every part of his being.

Dean delivered more, all to the fleshiest parts of Dick. His stomach, his thighs, colliding with both boots, and his namesake, which met Dean’s very forceful left knee.

Both men winced. Both groaned, too. Only Dick was in pain, Dean out of mock sympathy.

His hand grabbed the back of Dick’s shirt next, lifting his body upright to send him flying, much like his front door. He landed head first into the lower cabinet with a thump and a flop onto the floor, where he received more of Dean’s wrath.

Looming over your mate, he used his boot to roll him to the side, further toeing his chin to make sure he had the bloodied face’s attention. “Being someone’s bitch ain’t so fun, huh, Dick?”

“Who wants breakfast?” Dean did his best to act casual and ignore the two pairs of eyes that followed him as he walked back into the room. His body ached all over.

He’d been gone a little under three hours now, but he knew that wasn’t what either of you had an issue with.

His brother’s gaze forever judged, while yours appeared concerned, possibly frightened, and neither surprised him, having received similar stares from strangers the entire way back to the motel. A swollen face and bloody knuckles just did that to people, and Dean accepted it.

“What happened?” Sam asked from behind his laptop. Though it should’ve been obvious “I thought—“

“Nothin’.” Dean wasn’t gonna talk about his confrontation with Dick. Not anytime soon, least of all when you were in the room. He needed to gauge your feelings on the matter first, then he’d play into them.

Would you be upset he’d beaten the guy into a pulp or were you concerned with his injuries at all? Because while the latter sure sounded appealing, it wouldn’t help his latest penchant towards you.

He moved to the table and unburdened his hands of everything he carried, starting one by one with the two trays of drinks he’d been balancing. “We got, ah, black, milk, mocha, red-eye, iced, breakfast tea? With, huh, milk? Hot chocolate, and,” he lifted a steaming cup to his chin and inspected the scrawl written on the lid, “the lady said this had Thai in it? I dunno. It’s popular with the locals.”

Impressed, Sam stood up and reached over to pick out a coffee Dean had labelled, only to be smacked away by an overtly aggressive hand.

“Ladies first.” Dean shot you a glance.

You were sitting on the bed he’d left you sleeping on, but had since been remade. As had his Sam’s, with his jacket folded at the end. “I also bought some sandwiches, donuts. Pie.” Both brows raised on that last part, and his grin, although stained with blood, was rather proud.

He had no idea what you liked, but he was confident you would find something to your tastes among this lot. He may have been intent on pushing you away, but he could still protect and act chivalrous towards his soulmate.

If you decided you wanted nothing, it wouldn’t go to waste because he was salivating over the aroma alone since he’d picked it all out. He could always have another coffee, too.

While he didn’t hesitate to pull up a chair and slump into it, he did second guess himself when he addressed you. “C’mon Omega. You must be hungry.”

The term slipped off his tongue with ease, and one thing he was suddenly certain about was his sack being empty. He’d dropped his balls somewhere between dealing with Dick and now, and this uncertainty and stilted behaviour needed to stop.

Even after seeing your apartment, being surrounded by your things and having his inadequacies resurface again. He wasn’t what you needed in your life, and he had to remind himself of that, though it drove him crazy.

This constant mystification around you would surely end with your reflection in Baby’s rearview once more, wouldn’t it?

Yes. It had to because he was Dean frigging Winchester. Never confused by anyone, male or female.

But you and your hesitant steps, observing him as you made your way to join them, were an enigma. Beautiful even with your still stiff gait and bruising on your face and neck that had darkened again. The two of you could almost be a matching pair. Dick sure favoured a hook.

“What’ll you have?” he asked as you sat down, eyes focused in and around his.

The plastic against your pelvis must’ve been uncomfortable. Dean paid particular attention to the way your expression tightened, then relaxed as your body did.

“Coffee? Tea?” He ignored his anguish, pointing to each cup as he listed them, waiting for your response, then passing you your selection when you did.

Your grip was gentle. Your bites and movements were just as soft as how you held your drink when you ate, and through Dean’s constant glimpsing, he found himself less and less interested in his own food.

“You sleep alright?” he said, and your lip twitched into a soft smile when you nodded. Your continued stare had him pulling at his collar.

Sam watched the entire exchange with interest. Here was Dean, someone so hellbent on never entering another relationship after whatever it was he’d had with Lisa and Ben, now infatuated with you. Sure you were soulmates, but it was simple and refreshing.

He saw the way Dean grappled with his instincts, trying to pretend you were no one special, even though all these sweet gestures showed otherwise. The food, the coffee, the bag he’d packed with as many things of yours as he could after leaving your apartment.

You may not have realised what the duffle below your feet was just yet, but Sam sure did. The scent of your belongings oozed off of it, blending with his brother’s own.

Cinnamon, apple, a touch of vanilla, and other spices that collected under those which Dean surrounded himself with. It fit that his palate, in its purest form, would work so well with that of his soulmates.

Almost the same as Sam and Jess’ own mix…

Sam understood Dean’s reluctance, not just with you, but with everyone. He appreciated that his own misery had shielded Dean from heartbreak so far. He wished the transformation he saw in his brother would open himself up more to find what he had lost.

Until then, though, Dean was going to receive a world of shit when they were alone again. Sam owed him for the morning’s wake up call. No doubt for other instances he still didn’t know about, too.

The clothes Dean had picked for you from your wardrobe before leaving the apartment, while fitting as they should, left him disappointed. As crazy as he knew the notion was, he enjoyed seeing you wearing his things, even though temporarily. There was something about the way his shirt flowed over your breasts and hips.

It had engulfed your figure. How it hung below your rear, revealing your thighs when you stretched, and the edging of what he presumed to be a cute pair of lacy panties hugging the curve of that sweet ass he’d pictured as he took care of himself.

Yup. He was going to hell. Again.

He’d been over this and it couldn’t happen.

‘She was just fucking assaulted, man,’ his brain rerouted. ‘Not even a day ago. She doesn’t need this shit from anyone, least of all her soulmate. Or her alpha.’

There it was, that primal side of him coming out. It had been there at your apartment too, but it, like the more sane part of him, was more interested in screwing with Dick at the time.

Now that it was all over, he needed to do his utmost best to reel it in. There was still one last thing that had to be addressed, and neither lusting nor pussyfooting around was going to get it done.

He had to cut ties with you. He had to. His life wasn’t for you, not after seeing the life you could have, with or without Dick. So as he helped you clean up from breakfast, sorting out scraps from leftovers and recycling from trash, he decided there was no time like the present. The sooner the better.

Dammit. He had to do this, now, and he listened to make sure the shower was still on and Sam, in it. Then, running his fingers over his hair, flinging each bristle forward, he cleared his throat.

“So, now that our case is over, me and Sammy will head home to Kansas.” He was smooth. In control, and confident in his delivery. It showed a little too well.

“Right,” you whispered. Your head, delaying by a second, gave a quick shake.

Was that pulling your teeth over your lip nerves? Disappointment?

Scrap that part about confidence. There was that powerful beat in his heart again. The one that felt like it had escaped his chest, pumping back and forth for the world to see.

“I ah. The good news is he won’t bother you anymore.”

Your body froze on the spot. “You—”

There was no need for you to say anything further because he could tell by your horrified expression alone you thought the worst.

“No. No, no. I mean, he looks worse than I do.” He chuckled awkwardly. “But I didn’t murder the guy. As much as I wanted to.”

He shouldn’t have said that.

“I might’ve hustled him a little first, but he’s gonna recover. Just like you will.” He paused and raised himself, pulling his muscles taut. He’d forgotten all about the medicated cream he’d bought you.

His hands touched his hips, then his thighs, searching his pockets, though he didn’t know why. The tube, still in its box, wouldn’t fit anywhere on his person.

He scanned the table and the ground below it before reaching down to pick up the small paper bag. “I got ya this at the pharmacy near the diner. They said it’d help with the infection. Might have to borrow some myself before we leave.” He grinned.

But you didn’t return it. Your brow furrowed as he stepped closer to hand it to you, fingers playing with the package the second they touched. “What’re you trying to say, Dean?” you said, and damn. Using his name stung.

You really were intuitive. He should’ve bargained for it. And what choice did he have but to rip the bandaid off? “Look. What I said about wanting you was true. But my life is dangerous, and I can’t bring anyone into it. Especially you.”

Though his words were every bit rejecting, the way your chest rose below the outline of his chin and your lashes batting against your cheek had him taken, and his concentration proved difficult to maintain.

There was a touch of spice in the air that hadn’t been there before. Something familiar, yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on where it came from. It was addicting, and while he knew it was wrong to let it engulf his senses, he didn’t stop himself.

“So,” he shuddered, using the slight tremor as a final plight to clear his head, “if there’s some place you can go, family or friends, I’m happy to take you there. Anywhere at all. I think it’s best you do that, and you know, forget about Ritchie, and—“

“And you.” Your lips were so plump and enticing. His eyes could only focus’s on their shine, moving under the light as you spoke.

“Yeah,” he whispered, his stomach pulling a one-eighty.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Nope. But what could he do? Your safety was far more important than his need to have you around. His life wasn’t for you. Hell, it wasn’t a life for anyone, and when he stuttered and your mouth pursed in an understanding smile, he was further reminded that what he was doing was right.

“It’s okay. I understand,” you said as your hand came up to touch his and your face lifted to graze a simple peck on the other.

The softness he felt against his skin covered his body in a blanket of goosebumps, igniting a fire within that made his blood thrum, and his ears pop and pulse along with his gut, churning once again. And before you could retract, before you could step away or even turn, his arm had wrapped around your waist, tight, and he commandeered a kiss of his own.

Was he stupid? Damn straight he was, but the genius that lay dormant would pull him through. His inner alpha would always be there to protect his omega. He just needed to figure out how.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

How awesome was that gif at the top? Gave me goosebumps when I was going back and forth, formatting.

I wish I could say that’s the last we’ll see of Dick, but unfortunately, memories live on, and we’ll delve into them more in the future. Did Dean beat him up enough, though? I’ve killed some characters off in the past, not going to lie, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it with him.

We have a cyclone causing trouble here - yay - and my kids are already driving me insane. If you don’t hear from me, it’s because I’ve either lost power/internet, or I’m huddled in the foetal position of my living room, with my wine stash, gone… That’s far more likely. Enjoy your weekend wherever you are in the world!

Chapter 4: Familiarising - 14/03

Dean rolled off to the side, bringing you with him to rest your head against his chest instead. He pulled the covers with you to drape them across your shoulder. Close and cosy, but away from his clear arousal, choosing it best to leave the pressure in his pants over putting it on you.

“I, ah, just need a sec,” he breathed through the grin plastered over his face.

If only you’d give him one.

Your hand patted his sternum, but your leg wrapped over his, bringing your knee close to his semi.

“Not that I’m complaining, sweetheart, but you’re making it hard for me here.”

“Pun intended?” You asked, earning yourself a light smack on your rear.

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[alexsoenomel]

Date nights with Sam Winchester would include:

Usually you would go on dates every week depending on how much free time you had.

Sam was the one who would usually plan the date but sometimes you would surprise him.

You both liked simple things but sometimes would treat yourself with a fancy dinner or an art exhibition/ museum.

"Wear something nice. I'm taking you somewhere fancy." He told you once before taking you to nice five star restaurant after you almost died on a job back in New York City.

He would always tell you how beautiful you looked and how lucky he was to be with someone like you.

"You're too kind Sam." You would say blushing.

"I'm serious you're magnificent."

Sometimes date nights were staying in the bunker eating popcorn and watching a good movie.

You loved resting your head on his shoulder and keeping him close.

During your period days he would usually buy you junk food and let you pick a movie.

Sometimes dates would just be staying home and reading books.

Sometimes you would just go and have a drink in the nearest pub.

You both loved getting drunk and having discussions about current social issues, politics and philosophy.

He loved learning from you and listening

you talk.

His eyes would always sparkle whenever you spoke, especially when he was drunk.

"Why are you smiling? I'm talking about serious shit."

"I'm so in love with you it's not even funny."

Date nights were just a reminder that he loved you just as much as you loved him.

Whenever he would wear a suit for a fancy dinner date you would end up having sex in Dean's Baby because wine made you horny and he was too hot for his own good.

Sam loved the fact that you were down for anything and he would always try to be as creative as possible with date ideas.

You once went to an arcade.... with Dean.

"I'm really enjoying this date with your brother, Sam." You laughed.

"He didn't hear the part where I said I want to spend time with my girlfriend."

Once you went camping for the weekend and Dean thought you were both insane.

You would rarely go to the movies because you both preferred watching them home.

Once you went to a rage room after a difficult hunt (it was your idea and he loved it)

If you were in the middle of nowhere in a musty motel you would take Dean's car and just drive aimlessly.

It never mattered where you two were going nor what you were going to do, as long as you were together that was all that mattered.

[universalcas]

When I presented my two pieces for the @destielaureversebb I only had a vague idea about what I wanted. In my mind I only had "Something with pirates. Dean as a pirate and Cas as the son of a wealthy family" and then @friendofcarlotta came, claimed my work and turned it into something out of this world.

The first two pieces are the ones I presented for claiming. The rest is just the result of having the pleasure of seeing her doing literally magic with words.

This story has quickly become one of my comfort fics and I think that now, more than ever, we need some adventure and rebellion.

A big thank you to the mods for creating this event and everyone participating in it for making my first time in a reverse bang a truly memorable experience.

So take your friends and your flag and travel the High Seas with us!

🦜🏴‍☠️ Read the story here 🏴‍☠️🦜