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minimomoe · 1 year ago

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How to Train your Demon

Pairing: trueform! Sukuna x Fem Reader

Summary: Life has all kinds of wins and losses. You don't know which category to put your new demon husband in though.

Tags: MDNI!, red string of fate trope, true form sukuna, librarian reader, soul mates, reincarnation, accidental summoning, love at first sight (buti it's one-sided (until it's not)), Sukuna is demon, but he's v much in love, smut and stuff eventually i guess....

Song inspo: E.V.O.L- MARINA

Part I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. (completed!)

Rule no. 1: Don't show fear

It was a mistake. A comical, nonsensical, monumental mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. You didn’t mean to create a soul tie with a demon . All you did was read a torn up book from the library. Was it an occult book about spiritual practices in the Japanese Heian era? Yes… but it doesn’t warrant an eldritch horror being your life partner.

Actually, according to the demon, you didn’t create the soul tie, he has been waiting for you all his life. Cute, but it didn’t make the situation any better. Damn your natural inclination to catch the old and withered items thrown into the donation boxes of the library you worked at. It just pained your heart to see pages falling out of books, and the ominous leather bound grimoire was no exception.

Restoration was one of your favorite things to do. Knowledge is always worth saving, no matter how old it may be. Books were your life. You found yourself lost in them, enchanted, terrified, taught. You had no genre as your favorite. Everything was welcomed, nothing was off limits. You knew a little bit of every culture, every study, every block buster fantasy. If you could, you’d build a machine that would let you live inside of a book and experience the scene yourself.

Technically you could ask your all powerful demon to do that, but you didn’t want to deal with him right now.

You still weren’t all too sure on how it happened. First you were glueing the pages back to the spine of the book, running your fingers over the deckled edges when you opened a page that was stuck together. You carefully peeled it apart, a task that took ten minutes to do to avoid any additional tears, and opened up to a page that was different from the rest. The words were written in a rush, the strokes of the characters dragging much longer than it should. You only knew a tiny bit of Japanese (but much more of Latin, Russian, Yoruba, and French from having just an abundance of time on your hands), but this time you could make out some of the words.

You muttered the ones you knew for sure, used context clues for the ones that were beyond reading. It didn’t make a lick of sense to you. You closed the book with a clamp so that the glue would set and decided to come back to it tomorrow since it was closing time. There was no rush of wind, flash of lightning, or eerie sounds. Just you and the screech of a thousand cicadas as soon as you stepped outside to walk to your car. A normal Thursday night.

Until it wasn’t.

You shuffled around your house with a new arc from your favorite novelist in one hand, a glass of wine in the other, and the largest frame of glasses known to man perched on your nose. Jazz music quietly spilled out from your hidden speakers, preventing the house from getting a little too quiet as you lived alone with your cat. It was a total boring cliche, you were well aware, but you were happy with your life. You had friends who you trusted, a great relationship with your parents, and just recently got out of a relationship with someone who you didn’t hate, you just grew apart. There was no chaotic, negative energy to feast on in your household and you liked it that way.

You thought you heard your cat clawing on the door when you were snuggled away in your bed. You flipped the covers over and went to let her in to snuggle with you.

“I’m so sorry, Cleo. I thought you were already in here with me,” you said, scooping her up from the floor. The ragdoll cat begrudgingly accepted your kisses of apology. You set her down on the bed, watching her find a good spot to curl up in and smiled. You went to reach for your wine glass you knew that you set on your nightstand, but there was nothing in the glass. You were sure that you didn’t finish it. You paced yourself well enough for it to last until at least chapter five, but there wasn’t a drop of alcohol left.

“The quality of sake has diminished over the years, I see.”

The voice came from all around the room but also deep in your chest. Cleo hissed, making a run for it out of your door, leaving you wildly spinning around for the intruder. You lunged for the heavy duty taser you kept in your nightstand, but when you turned around there was nobody there.

“What is that?”

The bone chilling voice spoke again. Was it one person or many, you couldn’t tell.

“I— I have a weapon!” You tried to steady your voice but it was hopeless. You were terrified. There was nobody there but you could feel a heavy presence in the room.

“You call that a weapon?” The voice laughed. “The only weapon my wife needs is me.”

The statement made you falter. “Wife? Who are you?”

You turned around once again and nearly jumped out of your skin. A man, or a close approximation of one, sat on your bed flicking through your book. It was impossible, but he had twice as many limbs on his top half than he should, and double the amount of eyes. They were bright and red when scanning through your novel. “What language is this?”

“F-french,” you whispered. You were dreaming. You had to be. That was the only way this could be happening. Still, dream or not, you had to protect yourself. You pressed your taser and watched the prongs leap out and touch his bare skin. He looked unbothered, merely looking down at his stomach where the taser landed and moved his arm to reveal a mouth on his abdomen. A tongue flopped out and licked the prongs, dragging it back to the mouth and the taser was slowly dragged out of your hands and into the mouth. You watched in horror as the hard plastic was crushed to pieces in front of your very eyes.

“Useless weapon,” he reiterated, this time looking directly at you. “Don’t insult me again.”

“Pl—please don’t hurt me.” There was nothing left to do but beg. You already punched yourself till blood was drawn. This was not a dream, you were looking at a real, evil monster who didn’t know French and ate high voltage tasers.

He rose from your bed. You crawled away as much as you could until you bumped into a wall and still you wanted to move through it. He stood before you, looking over your trembling frame and called out for you.

“Rise.”

You rose, unsure if you really had a choice in the matter. One of his many hands cupped the side of your face. A clawed thumb brushed away the tear that fell on your cheek.

“Why do you weep?”

“Um… well… I don’t really know who you are,” you said honestly. You were still pinned to the wall, unable to flee and he took up your entire frame of sight. He nodded, removing his hand from your face and raising it in the air. You thought he was going to strike you and you flinched. When you opened your eyes again he was multiple steps away from you, still raising his palm.

“Time has faded your memory of me. You are my wife, and I am your husband. The string of fate proves that we are mates.”

He stated it so matter of factly. You are my wife, and I am your husband. My wife, your husband. Mates. Forget dreaming, you have officially lost your mind.

“I don’t… remember agreeing to that,” you said carefully. The words “husband” and “wife” bounced in your head in a crazy echo. You slumped to the floor, your body suddenly very tired. A laugh bubbled up your throat and escaped your mouth. So much for your boring life.

“Do you not feel the connection? The string is tied from my last finger to yours.” You looked at your hand, not seeing any supposed string and shook your head.

He frowned. “You do not agree to it. It has been decided.” He crouched in front of you, inspecting your face earnestly. One side of his face was strange, not normal skin, instead inhuman, bumpy and shades darker.

“You look the same after all this time,” he murmured. “I will make you remember.”

“Let’s not do that,” you said quickly. “I don’t even know your name and I am not married. I’m a librarian and I have a cat. And I have never, ever met you before.”

“I am known as Sukuna, among other names,” he responded to one of your distresses. “What title is a librarian?”

This time you laughed. An deranged laugh, loud and unbecoming. Sukuna waited as impatiently as he could for you to be finished, but you kept on cackling. Once out of breath, you wiped the tears out of your eyes and leaned against the wall. It finally dawned on you how this happened. The drying grimoire that was locked up in the library was responsible for this strange turn of events.

“It’s not a title, at least, not in the way you’re thinking. It’s my job, one that I love very much. Was I ever a common worker before?”

Sukuna bristled at the thought. Even his tummy mouth frowned. “You were a queen. You wanted nothing because you had everything.”

“Interesting,” you mused. “I’m so not your girl.”

“I’m not interested in little girls.”

“Kudos to you. I think I’m going to sleep now. I’m clearly much more tired than I think I am.”

“We have things to discuss,” Sukuna protested, but you already slipped under the sheets. If I force myself to sleep he will go away, you thought.

Instead you felt the dip of the other side of your bed and flung your eyes open. Sukuna was in bed, with you, staring your down with his four eyes. He was much too close for your liking.

You looked at him wildly. “What are you doing?”

“Resting with you.”

“Get out of my bed!”

“Are you no longer tired?”

“I am tired. Extremely tired, but that doesn’t mean I want you on my bed! Stay on the floor or something!”

Sukuna rolled his eyes at you and turned on his back, his arms crossed in two sets on his chest.

“You were always particular with your sleeping habits. I see that hasn’t changed either.”

“Stop acting like you know me!”

Sukuna got off the bed to sit on the floor like you asked. The only problem is that you could feel his gaze prickling your skin, making it impossible to ignore him. You didn’t feel bad about kicking him out, he certainly didn’t have a pout on his face because of it, but something needed to be done.

“Face the door instead of me,” you mumbled.

His eyes twitched. “Commanding me like footmen,” he grumbled, yet he still turned away. You wondered if his obedience had something to do with the book. Sukuna had the aura of someone who doesn’t listen to anyone, yet he’s been more than understanding with you. Maybe you really were his wife. Maybe you were having a very elaborate and maladaptive daydream. You thought of “maybe’s” until the sun came up, still staring at the back of his pink, spiky hair.

Your alarm chirped for you to get ready for work. You groaned. You didn’t get a second of sleep. You were too afraid of being eaten by the demon you accidentally summoned. You reached out to shut off the ringing clock as quietly as you could, but Sukuna touched it first.

“How strange,” he said, turning the clock around in his hand. He brought it up to his ear, shook his head, tapped the glass. Then he crushed it. It was made of plastic, but the shards bent and broke to the floor left his hand unscratched. You gaped at the mess he made as he let the remains fall to the floor. “It was making a wretched sound.”

“Yeah…” you sighed. “It was pretty noisy.”

You had to find out how to get rid of him. Fast.

Thanks for reading loves!! lemme know what ya think xx

Part: I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII.

M.list || Twitter || Ao3

#minimoe #minimomoe #jjk #jjk fanfic #sukuna ryomen #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x reader #x black reader #black fem reader #soulmates #true form sukuna #sukuna fluff #this is v silly #and tropey #tummy mouth may be sentient #red string of fate

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bettystonewell · 4 months ago

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TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 4

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: 4.6k words

Chapter Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, referenced physical abuse, referenced sexual assault, language, Dean pre-gaming, fingering

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Sparks flew. Was that the crap everyone always spoke about? Because Dean kind of understood it now.

His body from head to toe was buzzing with excitement, and the closest thing he could liken it to was that blend of exhilarating and nerve-racking jitters he encountered during a fight. His fists flying and landing on another man (or monster) held the same principle as flint hitting tinder, didn’t it?

Yeah. That fit.

But while beating Dick, and any other brawl he’d experienced, required movement and forethought, this kiss was simple and far less complicated than any other he’d shared before.

His soulmate and her delicate lips touching his. Succulent and savouring, with just the right amount of wetness. Even making a soft squelch when his mouth pulled away from yours to get a good look at you.

Your hair was messy against the pillow. No longer knotted and clumped together, as it was three nights ago when he’d found you in the park. It picked up highlights from the lamp he always kept on in the corner of his room.

That same light, which made even the cheap steel of his shotgun on the wall sparkle like silver, now cast shadows over your injured shoulder and neck. They hid some of the fainter bruises while darkening the deeper punctures gathering around that perfectly rounded D, and sharp angles of the Winchester W.

The letters were more prominent now, but they failed to compare to your fully developed black eye.

“You better put some more ice on this today,” he said as his thumb swiped a gentle trail below the colourful ring.

Your smile was infectious, even with the injuries. Your fingers cupped his chin, twisting his head to inspect his own, left, right, then left again. “I think you need it more than I do.”

Yeah. The two of you made quite the impressive pair. Not just with the matching marks from Dick on your face, but by the way you’d fit into his life and not just his bed.

Not that any night moves had gone on - yet. Things had remained PG at second base. A little tongue and boob action here and there, but nothing more. He’d never push you to third because he needed to make sure this was what you both wanted. It didn’t hurt to know each other first, even if the process took place under his sheets. He wouldn’t have it any other way, and there was plenty of time.

“Penny for your thoughts.” Your fingers scratched through his stubble to gain his attention. “You’re spacing out again.”

With a cocked brow and a smirk, he lowered himself down to recapture your lips. He needed a bit of courage before he brought up the nitty gritty of your cycle and his suppressant taking. He’d been meaning to do it. The idea of his world with you in it was fast becoming more real as each extra hour he spent with you passed, but with it was the matter of claiming you, and all that entailed.

Nips from his teeth, licks by his tongue. One hand pushed through your hair while the other massaged every inch of your own baby-smooth skin below.

His elbows and knees balanced his upper half to hover above you, which was both a blessing and a curse. If he could feel his cock beginning to bear a life of its own on your leg, then you most likely did, too.

Fuck.

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.

It was playful, but after what you’d been through, he regretted it, even though you didn’t seem to mind. And his hand remained, running soothing circles over the firm muscle and the fabric that covered it.

“I’m not that fragile,” you said all too knowingly.

“And I can’t wait to find that out for myself. When you’re ready.”

Your walk still held that awkward gait it had in the motel, but you insisted nothing was wrong, hiding every sigh and cringe behind a smile or bouts of small talk.

“Are you leaving that up to me, Doctor Winchester?” More pats from the tips of your fingers struck his chest with each syllable of his name.

“If it were up to me, you’d have seen one,” he leered. Google might’ve said an injury like yours took up to two weeks, but it wasn’t a medical professional. Neither was he.

“They’ll start asking questions,” you whispered.

“So? We lie. In case you didn’t know, I’m good at that. Comes with the job.”

Your quiet snort brought a smile to his lips. Humour always worked, until it didn’t…

“I noticed,” you said. But then you shook your head and your hair shuffled under his chin, bringing with it a fresh wave of your sweet omega scent that went straight to his groin.

How was he supposed to keep this up? (Or down rather.)

“I just want to forget it happened. The sooner his mark fades, the better.”

Dean couldn’t agree more, and he used that statement as his opening. “Did it hurt? The first time, I mean.” It wasn’t a very good one.

“No. But I got lost in the moment,” you said, lifting yourself up onto your elbow to look at him. “Have you ever?”

“Me? I guess I didn’t make myself clear on the ‘me being dangerous’ part, huh?” Dean brought his hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear that had fallen. “Sam met his soulmate, too. But a demon killed her.”

You had spent little time with Sammy to form any connection, but Dean still recognised the empathy and fear that dampened your eyes. Guilt, no doubt, setting in his. Would what happened to Jess be the deal breaker?

“Since we lost her, we’ve both been on suppressants, so I’ve been able to avoid my ruts and the risk of claiming anyone.”

“So, no sex at all?”

“I’m not a saint. I still hooked-up.” And this was not where he wanted the conversation to go. The last thing you needed to hear was how promiscuous he’d been. “But I avoided anything substantial.”

Okay. That was worse.

“Did you ever—” Sleep around? Have casual partners before you met Dick? What was he thinking? “I mean, was Richie the only guy or—”

“Don’t worry, you’re off the hook.” You chuckled. “There were others, but only the one claim. Well, two…” Your head lowered and your fingers played with the old shirt he’d worn to bed.

“Did you ever try for pups?”

“We did,” you said. “But nothing stuck. Just another thing to be thankful for.”

As much as it hurt him to see you sad again, Dean couldn’t agree more. He hated the thought of anyone growing up in that environment.

Not that your apartment was anything less than the apple pie life he admired. Out of all the homes he’d visited, yours had been better than most, and if it weren’t for mixtures of Dick amongst it, Dean could have lived there himself given the opportunity.

Well, perhaps in a different location. Moving your things into this room would be ideal.

But the idea of a guy such as Dick being a dad? Someone that hit his mate out of jealousy...

His father may have been shitty, and maybe he didn’t treat Dean and Sam the best. Giving a gun to a six-year-old was the wrong thing to do in Dean’s eyes, even if he’d enjoyed it back then. Neither was growing up on the road the way they did. At least John Winchester never struck them until they were adolescents.

As for Dean, he wasn’t ideal either, but claiming you meant no more suppressants and that meant the risk you’d conceive. He wasn’t stupid.

Was he okay with his hypothetical pups living in the bunker if he claimed you on your next cycle and knocked you up as well? It would be the safest place for them, whether he was actively hunting or not. But would that be enough?

Wait. Was he really more worried about the safety of your potential rugrats than he was over actually bringing them into existence?

“Dean?”

“Mmm?” His throat couldn’t produce much more sound than that. A lump had garnered there, having realised and accepted that his inner alpha was besotted to make you all round and heavy with his pup. Stupid instincts.

“If that’s a deal breaker for you, I’d understand.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“I’m an omega. My body is supposed to grow pups, but I don’t think it can. And I dunno what you want, but—”

His hand cupped your chin and with a gentle nudge, encouraged you to raise your head back up so you could see that he meant what he said next. “You know how I keep telling ya I’m dangerous?”

You nodded.

“It’s ‘cause I’m worried things I’ve pissed off could hurt those I care about, including you.” His lips curled upward. His newfound want may have been squashed before it had even festered, but he wouldn’t let that add more to the burden you’d already placed on yourself. “No pups means less people for me to protect. That’s not a bad thing. And I will protect you, if you’ll be mine.”

Your eyes twinkled under a layer of tears.

While he still held questions about your heat and how long he had before he could claim you, right now, he needed to get lost in you and encourage you to do the same. Even if it stayed above the belt.

That was all peachy, in theory, but over the course of the following week, Dean was sure having a hard time keeping things, well, not hard.

His inner alpha yearned for you to be his. Hell, he wanted you, too. However, he was so adamant about not going all the way with you until your body had healed that he had turned himself into the poster boy for that typical kid in a candy store. Forever looking, never relieving the perpetual aching that had made a home between his legs.

Your scent, your warmth, your touch. Everything about you drove him crazy, and while he loved every second he got to spend with you, on the seventh day since your arrival in the bunker, he needed to get himself spent before he took you out for the evening as he’d planned. There was only so much a man could take, let alone an alpha, and he didn’t want his knot ruining the night.

So when he found himself a moment in the garage alone, he couldn’t help but take care of things.

His firm grip pumped his dick at a furious pace, willing his impending orgasm to bust out as quickly as possible.

The pants he breathed bounced off the cement pylons and steel scaffolding. As did skin slapping against skin and his belt buckle jangling in the air. When he gave one final satisfying thrust to blow his load into the oil-rag he had on the ready, your name was on the tip of his tongue. The memory of your nipples hardening beneath his thumb in his mind.

It was risky, jacking off the way he had. Against Baby’s rear bumper where anyone could catch him by walking up the central stairs, but that had also been the thrill. What little there was of it.

Sam rarely ventured down here and you, he presumed, were still being occupied with him, making it the perfect opportunity for Dean to deal with his preparations in peace.

He grinned as he scrunched the evidence into his fist and threw it in the trash. There was no point trying to wash the thing, and he wouldn’t attempt to explain where it had come from if he got caught adding it to the machine.

He had a job to do though, and with his cock still out while he waited for the base to deflate enough to tuck it back comfortably into his pants, he twisted himself around to make sure he had everything he needed in the trunk.

Cooler of beer, blankets. He’d pre-gamed himself. Check, check, and check. Dean was on his way to being a fucking gentleman. He just hoped you wouldn’t see right through him.

When he’d finished preparing, he washed his hands, tucked still not-so-little Dean away and walked the halls in search of you, as predicted finding you with Sam in the library with a screen in front of each of you.

The taller sasquatch form of his brother typed on his keyboard, while your smaller omega frame stared, clicking here and there on the trackpad of Dean’s laptop.

His initial reaction to your furrowed brow had him wondering if he should have triple checked his search history before lending the machine to you, but as he moved closer, he recognised that familiar twang of sadness in your scent. It wasn’t good news.

“Hey.” He hopped up the wooden steps and made the beeline for you. His fingers, following their instincts to comfort your latest grievance, whatever it was, magnetised to your exposed shoulders.

Though the dress you wore gave his hands easy access to your supple flesh and his eyes a feast from above, he was careful to avoid the patches of skin that were still healing. His brief session in the garage may not have been enough to get him through the night though.

“So. What did you find?” he said, his tone conveying a ‘hit me’ attitude.

“He drained my bank account.” You stifled a sigh, but with Dean being as close as he was and hovering over you, not only heard it, but he caught the split second movement when your chest heaved. “He even racked up my credit card. Sam hacked into the records.”

“Does it say what he bought?” Did that really matter?

“Gift cards,” Sam said. His scowl meeting Dean as if he were the culprit.

Fucking Dick. The guy was smarter than they’d given him credit for. This was exactly the kind of thing Dean and Sam used to do before Charlie set them up with their forever balanced bank accounts. If that made them assholes, then what did it make Dick?

“You think you can hook her up to what we have?” Dean asked.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Your head twisted to Dean first, seeking an explanation, but when he refused with a shrug, you directed your confused expression to Sam, who had resumed tapping away at his keyboard.

While you were distracted by gaining Sam’s attention, Dean leaned down so that his nose touched the shell of your ear and whispered, “How long have I known ya?”

Nothing could dampen his mood, even discovering Dick was more of a dick than you all had realised. It would seem his preparations for a date night had come at the perfect time.

“Eight days?” Your voice was just as perplexed as the last glance you’d given him had been.

“And how long have we been cooped up in the bunker?” he further asked.

You frowned, giving off a ‘what the hell kind of question is that,’ vibe. “A week. What’re you—”

“Too long to not have taken you out already.” His arms stretched, but both sets of fingers remained on your shoulders as he stepped to the side and looked at you expectantly.

“But my eye.”

Yes. That had worsened again. Now brandishing a deep purple ring around the top of the lid and below it, appearing painted on. It was a sight to see, but so was Dean’s.

“And? I’ve got one too,” he said, releasing you to hold out his hand for you to take.

“Yeah. That makes it worse. People are going to talk if we’re out in public looking like this together.”

“So. Let ‘em.” He shrugged. Though Dean could understand the embarrassment. He didn’t exactly enjoy the idea of some random Joe Citizen taking one look at him and thinking he was the alpha who’d caused your injuries. Especially when he had his own. “Besides, I’ve thought of that,” he said, and pulled you up himself.

He wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Really?” you asked.

“Really,” he said, before shooting a look behind him. “Don’t wait up, Sammy!” he then chirped as his arm wrapped around your waist, escorting you past the ornamental blades and giant telescope thingy, through to the door in the back of the library.

He knew you were still waiting on any explanation, given you focused on him over the path he led you on, but he enjoyed humouring you. The element of a good surprise, emphasis on the good, was so few and far between in his life.

“Where we’re going is for me to know and you to find out, but I’ll let you choose the cuisine,” he said, decking his smirk with a wag of his brows. “Burgers or pizza?” That last part he trilled.

Whatever you chose was neither a win, nor a loss, but he’d judge you on what flavour or kind you selected. No soulmate of Dean Winchester would ever eat a plant-based burger - in his presence. They’d also never opt for pineapple on their pizza, he hoped.

Okay. These things weren’t exactly deal breakers. At least, not up there with the chance of your death at the hands of a demon extracting their revenge on him. Or you, with whatever drama you’d endured unsuccessfully making your ex-mate a baby-daddy.

There were shortcomings and insecurities-a-plenty. It was just lucky your choice in pizza toppings was enough in his eyes to make up for them. What could he say? He was simple, and it was the simple things in life, like pepperoni and cheese, that kiss and all the other sweet moments he’d shared with you.

He couldn’t be happier, though he sensed your mood was waning. Damn Dick and his thieving ass. The asswipe had ruined the scene Dean had been going for.

He had chosen the perfect spot. Somewhere secluded. In a small clearing, about twenty minutes away from the bunker, and his brother. With plenty of tree cover and soft ground to place the blankets down.

Baby’s low beams cast light over the setup, shining through the beer bottles and capturing the stray wisps of hair that fell around your face.

You were perfect. In fact, this whole situation was still perfect, and Dick had ruined nothing. Even the breeze nipping at Dean’s chin was a blessing in disguise.

He slid the empty pizza box out of the way so he could pull you into the space between his thighs. Flinging your legs over his thick one and bringing your rear right up against his crotch.

For now, his balls were alright with it. His inner alpha didn’t mind, either. It had the perfect view of Dick’s claim, and all it wanted to do was, well, that was better left unsaid. Using his teeth on your healing skin wasn’t quite what you needed at that moment.

He’d be wrong. Sort of.

“You okay?” his low voice rumbled from his torso to yours.

“Yeah.”

You may have nodded, but he caught the purse of your lips as they forced a smile. He had become more and more attuned to your sensitivities with each passing day, but even Sam or any other human, alpha, omega or beta could tell you weren’t being truthful.

“Omega?” he pressed further.

But you shook your head and moved your hand to brush over Dean’s initials, peeking out below your loose neckline. It was a distraction for sure. The ruffling of the pretty fabric wasn’t helping when it fanned your scent up to his nostrils.

He brought his hand down to cover yours. His long fingers spread out, touching the very edge of your mating gland and the fading puncture marks from dickwad’s jaw. It caused your breath to hitch and a faint shockwave to travel up his arm to the same patch of skin on his body.

That…was…interesting.

You must’ve thought so too if your scent was anything to go by. There was a definite spike in the almost constant state of arousal that followed you.

“Does that feel good?” It wasn’t like he hadn’t touched you there already. He had done so when cleaning your injuries in the motel. Right?

Well, no. His fingers had come close, but he’d been so meticulous about not adding any foreign material to your open wounds that only the fabric he used to clean them had pressed against your skin.

Earlier in the library, it had been the same. But now your chortle and a flash of a broader smile met his gaze, and he was damn confused.

“Yeah,” you said. “It’s just stronger than I was expecting.”

“What is?”

“Our bond.” Your eyes lit up. “You haven’t claimed me, but it’s starting.”

What was starting exactly? Dean knew the logistics of claiming. He had to bite your mating gland when he came inside of you, but until that happened, he didn’t see how any bond could start. Yet here you were excited. And so was his inner alpha.

It clawed away at him again, scolding through snarls and odd commands like, ‘Scent her,’ ‘Kiss her on his mark,’ and all Dean could think was, ‘Seriously?’ because that was the last thing he’d ever thought of doing.

Not that he felt repulsed by you there. He just didn’t want to touch you anywhere near it until it healed completely and all traces of Dick were gone.

But what if the annoying beast in his head had a point?

“Fuck it,” he mumbled, greeting your questioning look with a smirk that made blue steel drop its panties. If the touch of his fingertips on that part of you had excited you the way he thought it had, he was going in for more.

“Dean?”

He swooped down to drag his lips over the faded bite, pulling them together to plant a not so chaste kiss there. Your mewl went straight to his cock, and while it was so damn worth it, his resolve was screwed.

The smell of your arousal only grew stronger, flooding his nostrils and mind with all things good and not so proper.

Would you protest if he moved lower to take your tit in his mouth?

Shit. Nope, nope. Abort, abort. Fucking abort. He needed to focus on the task at hand and think of something less lewd. It was a shame his libido didn’t get the message, because it asked, “When’s your next heat due again?” which, yeah, wasn’t what Dean had in mind. Not even close.

“It’s usually at the start of the season.”

“So we have another month? That about right?” he said between kisses and nips.

“Mm-hmm.”

Dean snickered into your neck at your sudden lack of coherency. He may have taken care of himself, not that it was apparent with the bulge forming in his pants, but as far as he was aware, you hadn’t done the same, and it was no wonder you were putty in his hands. “Don’t think I can wait that long to have you,” he drawled.

“You could have me now?”

He groaned and leaned back up to meet your eyes. “You’re not healed yet.” He’d seen the wince you’d made over one particularly rough speed hump. Dean had winced too - Baby’s rims had packed a beating - but that was before he noticed your discomfort.

God. If only he could have you. It was no longer a want to sink his knot into you. He needed to. But that stupid mother-fucking ��but’ he had put on himself wouldn’t allow it, even as your thighs rolled against each other to seek friction.

“It’s fine, Dean.” You brought your hands up to splay over his firm chest, twisting and shuffling your body to face him better. “I told you I’m not fragile.” Your fingers headed straight for his right pectoral muscle and placing of your initials over his tattoo.

“I wasn’t doing over five when I hit that bump.”

“That was one time,” you scoffed.

“Yeah, but that ride was gentle. I might not be.” Dean raised his brows and flashed a feral smirk. “You want my knot that badly ‘mega?”

“It’s not just me.”

You had him there, more so when your hand dipped between you. Your fingers were inches from the defined outline on his leg when he caught them.

His dick twitched in protest, but he still pulled your arm away and wrapped it around his lower back instead, entangling his own with it. His grin widened at his antics, but then you melted into him and his cheeks burned at the stretch. He would definitely get used to this.

“Guess not,” he said. “But you ain’t getting in my pants tonight. ‘Specially not here.”

Frustration seeped out of your pores and Dean felt a pang of guilt.

It sounded cheesy for his liking, but this clearing was the last place he wanted your first time with him to be. He’d sooner fuck you in a sleazy motel with thin walls than on the lumpy ground you sat on where someone could come by.

Out here was better suited for a quick romp. With clothes on and prior knowledge of your body and how it ticked.

Here the air was cool and he could only imagine what it might do to an exposed breast or pair of opened legs. The shiver you’d give as it tickled your sensitive parts would be a sight to see.

While that was tempting, he needed to know you were somewhere comfy and warm when things got down to business, so for now, “Would you settle for my fingers, sweetheart?” he asked

That caught your attention, and he took your whimper as a yes.

His hand dipped down to slide along your thigh, caressing every portion of silky smooth skin as he moved closer to your core.

The way you opened up for him and the soft breaths you blew into his ear had him in his zone. But that warmth and wetness, when he slipped two fingers under one elastic waistband, had his cock screaming for attention at the same time. He couldn’t win.

“D…Alpha.”

It was exactly what he’d wanted to hear in the shower that night.

“Yeah?” he said with confidence against your neck.

His tongue swirled patterns over your mating gland and mimicked the movements of his padded thumb below. “You let me know if it gets too much, alright?” he warned, before his middle finger slid through your folds and into your slicked up entrance.

The come hither was slow for both your benefits. His motions contained as he familiarised himself with the right spot on luck alone. A mental note already in place for when he sealed the deal.

To his relief, you moaned. His deep alpha growl nipped at your throat in response as kisses and scent left a trail in their wake.

Screw Dick and any other. You were his. Dean would be yours. It was only a matter of time before he made his claim, marking you as such, and he couldn’t fucking wait.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Mm-hmm. I know I talked with someone about blue balls. Though when I read back over this myself, I’m trying to look past how quickly she trusts him and put it all down to, but they’re soulmates and it’s that getting to know you stage, rampant because it’s the omegaverse…

Things are heating up in here. I hope that didn’t disappoint. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover in this story - silly me lets her ideas get away with her (this started as a 9 chapter plan)… The first half covers dealing with the after affects of Dick and these two lovebirds learning and growing together. Just don’t get too comfortable with the fluff. Hints for the second half are littered throughout and in the tags

Chapter 5: Languishing 21/03

“Omega,” he rumbled into your ear.

“Alpha,” you purred back. Your smile, demure and telling, practically screamed at him to, ‘check this out,’ and boy did he.

Your core was so close, yet sheathed between your clothing and his, and when your eyes looked upon him, twinkling even in the dim lighting of the bunker’s night mode, his cock twitched in approval. He could get used to this kind of welcome.

“I missed you,” you said, before adding, “guys,” to the end when you noticed Sam watching you with interest.

To Dean’s disappointment, your legs unhooked themselves, and he set you on the floor again. Losing your weight made not only his arms empty, but his heart as well. His inner alpha growling in discontentment at the way you halted your affections around Sammy’s presence. Worse still, when you gave him a hug, too.

Oh yes - next chapter is their first time!

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