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lila-lou · 3 days ago

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✨High School Sweetheart - Pt 8✨

Summary: You come face-to-face with a ghost from your past—Dean Winchester. Five years after he vanished from your life without a word, and now he´s here. But neither you nor he are teenagers anymore.

-Listen to "Chance with you"-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language, Fuff, Angst

Word Count: 7663

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

Eight years.

It was both a lifetime and an instant, a stretch of days and nights where you had convinced yourself to move forward, one step at a time, learning how to let go of someone who had left, without letting go of the memory. And now, with your thirtieth birthday approaching, the ache you’d buried so deeply seemed to surface with each text from your ex-fiancé—the one who, mere weeks before the wedding, had shattered every vow he had promised to make. He was asking you to forgive him, to take him back, but the messages only served to reopen wounds you thought you’d managed to close.

You spent that night, as you had so many Thursdays since Dean left, at the bar with your best friend. It had become your quiet ritual, your way of remembering a part of yourself that had stayed frozen in time. For years, there had been a sliver of hope each time you walked in, a faint, persistent thought that maybe—just maybe—he’d be there, that he’d come back. But as the years passed, the hope dulled, replaced by a kind of bittersweet acceptance that this would always be your memory alone. Dean had become like a quiet ghost in your life, someone who was woven into every moment even when he was nowhere to be found. Again.

It was as if he was a part of every breath you took, his shadow cast over every milestone. The memory of him lingered, surfacing in the moments that should have felt the most whole: on first dates that left you hollow, on the day you said yes to a man you thought you could build a life with, even in the small, fluttering joy of seeing yourself in a wedding dress. He was a thread stitched into your life, his presence felt in every quiet moment, every whispered “what if?” you couldn’t quite ignore.

Your friend watched you, her gaze soft as she took in the look in your eyes. “You know, it’s okay if he’s still there”, she said gently, her voice barely audible above the bar’s din. “Some people leave marks on us that don’t fade. Doesn’t mean you’re broken”.

You took a shaky breath, the weight of your friend’s words settling over you, pressing into places you’d tried so hard to keep safe. “But I am”, you whispered, the admission slipping out, raw and unguarded. The words surprised even you, like a truth you’d been holding back for too long, finally surfacing. “I thought I’d healed, that I’d moved on. But sometimes… sometimes it feels like I’ve just learned how to live with a broken heart”.

Your friend sighed softly, her eyes filled with a gentle empathy. She reached over, giving your hand a comforting squeeze. “Someday, your person will come along”, she said, her tone both hopeful and certain, like she was trying to will it into existence for you. “Someone who will stay. Someone who’s meant for you”.

You shook your head, a sad, wistful smile touching your lips as you looked down at the rim of your glass, tracing it with your finger. “I already met him”, you murmured, your voice barely audible over the noise of the bar, as if saying it too loudly might break something inside you all over again. “I met him, and he slipped away. Two times”.

The words felt like letting go of a truth you’d carried all these years, a truth so heavy it had woven itself into your very being. You’d tried to move forward, to build a life around the empty space he’d left, but no matter how much time passed, Dean was always there, a quiet ache in your heart, a memory you couldn’t erase.

Your friend’s eyes softened, understanding settling in as she squeezed your hand once more. “Maybe he was a chapter”, she said gently, her voice thick with empathy. “A chapter that helped shape who you are. And maybe there’s another chapter waiting for you”.

But as she spoke, you knew that some chapters never truly end, no matter how many pages you turn. Some people come into your life and leave marks that can’t be erased, no matter how hard you try.

Dean was that for you—the person who taught you love in its truest form, and in losing him, you’d learned heartbreak in the deepest way possible.

You lowered your gaze, voice barely more than a whisper. “No one will ever come close”, you murmured, each word heavy with the weight of years. Saying it out loud felt strange, almost like an admission, as if by putting it into words, you were sealing off a part of your heart forever.

Your friend’s eyes softened, her expression both understanding and sorrowful. “I wish I’d met him”, she said softly, the words carrying a weight of their own, as if meeting him might have helped her understand why he still haunted you after all this time.

You gave her a faint, bittersweet smile. “I wish you had too”. Your voice wavered, and you took a steadying breath before continuing, almost as if the words themselves needed coaxing to surface. “He… he´s just… so much. More than I thought I’d ever find in someone. He saw parts of me no one else ever did. I think a part of me thought it would always be that way. And now…”. You shook your head slightly, the pain raw, open. “It’s like every person I meet is just an echo, a shadow of what we had. And it doesn’t matter how hard I try—no one will ever fill that space”.

Your friend’s hand squeezed your arm gently, her silence full of compassion. “A love like that…”, she began, her voice low, almost reverent. “It doesn’t just disappear. It doesn’t just fade. It becomes part of who you are”.

A tear escaped, and you brushed it away quickly, feeling both embarrassed and strangely grateful to say it out loud. “Sometimes I wish I could just let him go, like I’d let go of a memory, you know? But he’s… he’s not just a memory. It’s like he’s in everything. And everyone else just… falls short”.

Your friend pulled you into a quiet hug, her arms warm and steady around you as she held you close. She didn’t say anything else—she didn’t need to. Just being there, sharing the silence, grounding you, was enough. And you stayed like that for a while, your sadness finding a place to rest, comforted by the quiet presence of someone who understood that even if Dean was gone, his love had left a mark on you that would never truly fade.

A few days later, you found yourself standing in your bookstore, running your fingers over the spines of old ghost stories and folklore collections, the comforting, worn feel of the covers grounding you. You’d blocked your ex, finally severing that last fraying thread, though pity texts from friends and family still trickled in, each one a small, bittersweet reminder of the future you’d once thought was set in stone. You tried your best to let it all go, focusing on the life you had here, in the quiet refuge of your shop.

But standing there, lost in thought, you could almost swear you smelled Dean—a faint, familiar trace of his cologne that lingered like a whisper in the air, bringing with it a flood of memories. You closed your eyes, letting yourself drift into that feeling for a moment, imagining him here beside you, as though he’d just walked through the door with that half-smile that made your heart race.

The door chime rang, and you opened your eyes, your heart skipping a beat as you glanced up, half-expecting to see him standing there. But it was just a customer, nodding politely as he browsed the shelves. You let out a quiet sigh, reminding yourself that ghosts didn’t come back—no matter how deeply they lingered in your memory.

Still, as you moved through the shop, the feeling wouldn’t leave. It was as if his presence was woven into the walls, each corner of the room holding some fragment of him, some unspoken reminder of a love you’d never fully let go. And you realized that, despite everything, Dean had become more than just a memory; he was a part of you, woven into every quiet moment and lingering thought.

As the evening drifted into night, you found yourself in your old apartment, the one place that felt like a time capsule of your life before everything began to change. You hadn’t even intended to keep it; when you’d moved in with your ex-fiancé, it had seemed redundant, an echo of a life you thought you were leaving behind. But now, with the failed engagement and a lifetime of memories wrapped up in these walls, you were grateful you’d held onto it.

The quiet hum of the city night drifted through your windows as you moved around the small kitchen, where every drawer and shelf held stories and memories you couldn’t quite part with. You’d set a pot to boil, watching the bubbles rise and fall absently, your mind drifting. Your phone buzzed on the counter, another message from a friend who’d been slated to attend the wedding, a quiet expression of sympathy. You turned the screen over, trying to ignore it, instead focusing on the simple task of making pasta. Something about this ritual—the warm scent of garlic, the gentle clinking of silverware—had a grounding quality that steadied you in ways you couldn’t quite explain.

The minutes slipped by as you filled your plate, glancing up at the clock. Five minutes left. Just five more minutes, and this birthday would be behind you. Thirty. You’d imagined this moment so differently, once upon a time, picturing yourself settled and content, surrounded by love and the promise of a future. But reality had been messier, filled with sharp corners and unexpected losses. The silence of your apartment felt especially heavy tonight, every creak and hum magnified in the stillness.

As you lifted your fork, about to take that first bite, a knock at the door cut through the quiet, startling you. You froze, fork in mid-air, your gaze fixed on the door as if it held a mystery you hadn’t yet prepared yourself to solve. It was almost midnight—an odd time for visitors—and a part of you knew you should be cautious. But despite the voice in your head reminding you to leave it alone, something else, something deep and instinctive, urged you forward.

You set the fork down, slowly rising from your chair and crossing the small space to the door. Each step felt weighted, like you were moving through water, the anticipation building as you reached for the handle. Taking a breath, you turned it, bracing yourself for whatever lay on the other side.

Dean stood outside your door, his heart pounding in a way that felt foreign, unsettling. It had been eight years—a stretch of time he had spent moving from town to town, living in motels, the Impala his one constant. But here he was, back in a place he never thought he’d see again, staring at your door like it held the answer to every question he hadn’t dared to ask himself.

It was the wedding invitation that had done it.

He’d found it a few days ago, tucked in with some other things at Bobby’s place, the only adress you had from Dean, as if fate had decided to throw one last curveball his way. He remembered the flood of emotions that hit him as he held it in his hands, reading your name alongside someone else’s. The thought of you in a white dress, a life planned with another man—it made his chest ache in a way that went beyond regret.

It was loss, pure and simple, an emptiness he hadn’t wanted to confront.

He’d spent the next few days trying to talk himself out of coming, but no matter where he went, no matter how much he tried to push it aside, the idea gnawed at him. He couldn’t bear the thought of you walking down the aisle without at least telling you… something. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say, but he knew he couldn’t let you slip away without one last goodbye. It felt selfish, maybe even foolish, but he needed to see you.

As he raised his hand to knock, every insecurity he had ever buried bubbled to the surface. He imagined you opening the door and slamming it shut in his face, telling him that his time had passed, that he was nothing more than a distant memory, a ghost of a life you’d left behind. And maybe he deserved that. He’d left, after all, made choices that took him far away from any semblance of normalcy, from any chance of a life with you.

When he finally knocked, his hand was trembling, a vulnerability he hadn’t felt in years laid bare in that one, simple action. He told himself he’d leave if you didn’t answer right away, but as he heard faint footsteps approaching from the other side, he felt rooted in place, a strange mix of hope and dread tying him there.

The door opened, and the light from your apartment spilled onto him, illuminating every unspoken feeling that had lingered between you. The moment your eyes met, a torrent of memories flooded back—nights spent in whispered conversations, the feel of your laughter filling the air, the warmth of holding you close. He could see the surprise, the shock, and then something else he couldn’t quite name in your gaze as you took him in.

Eight years had passed, and yet standing there in front of Dean, it felt like only days.

He looked older, more worn, the lines on his face deeper, like the years had left their mark in ways you couldn’t imagine. His hair was a little shorter, the familiar scruff darker, and his eyes held a weight you hadn’t seen before, a quiet burden that made your chest tighten. You could feel your heart beating faster, your throat dry, and as you held onto the door for support, your hand trembled, the gravity of the moment pressing in around you.

Dean’s gaze flickered as he took in your reaction, a slight hesitation in his movements, like he wasn’t sure if he should turn and leave or stay. His mouth opened, then closed, and finally, he forced a quiet, almost hesitant smile, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“It’s… it’s late”, he started, his voice barely above a whisper. “I shouldn’t be here, I know that. I… I tried to talk myself out of it a dozen times”. He shifted his weight, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before he forced himself to look back up at you. “But I got the invitation. Saw your name on it… and I just—”. He paused, his voice breaking slightly. “I just wanted to wish you the best”.

The words fell heavy between you, and you could feel his heart breaking with each one, as though each syllable was a piece of him he was giving up, a part of himself he was laying bare. Dean had always been the strong one, the one who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without a second thought. But standing here, you could see the cracks, the vulnerability he was trying so hard to hide.

Your throat tightened further, and you swallowed, struggling to find your voice. But all you could do was stare, caught between the overwhelming emotions of seeing him again and the reality of what he was saying. The thought of him simply wishing you well, like a distant memory, cut deeper than you’d anticipated.

The silence stretched between you, thick and unbearable, as Dean stood there, waiting for anything—a word, a glance, some sign that this wasn’t the end he feared it might be. But your voice was caught in your throat, the shock and surge of emotions rendering you speechless. He could see the struggle in your eyes, the unspoken words you couldn’t manage to say, but after a long moment, the light in his eyes dimmed, a look of quiet defeat settling into his face.

He cleared his throat, looking down as if to gather the last shreds of his strength. “I just… I just hope you’re happy”, he whispered, his voice breaking with an ache so deep it was almost palpable. “I hope tomorrow goes exactly the way you’ve always dreamed it would”. He hesitated, searching your face one last time as though he were trying to memorize every detail. “You deserve that life you always wanted”.

There was a bitter smile, barely a shadow of his usual smirk, but it held a vulnerability he couldn’t hide. He turned, each step toward the hall feeling like he was walking away from the last piece of himself. But as he began to leave, something inside you broke, the words finally escaping, not in sounds but in movement.

Before he could take another step, you reached out, your hand wrapping around his wrist, tugging him back to you. He turned, eyes wide, surprise mingling with a glimmer of hope that he tried so hard to bury. But you didn’t need words—you didn’t have any. Instead, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him close in a way that held everything you couldn’t say.

The hug was fierce, desperate, as though you were holding onto him to keep the last eight years from slipping away. Your fingers dug into his back, your face pressed against his shoulder, and the tears you’d held in for so long finally broke free, trailing silently down your cheeks. The scent of him—the familiar mix of leather, whiskey, and that faint, lingering cologne—wrapped around you, grounding you in a way that felt more real than anything you’d known.

Dean stood frozen for a moment, as though he couldn’t quite believe you were really there, holding him. But then his arms wrapped around you just as tightly, his chin resting on the top of your head as he closed his eyes, letting the moment sink into him. His hand traced gentle circles on your back, a silent apology, a quiet promise, and as he pulled you closer, you felt the subtle shudder of his own unspoken grief.

You clung to him as if letting go would mean losing him all over again. In his arms, every year, every quiet ache and memory, every whispered wish that you’d both buried so deeply came rushing back, filling the silence between you with the weight of all the words left unsaid. His hand ran up and down your back in a comforting, steady rhythm, grounding you as your tears soaked into his shirt.

Neither of you spoke; words would have shattered the fragile beauty of the moment, made everything feel too real, too final. The silence carried everything—an understanding that went deeper than any explanation ever could, the kind that grows only from loss and longing, from the ache of wanting someone in the spaces life wouldn’t allow.

Dean held you as if you were the last thing tethering him to this world, his own breaths uneven, his hand clutching the back of your shirt in a desperate bid to keep this moment alive. His chin rested atop your head, and you could feel him take in deep, unsteady breaths, as though he were trying to commit your scent, your warmth, to memory. You knew he was hurting just as much, and that knowledge both broke and healed you, stitching together the pieces of your heart in the quiet intimacy of his embrace.

The embrace seemed to suspend time, the two of you wrapped in a cocoon of shared grief and unsaid words, until finally, something in you snapped. You pulled back, eyes brimming with unshed tears as a new wave of anger surged up inside you—a fury at all the years lost, at the pain of him leaving, at the emptiness you’d carried for so long. Without thinking, you shoved him hard against his chest, not knowing the bruises and barely-healed ribs hidden beneath his shirt.

Dean winced, a brief flicker of pain crossing his face, but he didn’t stop you, just let you push him back, his expression open and remorseful. Your fists came down again, landing on his chest, small but relentless. More tears broke free, streaming down your face as you struck him.

Dean stood there, taking each hit, his face twisted with regret and a pain that mirrored your own. He didn’t try to defend himself, didn’t even flinch; he just held his ground, letting you release every ounce of hurt and anger that you’d bottled up over the years. Your fists slowed, the strength leaving you and finally, you stopped, your hands falling to your sides, trembling.

You looked up at him through wet lashes, your lip trembling, anger and heartbreak mingling in your gaze. The silence between you was deafening, filled with the weight of every year he’d been gone, every moment you’d thought of him, every word left unsaid. And before you could even begin to process it, he reached out, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you back tightly against his chest.

You resisted, tried to push him away, your hands pressing against him as you struggled to break free. But despite the bruises and pain he felt with every movement, Dean held you tighter, his grip unyielding, almost desperate. He seemed willing to bear the physical hurt just to keep you there, close enough that he could feel your heartbeat against his own. His touch was a plea, silent and raw, as if holding you could somehow make up for the years lost.

Finally, your strength waned, the fight slipping from you as you surrendered to the comfort of his arms. The anger softened into sorrow, and you let yourself collapse into him, your tears soaking into his shirt once more as you clung to him. The weight of every heartache and every unanswered question pressed down on you, but in his embrace, there was something almost soothing, as if he were absorbing the pain alongside you.

After a while, Dean’s voice broke the silence, a slight tremor running through it, whether from the physical pain of your head pressing against his bruised chest or the emotional weight of everything you’d both just shared. “You done?”, he mumbled softly, a hint of teasing in his tone, though it was laced with raw vulnerability. “That little tantrum of yours… you got it all out?”.

You let out a shaky breath. “Maybe”. The word came out quietly, almost sheepish, but there was a warmth beneath it.

The two of you chuckled softly, the sound barely more than a whisper but enough to lighten the air between you, if only for a moment. The laughter was fragile, shared with a sense of relief and a touch of self-awareness—an acknowledgment of the absurdity of it all, of how even now, in the midst of all this pain and longing, you could still find comfort in each other.

Dean looked down at you, his own eyes shimmering with unshed tears, his thumb brushing a gentle, reassuring line across your shoulder. “Good”, he murmured, his voice warm but still thick with emotion. “’Cause I don’t think I could take much more of that”. His hand lingered, his touch soft, grounding, as if anchoring himself in this moment with you.

You looked up at him, feeling the last remnants of anger and hurt begin to fade, replaced by a sense of peace that felt both unfamiliar and deeply needed.

As you slowly pulled back, giving him a little space, Dean instinctively brought his hand up to his chest, wincing slightly as he rubbed the spot where your fists had landed. He gave you a wry smile, muttering, “You’re still good at punching, you know that?”.

You laughed, the sound soft and light, though it carried an edge of vulnerability. “Well, you deserved it”, you replied, crossing your arms, though a small, lingering smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.

Dean’s face softened, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of regret and quiet understanding. “Yeah… yeah, I know”. He took a slow breath, his eyes never leaving yours, as if he were grounding himself in the moment, in the reality that you were here, still standing before him despite everything.

The weight of his words hung between you, and for a few moments, there was only silence. But it wasn’t the painful silence of years past; instead, it was one of healing, of finally letting go of all the anger, all the missed chances and lost time. In that space, there was a gentle warmth, a comfort you hadn’t felt in so long.

Finally, he reached out, tentatively brushing a hand over your arm, his fingers lingering as if he were trying to reassure himself that you were real. “Thank you… for not slamming the door in my face”, he said with a hint of his old humor, though his voice held a vulnerability that made you realize how much he’d truly feared you would.

You looked at him, that familiar face etched with a little more wear, a few more scars, but still undeniably Dean. “I thought about it”, you teased softly, though your voice shook slightly with emotion. Then, more seriously, you added, “But I’m glad I didn’t”.

A smile ghosted across his lips, a rare, genuine expression that held both relief and gratitude. For the first time in years, it felt like the past didn’t weigh quite so heavily between you.

"Come in, Winchester”, you mumbled, your voice still trembling slightly, but there was a softness in it that felt like a bridge back to everything that had once been between you. Dean hesitated for just a moment, his hand slipping into his jeans pocket, a familiar gesture of nervousness. He stepped inside, his eyes sweeping over the room, and you saw a glint of something unspoken in his expression as he took in the space.

It was as if time had barely touched it. The furniture, the little trinkets you’d collected, the books lining the shelves—it all looked like he’d left it, like the ghost of his presence still lingered in every corner. He took a slow breath, letting it all sink in, his gaze lingering on the small details as though they were fragments of a memory he couldn’t quite piece together.

His eyes flickered to the table where a single plate of pasta sat next to a glass of wine, the setting as quiet and solitary as the night itself. Dean’s expression softened, a faint shadow of concern crossing his face as he turned to you, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Your… fiancée around?”.

Your heart clenched at his question, and for a moment, the weight of the years settled heavily between you. The word “fiancé” seemed to hang in the air, a reminder of the life you’d almost built with someone else, of all the ways you’d tried to move on and build a future that Dean had no part of. You took a shaky breath, meeting his eyes with a mixture of sadness and something else—a faint glimmer of hope you hadn’t dared to feel in years.

“No”, you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “There is no fiancé, Dean. Not anymore”.

Dean’s eyes widened, the surprise clear on his face as he took in what you’d said. The realization seemed to hit him slowly, the pieces coming together in his mind, and you could see the disbelief written in every line of his expression. He had spent days trying to make peace with the idea of you marrying someone else, had convinced himself that you’d found a love worth holding on to—something solid, something he thought he could never give you. But now, standing here in the quiet of your apartment, hearing those words from your lips, the shock was almost palpable.

“But… the wedding was supposed to be tomorrow”, he murmured, his voice filled with disbelief. He looked at you, searching your face, as if waiting for you to tell him this was some kind of mistake. You could see the mixture of confusion and a hint of regret in his eyes as he tried to process what you were saying.

You let out a bitter, almost humorless laugh, the sound raw and filled with the sting of betrayal. “Yeah, well… that was the plan”. You looked down, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to shield from the ache that still lingered. “But… he cheated on me”. The words felt heavy, laced with anger, but underneath it all, there was a sadness, a weariness that had become all too familiar.

Dean’s face darkened, his entire body tensing as he absorbed what you’d said. His fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening with a barely-contained fury. He looked away for a moment, as if trying to stop himself from exploding right there. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a growl. “He did what?”. His words came out clipped, his eyes flashing with a fierce, protective anger.

Without thinking, he took a step closer to you, one hand raking through his hair as he muttered to himself, “I swear, if I ever get my hands on that son of a—”. He cut himself off, taking a shaky breath, but you could see it in his posture, the tension rolling off him in waves, his body vibrating with the urge to protect you—even if it was too late.

He turned back to you, his gaze softening when he saw the hurt in your eyes, the heartbreak that you were trying to mask with bitterness. His hand reached out instinctively, his fingers brushing your arm, as though he needed to ground himself in you, to remind himself that you were here, safe, even if you were carrying a hurt he couldn’t erase.

At your slight flinch, Dean immediately withdrew his hand, his eyes clouding with regret as he mumbled, “I’m… sorry”. There was a gentleness in his voice that was almost heartbreaking, an awareness of the pain you were carrying, the weight of a betrayal he couldn’t fix. “You didn’t deserve something like that”, he said, his voice low, filled with a quiet determination as though he wished he could undo it for you.

You nodded absently, biting your lip, eyes tracing a path to the floor as the words tumbled out before you could stop them. “He wasn’t… you, anyway”. It was a quiet confession, barely above a whisper, but the truth of it had lingered in your heart for so long that even saying it felt like letting go of a part of yourself you’d hidden away.

Dean’s gaze softened, and for a moment, silence filled the room, thick and charged. He looked at you with something between hope and disbelief, as if he hadn’t dared to imagine you’d feel the same way after all these years. He swallowed, his hand hovering between you, unsure, before finally finding his voice.

“I… didn’t think you’d still feel like that”, he murmured, his tone raw and vulnerable. “Not after everything I put you through”. His eyes searched yours, as if looking for an answer, his own emotions barely concealed. “I thought… I thought you’d moved on”.

You glanced up, meeting his eyes, the years of unspoken words and unhealed scars between you suddenly laid bare. “I tried”, you admitted, your voice thick with emotion.

You felt yourself sink into the couch, wrapping your arms around yourself, feeling small and exposed as the weight of everything settled over you. The years, the attempts to move on, the heartbreak—it all felt raw and fresh again, leaving you questioning every decision, every feeling you’d held onto for so long. You were almost afraid to meet his eyes, worried he’d see the vulnerability you’d worked so hard to bury.

Dean moved forward, his expression softened by a mixture of tenderness and regret. He crouched down in front of you, the faintest hint of a bittersweet smile touching his lips as he reached out, tilting your chin up gently, coaxing your gaze to meet his. His thumb brushed softly along your jaw, grounding you in the moment.

“Hey”, he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, steady but filled with so much he couldn’t quite say. “Don’t… don’t do that”, Dean said softly, his thumb still tracing soothing circles on your cheek. He held your gaze, his eyes filled with an intensity that made you feel like the only person in the world. You knew he meant the way you were pulling back, withdrawing into yourself, as if building a wall around the rawness you’d just exposed.

He took a breath, a flicker of awkwardness passing over his face as he fumbled for the right words. “You know, I’m not exactly good at… well, talking about my feelings and all that”. He let out a nervous chuckle, looking down for a moment. “But I do know one thing: I hate seeing you retreat into that little bubble. I mean… I know I’m pretty great to be around, so come on. Don’t leave me hanging”. He cracked a smile, his attempt at lightening the mood endearingly clumsy.

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped, and he relaxed, clearly relieved that his attempt to cheer you up had worked, even just a little. “There she is”, he said with a warmth that seemed to soften the distance between you.

"Eight years, Dean”, you mumbled, shoving him lightly against the chest, a mix of hurt and frustration in your tone. But instead of reacting with that familiar guilty expression, Dean let out a strained laugh, wincing as he clutched his side. “I swear, if you shove me one more time…”. His voice trailed off, and though he tried to sound lighthearted, there was a tightness to his words.

You froze, your mouth falling open in sudden realization. “Are you… hurt?”, you asked, your voice laced with guilt as you looked down at the spot he was holding. The thought that you’d been pushing against a bruise or something made your stomach twist.

Dean gave a half-shrug, his smile soft but his voice still a little strained. “Just… a couple of fresh stitches”, he admitted, trying to play it off as no big deal. “Came straight here from… well, let’s just say it’s been a hell of a few days”.

Your hand flew to your mouth, eyes widening as the guilt settled deep in your chest. “Oh my god, Dean, I’m so sorry”, you whispered, your face flushed with worry. “Why didn’t you say anything?”.

Dean shrugged, trying to keep that casual air despite the discomfort etched into his face. “Didn’t seem important, you know?”, he muttered, his eyes softening as he took in your reaction. “Besides, it’s not exactly the kind of thing you lead with after eight years”. He managed a lopsided grin, but you could see through it—see the pain and the exhaustion he was trying so hard to hide.

“Not important?”, you repeated, shaking your head. You took a careful step forward, your hands hovering uncertainly near his side. “Dean, you’ve been hurt, and I… I’ve just been shoving you around”.

Dean’s grin softened, the faintest hint of vulnerability breaking through as he met your gaze. “Hey, it’s alright”, he said, his voice gentle. “Besides”, he murmured, a faint smile curving his lips, “if it means I get to feel your hand on my chest again, I’ll gladly take the pain”.

You felt your heart skip, a rush of emotions filling the quiet space between you. There was a tenderness in his words that made the room feel smaller, like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. He looked at you with that familiar gaze, equal parts vulnerability and strength, and for a moment, the past didn’t seem so distant. It was as if every memory, every shared laugh, and every ache lingered in the air, bringing you back to the way things used to be.

You reached up, your hand hovering just above his chest, still unsure but drawn by the need to reassure yourself that he was here, real and solid. “But I don’t want to hurt you”, you whispered, your fingers finally settling over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath.

His hand covered yours, pressing it gently against him. “You’re not”, he said, his voice thick with something unspoken. “Trust me, you’re doing the opposite”.

You let your gaze linger on him, taking in every detail—the lines that had deepened around his eyes, the slight roughness of stubble along his jaw, the way his shoulders carried both strength and weariness. It was a face that had seen too much, been through too much, but still held that familiar, rugged warmth that had once made you feel so at home.

A wry smile tugged at your lips as you lifted your hand, gently brushing it along his jaw. “You’re getting old, Winchester”, you teased, your tone dry but softened by the affection in your eyes.

Dean chuckled, a low, genuine sound that reverberated through the room. “Yeah, well, can’t all be twenty forever, can we?”. He tilted his head into your hand slightly, his expression becoming a mix of playful and tender. “But you’re one to talk”, he shot back, though his voice was laced with something gentle, something deeper. “I don’t think you’ve changed a bit”.

Your smile softened, his words sending a warmth through you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. “Guess I held up a little better than you”, you murmured, trying to keep up the playful tone, but the emotion in his eyes made it hard to joke.

He met your gaze, his hand reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a little too long. “Maybe”, he whispered, his voice barely audible, “but some things… they only get better with time”.

The words hung between you, fragile and unspoken for years. You felt yourself drawn closer to him, the space between you disappearing as every unresolved feeling, every shared memory, seemed to converge in this one quiet moment.

You let your hand fall slowly from his face, the question slipping out before you could stop yourself, a hint of something unguarded in your tone. “Any girl waiting down in the Impala?”.

Dean straightened, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he reached out his hand to you. “Nah”, he said, his tone light but his eyes warm. “Dropped her off at the motel and told her not to wait up for me”.

You could tell he was messing with you, but you just raised an eyebrow, playing along as though you were genuinely unimpressed by his antics.

Dean rolled his eyes, chuckling as he gave you a playful pinch at your waist. “I’m talking about Sammy”, he said, his grin widening. “Dropped him off at the motel. Figured he’d be asleep by now, but knowing him, he’s probably got the whole place wired with EMF detectors”.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the image of Sam trying to get comfortable in a strange motel room with his equipment surrounding him vividly clear in your mind. “Poor guy”, you said, shaking your head with a smirk. “Always the third wheel”.

Dean shrugged, still holding your hand, and his expression softened. “He’ll survive”, he murmured, his voice dipping low. “For now, it’s just you and me”.

The words hung in the air, settling warmly between you both. The playfulness faded into something deeper. His gaze held yours, unspoken questions and hopes reflected in his eyes, a softness that reminded you of all the years and all the memories that lingered just beneath the surface.

Your words came out barely above a whisper, but they hung heavy in the space between you, raw and unfiltered. “Dean, I… I can’t do this again”. Your voice cracked, the weight of every night you’d spent wondering about him, waiting, hoping he’d come back, pressing down on you. “Spending a few nights with you, having the most beautiful time of my life… just for you to disappear again. Ten years, maybe, this time? I can’t, Dean”.

The vulnerability in your voice shattered the playful air between you, the truth of your words making the moment feel achingly real. Dean’s face fell, his fingers instinctively tightening around yours as if holding you in that instant could somehow anchor you both. He looked away for a moment, his jaw tight, his own voice barely steady when he finally found the courage to speak.

“I know”, he said softly, his voice thick with the weight of his own regrets. “I know I’ve messed this up more times than I can count. And I can’t stand the thought of hurting you again… I don’t want to be the reason you’re left waiting, wondering”. His gaze returned to yours, his eyes raw and filled with a sincerity that made your heart ache. “I never wanted to leave you like that".

The tension between you seemed to thicken as Dean’s words hung in the air. He held your gaze, his expression twisted with regret, his posture tense as if ready to turn and walk away if that’s what you wanted. “Maybe… maybe I should just go”, he mumbled, voice barely steady. “You could forget I was even here”.

A bitter, humorless laugh escaped your lips, and you shook your head, grabbing your wine glass to steady yourself. “As if that would be possible”. You could feel the weight of everything you’d tried to bury—every ache, every question, every lingering memory—boiling up inside of you, but instead of lashing out, you took a calming breath, forcing yourself to keep your voice even.

“Sit down, Winchester”, you said after a long moment, nodding toward the untouched plate of pasta on the table. “At least give me the courtesy of filling me in on the last damn eight years of yours”.

Dean hesitated, glancing from you to the table and back again, before letting out a sigh. He took a step forward, shoulders relaxing just a bit, as he slipped into the seat across from you. You could see the flicker of a reluctant smile as he looked at the pasta, as though the simple sight of a home-cooked meal felt foreign yet comforting.

“Still know me well enough to know I’m always hungry”, he muttered, picking up the fork and twirling it between his fingers before finally taking a bite. A faint smile tugged at his lips, and he gave a soft, appreciative groan before rolling his eyes in a way that was both exasperated and amused. “Damn”, he muttered, gesturing at the plate. “I swear, no matter where I’ve been or what I’ve had, your cooking’s still the best”.

There was a sincerity in his voice that made your chest tighten, and despite yourself, a small smile broke through. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so close to him, as if the years had dissolved, leaving only the familiarity of shared meals and quiet conversations.

Dean’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, a bit of that old spark coming back. “So, what, you cook like this every night now?”. He smirked, a teasing glint in his gaze.

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone casual even as the weight of your words settled between you. “Not much to do with a broken heart, you know? Besides work, hitting the gym… and, well, eating”. You managed a small, wry smile, but the truth of it lingered, the quiet ache of the years you’d spent trying to piece yourself back together.

Dean’s smirk softened, the teasing light in his eyes replaced by something deeper, something that seemed to mirror your own hurt. He looked down at his plate, his fork stilled mid-air, as if he needed a moment to absorb the weight of what you’d just said. “Yeah”, he murmured, almost to himself, “I get that”.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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lightdancingwords · 2 days ago

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One Day - Part Five of ?

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N Female character Series Summary: You were rescued by Dean Winchester a long time ago. Over time, you kept bumping into each other.

Word Count: 2774

Tags/Warnings: So much angst, mention of c*ncer, profanity

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! Please see this post regarding future story posts. This is the first of I don’t know how many parts, haha. Enjoy the ride!

Dividers: credit to @talesmaniac89

Chapter Five: Never Let Me Go

It had been five long years since Dean Winchester had spoken to Y/N. Five years since the fallout that neither he nor Sam ever truly discussed. The Men of Letters bunker had become a sanctuary of sorts, where old wounds remained hidden under layers of silence and avoidance. And alcohol. So much alcohol. And meaningless sex when Dean could get himself a woman to share the night with him.

Then Sam’s cellphone rang sharply, its tone echoing through the quiet halls. Dean looked up from his whiskey, a frown forming. “You gonna get that, or should I?”

Sam, who had been pouring over one of the ancient tomes spread across the library table, sighed and picked up the cellphone. “Yeah, hello?”

“It’s Bobby.” His familiar gruff voice immediately set Sam on alert. Dean stood, watching his brother’s expression carefully.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked, leaning onto the desk, switching the phone to speaker so Dean could hear Bobby too.

“I need you boys to gear up and move fast,” Bobby replied. “Got a hunter in trouble. Been taken by a bunch of vampires. They’re holed up just outside of Lawrence.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s the hunter?” he asked, his voice sharp.

“That’s not important right now,” Bobby said curtly. “What’s important is you get your asses out there before it’s too late.”

Dean shared a look with Sam. “You can’t just drop this on us without details, Bobby. What are we walking into?”

“I told you what you need to know. Now, move!” Bobby barked before hanging up.

Dean and Sam exchanged a look. “Guess we’re doing this,” Dean muttered, already moving toward the weapons cache.

It didn’t take long for them to gear up and hit the road. The Impala roared to life, and they sped toward the coordinates Bobby had sent, both running through worst-case scenarios in their heads.

The vampires were tucked away in an old, decrepit farmhouse surrounded by overgrown fields. Dean and Sam approached quietly, their weapons drawn.

The rescue mission was bloody and brutal, but the brothers worked in perfect sync, clearing out the vampires with a precision born of years of hunting together.

The farmhouse was silent now, the metallic tang of blood thick in the air. Dean and Sam descended into the damp, musty basement, their flashlights cutting through the oppressive darkness. The growls and snarls of the vampires above had faded, replaced by the low hum of adrenaline in their ears.

Finally, they found the captured hunter in the basement, bound and bloodied but alive.

“Dean,” Sam whispered, gesturing toward the far corner of the room. A figure sat slumped against the wall, bound in chains and barely conscious.

Dean froze when he saw who it was. “Y/N?” The name slipped from his lips like a ghost, laden with disbelief and the weight of unresolved history.

Dean’s heart stopped for a fraction of a second when the flashlight beam illuminated her face. It was Y/N. Five years might as well have been five days. The memories, the fight, the way things had ended—all of it came rushing back with such force that it almost knocked him off his feet.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Her head lifted weakly, eyes squinting against the light. “Dean?” The word was more a breath than a sound, but it carried a weight that struck him to his core.

Sam was already at her side, inspecting the chains. “She’s hurt, but alive. Let’s get her out of here.”

Dean finally moved, his hands steady despite the turmoil inside him. Together, they worked to break the chains, the sharp clicks of the locks echoing in the otherwise silent room.

Y/N winced as they pulled her to her feet. “You always knew how to make an entrance,” she muttered, her voice tinged with both sarcasm and exhaustion.

Dean couldn’t help the flicker of a smile that tugged at his lips. “Yeah, well, saving people is kinda our thing.”

The journey back to the Impala was slow, Y/N leaning heavily on Dean as Sam kept watch for any stragglers. Dean felt the weight of her body against his, a stark reminder of just how fragile she was in that moment. But there was also a strength in her—a resilience that hadn’t dimmed, even after all these years.

Once they were safely in the car, Sam took the wheel, leaving Dean in the backseat with Y/N. She sat slouched, her head resting against the cool window. Dean watched her, his mind racing with questions and emotions he wasn’t ready to face.

“You’re staring,” she said without opening her eyes.

Dean shifted uncomfortably. “You’re hard to miss.”

That earned a faint chuckle. “Still the charmer, I see.”

“Why didn’t Bobby tell us it was you?” Dean finally asked, his voice quieter, more serious.

Y/N opened her eyes and looked at him, her expression unreadable. “Would you have come if he had?”

The question hit like a punch to the gut. He wanted to deny it, to argue that he’d always show up when it mattered, but the truth was more complicated than that.

“Of course, I would’ve,” he said, though even he wasn’t sure how convincing he sounded.

Y/N gave a tired smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sure, Dean.”

The rest of the drive passed in tense silence, Sam occasionally glancing in the rearview mirror, clearly aware of the storm brewing between them but choosing not to intervene.

Back at the bunker, they got Y/N cleaned up and bandaged. Dean hovered nearby, watching as Sam played medic.

“You’re fussing,” Y/N said, her tone light but her gaze sharp as it met Dean’s.

“Just making sure you’re not gonna keel over,” he shot back, crossing his arms.

“I’ve been through worse,” she said, wincing slightly as Sam wrapped a bandage around her arm.

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, well, doesn’t mean you should’ve been out there alone.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “And whose fault is that, Dean? You walked away, remember?”

The room went still. Sam froze mid-wrap, his eyes darting between them. “Maybe I’ll, uh, give you two a minute,” he muttered, quickly exiting.

Dean stepped closer, his jaw tightening. “I didn’t walk away—you pushed me out.”

Y/N stood, wobbly but defiant. “I pushed you because you couldn’t see past your damn pride.”

“Pride? You’re the one who—” Dean stopped himself, taking a deep breath. “You know what? This isn’t the time.”

“Right,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because there’s always gonna be a better time for you, isn’t there?”

For a moment, neither spoke, the air between them heavy with the weight of their shared history. Finally, Dean ran a hand through his hair, the anger draining from his face.

“Look,” he said quietly, “I don’t know how we fix this. Hell, I don’t even know if we can. But I’m glad you’re okay.”

Y/N studied him for a long moment, her expression softening just enough to let a flicker of vulnerability show. “Me too.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably. He wanted to ask how she’d been. He wanted to kiss her, bury himself in her. He wanted to apologize. He wanted… God. What did he want?

Sam gently knocked on the door, having guessed the fight was over for the moment. “Hey, I got one of the spare rooms set up for you if… if you, uh, wanted to sleep in an actual bed instead of our little medic room.”

Y/N hesitated, glanced at Dean, and nodded. “Yeah… thanks, Sam.”

Dean felt like an idiot, standing there, silent as a post. He just couldn’t talk, couldn’t get past his pride, his wounded heart. Seeing Y/N again opened it all up again.

As Sam took Y/N down the hallway, Dean watched her leave. Once they were out of earshot, he dialed up Bobby.

“Yeah?”

“She’s safe,” Dean said without preamble.

“Oh good. So you decided to stop being an idiot and did something, huh?”

Dean winced at Bobby’s sharp tone. “I’m not—”

“The hell you aren’t! She told me what happened,” Bobby said, his voice unyielding. “She had to keep a secret from ya and you decided to be an idjit and pushed her away! Or is that not what happened?”

Dean was silent. It was more or less what happened.

“Thought so.” Bobby gave him a moment then said, “So what are you going to do about it?”

“What?” Christ, Dean could win the award for densest idiot out there at this rate.

“Go apologize!”

“And then what, Bobby?” Dean demanded. “Make merry while she keeps a secret from me?”

Bobby rolled his eyes. Dean was one of the best hunters out there, but John left their social skills in the dust, not really knowing how to handle a lot of situations. Sam made up for it when he went to college, but Dean never really had a relationship with a woman.

“You really wanna know why she’s obsessed with spirits, Dean?”

“Yeah! I do!”

Bobby snapped: “Then ask her!”

“I did! She wouldn’t tell me!”

“Then you didn’t ask her the right way!”

“What other way is there?!”

Bobby rubbed his forehead. “God help me, boy, I love you like you’re my own son, but you can be thick as a rock. Ask your brother for some tips!”

And he hung up. Dean stared at his phone, shocked. “The fuck?”

Sam cleared his throat from the doorway. Dean looked at him and scowled. “Y/N all settled up?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. She fell asleep the minute she laid down.”

Dean rubbed his thigh and nodded. “Good.”

“Everything okay?” Sam asked, his brows lifting.

Dean hesitated and shook his head. “I don’t like secrets, Sammy.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t…” Dean stopped. Could he tell Sam? “Why’d you call her?”

“What?”

“Five years ago. Why’d you call her? Why didn’t you come to me?”

Sam regarded his brother with concern, his brows furrowed. “I tried to, Dean. You punched me and walked off, or don’t you remember?”

Dean paused. That night had been a blur, messed up by alcohol and grief. He had a dim memory of Sam talking to him. “No,” he admitted roughly.

“Well, I tried. I really did. I know…” Sam paused, took a breath. “I know dad dying messed us up. It hit you more than me because of what he did for you.”

Dean looked away, his jaw clenched so tightly his muscles bunched.

Sam pressed on. “So I called her. I… I know we barely knew her but dammit, Dean… I-I needed help!” He stepped forward, drew closer to his brother. Dean had been the rock he could lean on; to see his brother crumbling like that in the past and seemingly again now was breaking him. “But when you came back… y-you… you weren’t my brother. Just someone looked like him. For the longest time.”

Dean cleared his throat, fighting the lump. “Sammy…” His voice nearly broke and he stopped, cleared his throat again. “I ain’t… I ain’t doin’ too well.”

Sam scoffed, fondly. “Yeah, I could tell.” He sobered and went on. “Did I mess up calling Y/N?”

“No, Sammy,” Dean admitted quietly. “I messed up.”

“What are you going to do?” Sam asked, his voice low and soft. He knew his brother, but there were times when Dean was mercurial and unpredictable.

Dean sniffed, blinked back tears. “I’m gonna go talk to Y/N.”

Gently but firmly, Sam caught him. “Dean… she’s asleep.”

“Shit. Right.” Dean hesitated. “I’ll check on her. If she’s awake, we’ll talk. If she’s asleep, then after she wakes up then.”

“Okay,” Sam half-whispered.

Dean nodded to his brother and headed down the hallway of the bunker. He wasn’t even sure what to say. Apologize? He wasn’t even sure he could get those words past his throat. Ask her upfront what the hell her obsession was with spirits and the afterlife? He envisioned her clocking him and he’d deserve it.

God. Chicks were easy if he could just sleep with them and leave the next day. But he’d asked Y/N to stay, she said she would, and then he pushed her to break her secrets. He was such an idiot. He just didn’t know how to make it work.

He slowed down as he neared the spare room that Sam used for Y/N and peered around the door. It was cracked, so he slowly pushed it open. For a moment it seemed as though she were asleep, and he felt the conflicting emotions of both relief and frustration. Then the door creaked and her head turned, her eyes open.

“Dean,” Y/N murmured. He couldn’t make out her tone. Soft, definitely, but maybe also expectant? As though she had expected him.

“Hey,” he said quietly, entering the room, and shutting the door behind him. “I thought you’d be sleeping.”

“Can’t. Too tired to,” she said, and absurdly, he knew exactly what she meant by it.

He stood awkwardly near her bed. “Yeah, I get that.” He raked his fingers through his hair. God, he couldn’t stop the nervous energy.

“For God’s sake, Dean,” she said in exasperation. “Sit down before you make me break my neck.”

He sat down so abruptly she had to smile. Especially after he nearly fell off the edge of the bed. “Thanks,” he muttered. He couldn’t meet her gaze; he felt so vulnerable. He never felt that way, ever. Yet there was something about Y/N that stripped his guard. But then… she’d seen him at his worst and actually wanted him.

Every time he looked at her, he remembered the way she looked at him when he asked her to stay, the way she felt when he kissed her and held her. Dammit. Dean Winchester never fell in love; he wasn’t about to now.

“Dean…” Y/N took a careful breath. “It’s my mom.”

He gave a start and stared. “What is?”

“The reason I’m wanting to learn about spirits, about what happens to us after we died,” she replied quietly.

He leaned forward, resting his weight on his hand on the bed. “I’m listening.”

Y/N shifted to sit up in the bed, wincing at her injuries. She leaned against the headboard and let out a breath. “So… my mom.” She looked at Dean and studied him at length. She was remembering his home in Kansas, and seeing the spirit of his mother. “She… she died a year after you saved me from the vampire.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.” He paused. “How…?”

“Cancer. Fast acting.” Her voice was thick, her eyes suspiciously wet. “I barely had a chance to go home to say goodbye before she…”

Dean nodded. He resisted the urge to take her hand, uncertain whether she’d welcome his touch.

“A-anyway… after that,” Y/N continued, swallowing hard. “I started seeing signs that she was still around. Not malignant, but present. Missouri basically confirmed it when I spoke to her. My mother is still here, and she won’t pass. I burned everything—and I mean, everything—of hers that she would’ve lingered within. She’s still here.”

Dean frowned. “I’ve never heard of that happening before. Pretty sure Sam hasn’t either.”

“Neither has Bobby, Rufus, all the hunter contacts we could find.” She closed her eyes for a moment. She looked pale, tired, and sad. Dean wanted to kick himself. He was exhausting her for his own selfish reasons.

“Y/N, get some rest—”

“No. I… please. Let me finish this.” She made the decision for him; she covered his hand with her own. After a moment, he squeezed her hand. “I could’ve just given you a simple explanation that didn’t reveal it all. I could’ve… realized you were in a bad place and handled it better. I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Y/N… I’m the one who should be apologizing,” he said slowly. “I wanted you to stay… and I pushed you away instead.”

“You can stay,” she whispered.

Dean hesitated. “I don’t… I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she said simply.

That level of faith nearly broke him then and there. He nodded tightly, swallowed hard. She shifted over to make room for him and he crawled into the bed next to. He slipped an arm around her, light and gentle.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded slightly. He could feel her body relaxing as sleep began to overtake her. He waited until he saw her breath slowed and moved closer, tightening his arm around her. He didn’t know what possessed him to do so, other than he desperately didn’t want to let her go.

Not ever.

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my-stories-vault · 2 days ago

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Chapter 1 ~ Purgatory Series.

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

Blurb: Purgatory suits you, to be honest. Plenty of distractions to choose from, you can kill as many as to your heart's content. And your heart is one insatiable bastard—it'll do anything to keep the memories of your ex away. Until a face much similar to his struts up into your territory, looking for you, promising you a home you lost too long ago. Your heart melted once before, do you think you would be able to risk it all again for the same criminaly handsome face?

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): Supernatural Wars spoilers, major and minor character deaths, mentions of previous major character deaths, voilence, gore, tons of angst, (sort of, but not really) love triangle, language, self-sacrifices (not exactly suicide), betrayals, etc.

Note: This was written four years ago and English is my second language - I've tried to edit without losing the past-me's "authenticity", but let's face it, spellings ain't my strong suit, and even Grammerly gave up, soooo all the mistakes are mine 🙂🙃.

{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }

Purgatory Series: Part 1.

Today marked the end of the seventh year since you'd been transportated here. In another Universe's Purgatory. One would think it was hard being in a monster realm, but you would like to believe you were thriving. Bloodthirsty monsters, willing to do anything to take each other's lives - and you'd quickly become one of them.

You were a survivor, and you survived against all the odds. You'd faced off with vampires, werewolves, sirens, witches, and even the leviathans, once or twice. You learned how to go about in Purgatory, you learned how to get stuff done around here. No one cared about anyone, except themselves. It was a crooked world, and to live in it, you had to bend yourself too. You had to learn to be selfish, you had to devoid yourself of any mercy you could show to these monsters here.

It was like Heaven.

You'd perfected the art of being a merciless and ruthless monster. You'd buried your emotions deep under, somewhere in your heart. You forgot what hope felt like, you forgot how to act like a normal human being. All you knew was that you lived in a world where the only way to survive was to kill others. There were plenty of distractions here to choose from, you could kill as much as to your heart's content. And your heart was an insatiable bastard—it would do anything to keep the memories of . . .

You were too dedicated to not thinking the end of the sentence. All you did throughout your day was kill other monsters, right and left, and each day, you lost a little part of yourself to your awesome animalistic instincts.

Yet, nothing can save you now from what's going to happen.

Currently, you were in the trees, on the werewolf turf. You were bored and that's why you decided to piss off the wolves by hunting a few of their members. You knew once they learnt of what you had done, they'd come after you out of sheer grief. You thought it's their own fault that they roam in packs even after they've died - it's their own fault that they stay attached. Though, that would keep you busy for at least a week, so you weren't complaining. Finding monsters to kill when they were scared and cautious of you was such an inconvenience.

Speaking of inconveniences, you'd heard that the Leviathans were back in Purgatory. They had returned here after somehow escaping to Earth a couple of months back. They were all killed by a group of hunters, you assumed.

Whoever that is, is one hell of a hunter.

You still remembered when you had annoyed a Leviathan. He had been on your ass for almost a year before you were able to throw him off by faking your death. After that, you steered away from them. Sure, it had been a rather fun year, but what's the point of a rivalry when your enemy is unkillable?

You heard a distant howl of pain; it didn't sound like a normal monster's cry. You stayed in your place in case it was a trap to draw you out. Most of the Purgatory knew you were a curious person, and because of that, you had found yourself in quite a pickle more than a handful of times.

You scooched forward until your body was pressed flat against the thick tree branch. You took out an arrow from your quiver, shifting some leaves with it. When you had the layout memorized, you let the leaves go, nocking the arrow upon your bowstring by bringing your bow to you from around the body of the branch to minimise the chances of plummetting down thirty feet.

In a few minutes, the bushes rustled. You pulled the string taut. Out came a bunch of five werewolves, already talking.

'Damn it, we lost him,' growled one of them.

You were intrigued. Who were these puppies sniffing for?

'Told you it'd be better if we killed him on sight!' snarled the second.

'Maybe we should just give up on him,' suggested the third.

'Are you kidding? I want his blood on my hands! He killed me when I was back on Earth!'

'Yeah, me too,' the second one agreed.

The fifth one said, 'Same. He's a pain in the ass. He's killed at least one-third of the monsters in here. Someone will kill him eventually, and I want to be that someone!'

Their whining amused you, now you just had to see this monster. Who was he who killed other monsters? And most importantly, what kind of a monster would he kill his own kind?

You needed a challenge. You decided you'd try and get rid of this monster yourself. Anything that keeps you entertained is worth a shot, yeah? Worst case, it'll only be a few weeks; best case, months or even a year!

You put back your arrow and remained silent as the werewolves left to find this mystery monster. You couldn't take up a rivalry with the werewolves right now, if you wanted to track this new sensation yourself. You needed no one searching for you if you wanted to find him.

And you found him all right.

A week passed by and you finally traced the Purgatory's new villain.

Word spreads fast amongst the monsters. Turns out he's the hunter who banished the Leviathans back here. He was a human, a normal human who scared half the monsters and the other half wanted him dead.

He was a challenge for you, nonetheless. If he was going to end up dead too, you might as well be the one to do the honours. At least you'd give him a relatively painless death. Living was overrated anyways. And with that in mind, you'd sought him.

You watched him now, resting against one of the trees, constantly glancing over his shoulders, paranoid as he caught his breath.

He had just slaughtered the five wolves you had overheard last week. You had followed them here, right to him, and you had watched, with how much ease he murdered them. He traded in a scratch or two himself, but he still managed to win against them, unarmed and completely alone.

You observed how he bravely extracted the werewolf claw from his shoulder. His green eyes were sharp, but lonely, confused, tired. His jaw clenched in pain, his shoulders tensing every time a twig snapped or a leave crumpled in the distance.

He was wearing a dirty leather jacket, which looked like it had seen better days. Under the jacket was flannel and then a shirt, with it a pair of bloody blue jeans and hunting boots. He was six-foot-one. His bow legs firmly planted on the ground as he tried not to grunt in pain.

And each second your eyes were on him, you couldn't help but think how indeed nothing in Purgatory could have saved you from this.

How nothing could have prepared you for Dean fucking Winchester. The love of your life, the man who left you. He's back . . .

With each passing second, you wondered if he was a form of a mirage. Did your thirst for human love drive you so crazy that you're imagining the man you once loved, with all your heart and soul, in front of you?

Never in a million years, had you even considered the possibility, that you'd see him again, in flesh. It brought unresolved emotions to the surface. Your scorched tear ducts began functioning after more than seven years, but you couldn't let them fall because you'd forgotten how to cry. You hadn't cried since . . . Nope, you don't even go there.

You remember begging God for one chance to make this right, swearing that if you got him again, you'd never let him go, you'd always protect him. Losing him was . . . No, can't go there either.

As he looked back to the blood on his shoulder, you noticed the dark shadow in the bushes nearing his face - it was no friendly beast. Without wasting a single second, you aimed and released your deadly weapon just as the thing appeared out of the bushes with it's ajar lusting maw.

It yowled in dying pain, startling the human who jumped to his feet, raising the weapon he stole from the werewolves. But the lycanthrope fell at the man's feet, your arrow sticking out from it's brain, still in his wolf form, which started to disintegrate soon.

'Who's there?' demanded the human, raising his sword in front of his face as if to protect himself, looking up at the tree you were in. But he couldn't see you past the leaves. You swung off the branch and jumped to the ground, landing on your hands and feet, forgetting to hesitate.

You rose, smirking. Your e/c eyes had an almost inhuman sheen after years of wear and tear in the Purgatory, but it was a mask over your pain. Your hair down, and cut short in jagged edges like you'd take a knife to them. The color of your clothes had faded greatly after years of washing them in the forest river. You stood tall, your bemused assessing the hunter's reaction eagerly.

He was waiting and watching for you to attack.

Instead, you raised your hands in surrender. You should have attacked, but you didn't. You knew this attachment was dangerous but you couldn't help yourself. You couldn't kill this man.

You had to remind yourself that this man's name could be different, that everything about him could be completely different - all except his face. And no matter how much you wanted to run into his arms right now, you couldn't, because this wasn't your Dean.

But that also didn't mean that you'd be able to take his life, see his eyes stare at nothing after he meets his demise. You couldn't do that to yourself.

'Hello, darling,' the nick name rolled off your English tongue before you could weigh the pros and cons. 'You should be more careful.'

'I could say the same thing to you,' he smiled his "I-hope-you-like-my-smile-because-this-is-gonna-be-the-last-thing-you-see" smile.

He had an American accent, unlike your English one. Even your Dean had had an English accent, but you guessed since this one was from another planet, this one was different. You had seen this one give this smile to the lycanthropes he just killed, and before that numerous monsters that happened to cross his path, today itself. You had been spying on him since the morning and it didn't take you long to know that he was relentless. (It had taken you that same morning to process your shock; you actually need more time, but you'd blown your cover.)

You had seen this exact smile on your Dean too; thus, the shock; but you had to keep reminding yourself that they were different. This Winchester was from another universe altogether. If he was even a Winchester at all.

You temper your insane laugh at his audacious challenge. 'You've only killed untrained monsters till now, who used to attack innocent humans, which means they had no challenge whatsoever in their miserable lives. You really think you can harm me?'

His brows furrowed a little, but the cocksure smirk stayed. 'You all are the same—little barbaric pests I'll have no issue crushing under my foot.'

'Ah.' You understood that he thought you were a monster. 'Your feet won't be big enough to kill enough monster like me.'

You placed your bow on the ground, taking but one arrow and setting the rest down. That is all the time you had before the man attacked you.

You ducked his swing, playing defensive. You blocked his punches, and dodged his dagger, waiting for him to grow impatient and make a mistake. He kept attacking you, trying to outlast your strength, chasing you around the small clearing for minutes. He even landed a kick to your shin and pulled your hair once. You leveraged your tree-climbing skills to dance away from his reaching hands, enjoying his frustration. You came close disarming him twice but let him regain his weapon. Soon, he realised he was wasting his time and energy. He stepped back, and you both started circling each other.

'Seriously, are you that scared of me that you won't even attack, sweetheart?'

'If I attack,' you grinned a Cheshire grin, 'you will no longer think of me as a "sweetheart", darling.'

'Well, I assure you, I won't be much of a "darling" either when I slide this blade through your heart and watch the life drain out of your eyes.'

'I like when you talk dirty,' you winked before you momentarily surprised him by running head-on towards him.

You feigned right which is where he blocked with his sword. Instead, you used your momentum, to fall on your knees and used one foot to swipe his bow-legs from under him. His balance thrown, he slammed into the ground with breath-whooshing force.

He tried to hook his hand around you in a chokehold which you caught by the wrist. You twirled to straddle his thighs, locking your legs at your ankles so he couldn't move his legs, punching his nose when he tried to headbutt you. You plunged your arrow into his left hand that was nearing his weapon and he gasp-yelled in pain.

You punched him while he was distracted, in the neck, the ribs and then stomach, winding him efficiently. You took his right hand and twisted it painfully, at an awkward angle so it would go under his back, waiting till he stopped struggling and realized that he had lost.

You gritted grouchily until he gave up.

'Just make it quick, you bitch,' he panted. There wasn't a trickle of fear in him, his jaw set defiantly.

You had sort of expected that because that's what your Dean would have said and done. Maybe he is not so different.

You contemplated him from this close. The freckles on his face were like red splatters of paint on a pretty-featured canvas. The soft scrub on his angled jaw made him look adorable, yet sexy. His dirty-blond hair seemingly pulled by his fingers in all directions. You'd missed it all. But the thing that your memory disappointed you the most in were his moss-green eyes - they were more beautiful than any human mind could capture.

And all the qualities you had missed, like the fierceness he held himself with. The stubbornness that always seemed to get him within an inch of his life. The unwavering determination and the will to never give up was clear in his eyes. A man so strong, yet sweetly and sensitively empathetic.

Goose-pimples assaulted you and your heart withered.

You leaned down until your face was levelled with his. Your eyes locked with his - locking eyes felt like such a forgotten pleasure.

'I never wanted to kill you, darling.'

'Then, what do you want?' he said, staring right back.

You wondered if you had the same effect on him that you once had on your Dean, and vice versa. The only way to prove that theory would be to see if he could catch you in a lie, however small or big.

'I wanted to see who the new human was,' you lied, tracing a finger down his face, 'trying to overthrow the fear people have of me in here. See, I'm not used to competition in this God-forsaken place, hunter.'

Realization dawned on him, 'You're the terrifying L/N. The first and only human in Purgatory.'

You swallowed your sadness because he didn't notice.

'That is until you came along,' you talked past the lump in your throat, proping up the farce to hide your hurts, 'and stole my thunder. I'm getting off you now, try something funny, and you'll be dead before you hit the ground. In this case, while you're still on the ground.'

He didn't answer as you climbed off him. He grunted as he got up, groaning a little as he removed the arrow that you had pinned him into the ground with. You retrieved your bow and quiver, ready to strike him down if he tried to backstab you.

You couldn't believe that an actual human was in the Purgatory; someone other than you! Much less could you believe that he had the exact face of the only man you ever loved. Your one and only soulmate, in the flesh.

You knew other Deans in other Universes existed. But for one to show up in the Purgatory where you were the only human? For him to be human as well?

It established for you that a God was there, and he had a fucking sense of irony.

'How did you get to know about me?' you made conversation.

His eyes lingered on your face for a few seconds, as if taking you in, minus the hatred this time - there was true hope in him now. You guessed you understood. Thinking that you were alone in the world of angry and cruel monsters, only to find out there was someone like you - it was hope-worthy.

He stood up, taking the sword back in his unhurt hand. Wincing, he touched the skin around his wounded palm.

'You sell yourself short, sweetheart,' replied the tall hunter, taking out a napkin from his pocket and wrapping it around his palm. 'There are rumors about you all over the goddamn place.'

Of course, there are.

'Really?' you raised a coy brow. 'What do they say?'

'Some of them think you're dead, others are terrified of you. And the vampire nest I cleared out three days ago? The alpha said that if anyone could help me . . . it was you. Been looking for you ever since.'

Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it, was the chant in your head, but resistance was pointless.

'Follow me.'

And you've done it.

'Wait, just like that?' he scoffed, 'I don't trust you. You just pierced me with your arrow.'

You laughed, 'Oh, darling, if I wanted you dead, the arrow would have pierced your heart. I'm a very good aim.'

'And that should make me trust you?' he crossed his arms on his chest, stubbornly rooting to his spot.

'Who said anything about trust?' you mused, tilting your head to the right. 'The first rule of Purgatory: Don't trust no one. Now, come on, I need to get your hand and shoulder healed.'

He glared at you, 'I'm not going anywhere with you unless you tell me where you're taking me.'

You saw something move behind the man, your protectiveness towards him surged through. You nocked another one of your arrows and shot it, even before the man could think. But that didn't mean he didn't react. After a beat, he hurled his sword at you. And unlike your arrow which missed his face by inches, you felt the sword break your skin.

The arrow struck the beast behind, and it yelped in pain, which was what made the hunter swivel in shock. 'Oh, shit,' he muttered under his breath when the lycanthrope hit the ground with a thud, your arrow sticking out of his heart.

Dean lunged towards you just as you fell forwards. 'I'm so sorry, I thought—'

'Told you I'm good aim,' you gritted out. He lowered you to the ground, at the roots of a nearby tree. 'I have had more than enough chances to kill you. Now, fucking trust me and take the dagger out.'

'You will bleed—'

'Now,' you ordered.

He hesitated for a split second before he used his unhurt hand to firmly grip the hilt of his dagger. 'On the count of three,' he told you. 'One . . . Two—' and he ripped it out of you along with a scream, 'Son of a bitch! What, did you fail in kindergarten?! What happened to three!?'

As the guy had predicted, blood gushed out. The green-eyed man, bit his lower lip, his eyes apologetic, and fast filling with guilt. 'I'm sorry—'

'Shut up,' you rolled your eyes. 'You don't live in Purgatory for as long as I have without always carrying some kind of healing potion.'

His eyes flashed with surprise and relief, his mouth parted in shock. You rolled your eyes again at his reaction, 'Climb the tree I jumped off of. There is a duffel bag, bring that. And do it fas-fast.'

'I won't let you die,' he assured you.

That sentence struck a chord in you. I won't let you die, my love. Not while I'm still alive.

You exhaled sharply to keep the burn in your eyes from escalating. You didn't need this shit right now.

You changed the subject, wheezing, 'Just hurry! The wolves we killed are an ancient breed. They know what you did, killed five of theirs, and I, t-two. They're an old pack, extinct before you were probably born. They can tu-turn into actual wolves, and they'd maul us if you don't leave soon!'

'Right.'

The hunter climbed fast and sloppy, getting back to you in mere minutes. You rummaged through the bag quickly, taking out a flask you kept your healing potion in. You sipped from it, grimacing at the bitter-sour taste.

You glanced at the hunter by your side, slight concern in his eyes and it felt weird, out of place. No one, in a very, very long time, had shown concern for you. But at the same time, it felt natural. It was something your Dean would do.

'You're not worried, are you?' you asked, a hint of humour in your expression.

He scoffed, 'Only because you're my ticket out of here.'

You felt a little hurt by his words. For a second there, you thought that maybe he cared, but you forgot that only because he had Dean's face, it didn't mean that he'd actually care any more than the monsters. You felt disappointed and you hid it well.

'Good. Caring is overrated.'

'Ain't that the truth?' he said before his eyes fell on your wound. It was mending you shut, 'Wow.'

'I know,' you smiled a little. 'Painless and efficient. I just wish it tasted more like whiskey than sewer.'

'That bad, huh?'

'Yep,' you said, offering him your flask. 'You gotta do what you gotta do to survive. Drink up, hunter, just a sip.'

He accepted it, not hesitating anymore to take your help, taking a pull and gagging at the taste. He handed you the flask back again, his wounds filling out with fresh flesh and blood. He removed his handkerchief, now bloody, to see an unaffected palm.

'That shit was nasty,' he shivered a bit, poking his tongue out as if he wished he could wipe the taste away.

'Let's go before the howls begin,' you commanded.

'Is there a safe place we can outlast this?'

You shrugged, 'Sure is. Once they are off our backs, I'll help you.'

You had made several safe houses all over Purgatory.

Your trek with the green-eyed hunter had been a silent one, and tense for so many reasons. For one, you could feel his gaze on you multiple times, but you resisted returning the favour with every cell in your body. Secondly, monsters either avoided your scent these days, or it had mostly belnded into the decor after seven years of being all over the place, but the guy following you still had a distinct smell to him, one would assume, a glowing beacon for monsters.

You climbed up a tree near the river, way uphill. You ushered the man through the mass of leaves that were smelly enough to throw off monsters from around this area. This was one of your few treehouses that had a thick foilage of flowers and leaves to camouflage it.

He silently sat down, and you took a seat on the opposite end of the small house.

Sighing, you threw your head back, a little tired, though you knew you wouldn't be sleeping in here. It wasn't all that safe. It was still a lot closer to the werewolf turf than you'd like, but the man had been running amok for God-knows-how-long - you thought he might need a break. You wished you could give him longer than an hour but those werewolves had noses like . . . well, scary werewolves that could rip any creature into small pieces they sink their teeth in.

'You know, I don't get it,' said the green-eyed man after a few minutes.

You glanced at him in acknowledgement, nothing how large he looked for your house. In your small treehouse, there wasn't much to begin with. A small window in the corner where the fairies agreed to help you with some light, each night, wherever you needed them in Purgatory. It was a deal you had made with them, in return for saving their queen from the Leviathans. A small closet was carved from the wood of the tree where you kept your weapons, a set of clothes, an emergency healing potion, and water. That's about it.

The rest of the space is utilized to spend some days. You can sit there, lie down, and chat with the ceiling which is made of leaves. You would talk to the fairies, but they're all about business.

'What do you not get, hunter?' you asked, annoyed for some reason. It wasn't that he wasn't welcome. You liked it, and at the same time, you didn't. Did that make sense?

Now that you thought about it, maybe letting him tag along was a bad idea. After all, it had been seven years since you were having an actual conversation with an actual human being. Not to mention that this person had died several years ago.

This conversation didn't involve death threats or begging for life. This was a conversation regarding the curiosity about how to survive here. This was a conversation about something that needed brainstorming on ways to get out of here.

And that felt unreal, almost as if you had forgotten how to do it in the first place. It had been so long since you'd lived for someone else.

'Why did you agree to help me? You don't know me that well. For all you know, I could have been put here because I'm a monster.'

You stared at a patch near his feet, the fading sunlight illuminated the filmsy plastic that was used instead of the glass of your window. You didn't want to look at Dean's lookalike, or you would be reminded of how this was the most handsome man you had ever laid your eyes on. And that would mess with your emotions - big time.

You were still a little surprised with yourself that you let him live. Angel, Demon, Monster, you don't spare anyone: that's the rule; especially in Purgatory - everyone needs to die. If you find another of your breed, you leave them alone to fend for themselves, or grant a painless death out of kindness.

Attachment kills. Then why did you help him?

Why should you care?

His eyes are so beautiful, you thought to yourself. You shook your head, this isn't Dean, Y/N, this is another man with his face, who, for all you know, could be a criminal . . .

'I was put here,' you shared. 'It wasn't my fault, I think. I don't know. And I don't know your story.'

His brows furrowed. 'That's it? That's your reason to help me?'

You sighed, trying a different angle. 'I heard everyone calls you a hunter?'

'What about it?'

You leaned back, stretching. You thought back to the days when you were a hunter yourself. How you saved people, how you sacrificed your life for them. It was for the people of your planet that you made this deal with the other factions, the one that deposited you here. They promised to stop the war with your people, if, and only if, the humans sacrificed their best hunter, who also happened to be a Leader, into another universe's Purgatory. Those were their conditions and considering how you were the only one left alive from your time, you were the lamb chop.

'Sweetheart?'

'Hmm?' You blinked at the man in your room.

'You were saying?' he prompted.

'Oh!' you shook your head. 'Right, I zoned out. Well, since you are a hunter too, you know what it feels like to risk your life for others, don't you?'

'It's my job, I guess. You were a hunter?'

You were so much more than a hunter, but you can't dwell on it - bit brings bitter memories. So, you cleared your throat, 'Yes. Did I not mention that? Cream of our planet, if I say so myself.'

He scoffed, 'Aren't you a little overconfident?'

You gave him a mischievous grin, 'Beat your ass, didn't I?'

'Yeah, whatever. So, what's your game plan? I mean, assuming you even know the way out of here . . . Why haven't you left already?'

'I don't know,' you frowned; you never thought of going back. 'There's no one to go back to, I guess.' You looked meaningfully into his eyes, deciding to change the subject. 'What exactly do you want from me, hunter? Cause, if I heard correct, there have been talks about an angel. It isn't a coincidence that you and he arrive on the same day. Did he put you here?'

'You know about angels? Most hunters don't.'

'Yeah, well, I'm not among the most, darling. Where I come from, everyone knows about monsters, angels and demons. Even the non-hunters.'

That seemed to confuse him, 'Don't we come from the same place?'

You opted to avoid that question. 'I'm not a very patient person when it comes to talking or helping, human. What is it that you want from me? Cause, I won't mind exacting revenge on an angel. I used to love killing those dicks.'

'Whoa!' he nervously chuckled. 'No one's killing the angel!'

'You seem defensive,' you observed. 'He, your friend?'

'Yeah,' he told you. 'And no one lays a hand on him, okay? I need to get out of here, with him.'

'All right,' you smirked, raising your hands to show that you understood. 'It's just . . . angels friends with humans,' you snorted, 'that tale never ended well.'

'Why?' he asked. 'I mean, I know most angels are dicks, but a few of them are actually helpful, sweetheart.'

Your heart spasmed.

'Sure,' you scoffed. 'Although, I don't think the angel who killed my brother, best friend and my boyfriend got that memo.'

Remorse and empathy filled him. 'I'm sorry.'

'You didn't kill them,' you shrugged. 'You don't have to apologize, you don't know me. Or I, you.' You scoffed, 'Hell, you haven't even told me your name yet.'

He blinked in surprise, 'Oh, I'm—'

'Tsk, tsk, tsk,' you cut him off. 'I don't wanna know, darling. Name means bonding. And I'd rather not get attached to you, especially because you're gonna leave this place.'

'And you won't?' he pried.

You deadpanned, 'I have nothing, no one, on your planet.'

'You say that as if you're from another Universe,' he smiled. You just stared at him and he realized that you were serious. 'Wait, you are, aren't you?'

You gave him a small smile, 'Most hunters from other worlds don't know about alternate Universes. But you do, since you don't seem too surprised.'

'Yeah, well, sweetheart, you will find that I'm not among the most,' he repeated your words to you.

'Touché,' you smirked. 'Any more things you want to check off your bucket-list while you're here? Maybe sight-see a dead centaur or something?'

'Nope. Just need to get the angel and get the hell outta dodge.' He paused then, 'You're kidding about the centaur, right?'

You smirked, 'You were stuck in amateur hour, dude. Welcome to the big leagues.'

A smile ghosted his lips. 'How long do you think we'll be stuck here?'

'Long enough for a hefty therapy bill.'

The words settled heavily between the two of you.

'Thank you, Y/N,' sincerity occupied his tone.

Your breath hitched as your name rolled off his tongue.

Oh, this stranger went there.

You forgot how your heart used to race when he called for you. How your emotions felt like they were doing a Hollywood Musical routine each time he was near you. How you felt like you'd melt under his intense gaze which promised you that he'd devour you right there if he could.

There was no lover like Dean Winchester and no love like Dean Winchester's.

His random hand-holding, smiling into each kiss you gave him, saying "I love you" at the most random moment possible. And letting the world know that you were his. You still remembered how he'd come from behind and hug you tightly, nuzzling his face into your neck and murmuring sweet or dirty things into your ear - depending on what mood he was in that day.

'You good?' the man brought you out of your reverie.

Your heart turned cold towards him. You couldn't bear to look at him, knowing he wasn't yours. He never could be. Your Dean was dead.

'Don't,' you hissed, 'Don't call me by my name.'

Before he could ask why or point out how rude you were being, you got up. 'Stay. I need some air.'

'But—'

You ignored him altogether and walked out, thinking: I'm so screwed.

A/N: To answer your question, I don't know where all the angst in my writing comes from - I'm just so bad at happinessy stories 🫠🫣.

Tag List.

@stoneyggirl2 @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @aylacavebear

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whimsyfinny · 5 months ago

Text

Sexy F*cking Nerd

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When Dean discovers a little secret of (Y/n)'s during a case research session he can't help but let temptation get the best of him.

Warnings: Language, Smut, Fingering, PinV, Oral (M receiving), slight angst if you squint, Dean having a glasses kink (not really a warning but not everyone wears them hahaha lucky bastards)

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 5688

A/N: It's taken a little while but here is the second competition winner from a few weeks back, the prompt provided by the wonderful @foxyjwls007 - I hope you like it!

The motel room was stuffy to say the least - that usual aroma of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener lingering around us. There was a dripping sound coming from God knows where and the AC hummed in between the concerning clinking from deep within the vents. It was crap. So crap. But it was home for a few nights; just like all the motel rooms that came before. Dean stepped past me and over the threshold, immediately slinging his duffle and jacket onto his chosen bed. He stretched his arms above his head, the grey Henley clutching his muscular abdomen and rising enough to flaunt what lay beneath. I sighed, following him in and slumping onto the bed beside his - the musty stench from the sheets enveloping me.

“Well…” Dean started, pulling Sam's laptop out of his bag and placing it on the small table by the window.

“Well…?” My voice echoed as I focused on the ceiling fan that spun off centre.

“...This is… nice?” His statement was more of a question as he looked around with raised eyebrows. I propped myself up on my elbows, flashing him a look of speculation.

“Seriously?” A moment passed before he huffed a long-held breath and slapped his large palms on his thighs.

“No of course not, this place sucks more dick than a hooker on payday.”

“You got that right,” I flopped back down onto the bed, a small dust cloud erupting under my weight. I closed my eyes and listened as Dean pulled a chair out from under the table, slumping down into it. Then there was the familiar click of the laptop opening followed by the sound of stuttered not-quite-touch-typing, presumably he was starting work on the case that we’d come here to investigate. The tap tap tap of whatever was leaking began to drill into my brain, my patience already wearing thin with the rooms dire ambiance. I pulled myself up to sitting, criss-crossing my legs on the bed and brushing whatever that dust from the bedding was off my sweater sleeves.

“When's Sam back?” I asked, watching as Dean searched the keyboard in front of him for some long lost letter.

“Uuuh, I'm not sure. He said to work this case without him.”

“Ugghhh, I bet he's having way more fun than us right now, it's not fair,” I plopped my chin into my palm and stared past the older Winchester out the window, almost willing Sam to appear and walk in like any other day.

“It's just some dumb wedding, I doubt he's having that much fun.”

I scoffed before I could stop myself, Dean breaking eye contact with the screen to throw me a raised eyebrow.

“Look,” I collected myself, “you didn't know Sam in college. He won't admit it but he was popular. Really popular. Not the total nerd you think he is. He's absolutely having fun with these people.”

“Yeah right. So who's at this wedding anyway? Why was it so important that he just had to be there?”

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well Sam had already told him all the details. Typical Dean.

“It's for a couple of friends who he and Jess were close with back then. Pretty sure the bride was prom queen in highschool or something and the groom was a trust fund jock. Either way, not my crowd,” I sighed slightly, memories from my college days flooding my mind.

Deans eyebrows twitched into a small frown, his thoughts seeming to cloud his vision for a second before he reluctantly dismissed them. I looked down into my lap for a moment, reminiscing how I always kept my distance from Sam whilst at Stanford, but he had always been that boy that would make my heart flutter when he spoke up in class or when I'd see him on the quad with his friends. I remember seeing him with his nose in a book once at my usual desk in the library, my cheeks burning when he caught me staring. Who would've thought several years down the line I'd be sat in a bottom-rung motel room with his obscenely good looking older brother researching monster lore. At least we would be researching monster lore, if it wasn't for the small growl my empty stomach had gurgled out. I couldn't stop the small pulse of embarrassment burning into my cheeks as Dean eyed me with a grin.

“Wanna get some lunch?” He asked, standing up like he already knew my answer.

“Fuck yes. I'm feeling burgers,” I shuffled to the edge of the bed and stood up, watching as Dean shrugged on his leather jacket and headed to the door, holding it open for me.

“Now you're speaking my language.”

The diner was almost as sad and withered as the motel room, however the food was nothing short of spectacular. I watched in awe as Dean polished off his second burger, a small glob of sauce sticking to his stubble and threatening to drip off his chin. He must've felt me watching in wonder - or perhaps disgust - as when he looked up from his plate he shot me a questioning glance.

“What?” His tone was a little defensive through the mouthful of fries he'd just shovelled in. I took a second before asking, half-genuine:

“Where do you put all of that?”

“Put what?”

“The food - where does it go? Do you have hollow legs? Two stomachs? Does it just evaporate as soon as you swallow it?”

He grinned, wiping the sauce from his face with a napkin.

“Goes straight to the abs baby. It's muscle fuel,” he leant back in his chair, stretching a little before patting his stomach to punctuate his statement. I simply rolled my eyes.

“Yeah right, you're not that muscly Dean.”

“How would you know? You've never seen me with my shirt off.”

“I know, and I plan to keep it that way.”

He feigned a pout before returning to his fries. We ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, my mind absently going back to all the lore we should be trying to gather. I gripped my milkshake that had so generously been served in a thin paper cup, attempting to suck the practically solid beverage up the equally thin paper straw. Finding the nearest library would be the next task on our to-do list, despite the protesting I know I'll get from Dean.

“Hey, (Y/n)?” My train of thought was derailed at the sound of my name. The slurping of over-thickened milkshake from myself ceased.

“What's up?”

“What were you like in college?”

I eyed him with caution, wondering what part of his brain was in control right now.

“What do you wanna know?”

Catching the wariness to divulge him to such information, he smiled slightly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I'm not asking to be weird, I just-” he paused, choosing his next words tactfully, “the way you described Sam as being a totally different person - some hot-shot with the perfect grades, popular friends and a girlfriend like Jess - it just got me thinking. How would Sam have described you?”

I almost spat my dairy-goop back into the straw, my brain freezing.

“Dean,” I started before planning what I was going to say, placing my cup on the table. “Sam wouldn't be able to describe me.”

My words brought a small smirk to his lips.

“You were that hot, huh?”

“What the fuck- no- I wasn't- he didn't- Sam never- ” I stopped myself before I had an aneurysm and took a deep breath.

“I was in a totally different crowd to Sam. He was always surrounded by people and, well, I barely even had a crowd.”

“Lone wolf?”

“Bingo. But definitely not the cool, collected, stoic type. Think more, invisible to the public eye, always carrying books, and borderline selective mute because of how shy I was.”

“Oh… what changed?,” Deans tone changed entirely, genuine intrigue seeming to take the wheel. I couldn't help but laugh slightly, remembering my method to forcing myself out of my bubble.

“The only job I could get was in a bar. No one else wanted the hours and I desperately needed cash. I didn't really have a choice after that,” I paused, remembering how terrified I was on my first day and grinned slightly, grateful for the extra confidence I had now because I took that leap.

“Hey, what sort of crowd do you think I would've been in?”

I snorted, looking up into his expectant eyes - almost captivated by the glistening greens.

“What am I? A BuzzFeed quiz? I have no idea Dean, you're too much of a wildcard to predict. You probably would've fit in with anyone and everyone.”

“Even you?”

For reasons unbeknownst to even myself, my breath caught in my throat. The sudden soft sincerity of his voice contradicting his usual temperament, my heart starting to flutter in my chest. If the college version of myself had met Dean back then I just know I would have been enthralled at first glance.

“I don't think you would've noticed me. You would've been surrounded by every tall, thin blonde and brunette with perfect tits. Trust me, you would've been distracted,” I smiled an almost sad smile at the thought of him simply being on university grounds and having the time of his life - knowing it was something that he was never going to get the chance to experience in this upside down life of his. Of ours. He tapped his fingers on the table for a second, likely lost in some ludicrous thought I don't think I'd want to be privy to. I attempted another slurp of my milkshake when the paper straw gave out and flopped in half, the need to leave conversation and the diner suddenly looming over me.

“Come on, let's get to the library before it closes,” I stood and pulled my oversized sweater down so it covered my ass before reaching for my backpack. Just as my fingers touched the worn fabric of the strap it was torn away, my head snapping up to Dean who flung it over one shoulder with his signature grin on his face.

“Lead the way nerd.”

I couldn't help but beam at his playfulness. I hated the fact that he made it so easy to adore him. Hated that he completely overlooked how I was his total opposite in almost every way. How when we were talking, his eyes never left mine - how he was genuinely interested in what I was like in the past. And how, when I had his attention, he didn't even notice that the hot waitress had written her number on a napkin and left it next to him.

The trip to the library was about as eventful as it sounded. After checking out multiple books on cursed items, local lore and popular antiques from the seventies, we loaded ourselves back into the impala, made an all-important beer run before heading back to the motel.

The small table by the window was now totally smothered by a blanket of books, maps and empty beer bottles. Deans chin rested in his palms as he stared blankly at the screen in front of him, and I must've read the last sentence of the paragraph laid before me a dozen times without it even sinking in. The obnoxious dripping and humming of ancient appliances was starting to make me feel restless.

“It has to be the boots,” Dean groaned, draining the last of his beer.

“Either the boots or the disco ball. But my money is on boots as well,” I sighed, pushing the book away from me and standing slowly, gathering the quickly accumulating litter now scattered around us.

“I'm gonna make some coffee, my brain is fried over how fucking ridiculous this case is,” I ditched the trash in the bin before filling the coffee machine, listening to it whir to life whilst I headed to my bed. I could feel Deans gaze on my back as I rummaged around my bag in search of a specific item.

“What are you looking fo-” he'd started to ask the question but his voice died in his throat when I turned around. I quickly pushed my newly adorned glasses up the bridge of my nose, already feeling the oversized frame start to slip down as I tried not to make a big deal over them.

“What?” My tone was a fraction off aggressive when I realised he was staring. He seemed to snap out of his daze, quickly rubbing the back of his neck and turning back to the laptop screen. He cleared his throat

“I uh, I didn't know you wore glasses,” I could tell from the slight tremble in his voice that his mind was reeling.

“Is there a problem with that?”

“No! I mean, no, absolutely not. They look good. The glasses, I mean. The glasses look good. Not on their own, obviously. On your face. They look good on your face. You have a great fa-”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and set it on the counter, filling it to the brim with caffeinated goodness. I couldn't stop the grin spreading across my lips at Deans fumbling, almost finding the whole ordeal a little charming. I sat back down at the table and pulled the books back towards me, also grabbing my pen and tattered notebook.

“The guests at the club mentioned hearing footsteps - so it has to be the boots, right? A disco ball wouldn't make that sound…” my voice trailed off when I realised that, even though Dean was looking at me, he wasn't listening to a word I was saying.

“Earth to Dean?”

He flinched slightly at his name, but felt no shame delving in with a completely off-topic question.

“So how long have you worn glasses?”

“I’ve always worn them,” I slid back into my chair at the table opposite him, not sure whether to laugh at the shocked expression on his face or whether to be concerned about his observation skills.

“What?! No way, I would’ve noticed,” He opened another beer and took a sip before tracing the opening to the bottle over his bottom lip.

“ I only wear them for concentration work, and I have emergency contact lenses if I know I’m going to be around a lot of people as I don’t particularly like how they look.”

Dean made a small disagreeable expression before averting his gaze from mine back to the laptop, taking another swig of his beer. I placed my coffee mug down and settled back into the book I was reading before, and after a few moments I could feel my skin begin to prickle - as though I could feel a pair of eyes on me. I glanced up, my breath immediately catching in my throat. Deans eyes found mine, burning with an intensity that made my heart hammer in my chest. I didn’t want to look away, but under his gaze I felt like I’d been stripped bare, unable to hide my insecurities from an eye that seemed to scorch through to my very core.

“Dean-”

“(Y/n), you should really have more confidence in yourself; I think the glasses look cute as fuck. You should wear them more,” a fierce blush erupted across my face when he spoke, his assured tone leaving no room for disagreement. I tried desperately not to let on that his words held any sort of impact over my decisions so I looked down, away from his scrutiny and simply said:

“Maybe I will.”

He hummed in approval, finally looking elsewhere and I couldn’t stop myself from breathing a sigh of relief when the pressure of his stare was averted.

The evening dragged on and an hour and a half had passed since his loaded comment. I was on the third book we’d checked out of the library, now trying desperately to find the curse that would cause a pair of 1970s glam rock boots to dance for eternity and haunt anyone who tried to wear them. This case was absurd, and I could feel myself growing restless with the small amount of progress we’d made. I huffed out a sigh and leant back in my chair, the faux leather and rusted metal creaking under my weight. Pulling the hair bobble from around my wrist I scooped my hair into a bundle on the top of my head, securing it in place; the sensation of air on my neck seemed to clear some of the fog from my brain. The messy bun was comfortably enough that I could forget it was there, and I allowed myself a stretch before leaning back over the table, grasping my pen. As I began to read the next segment, I absently traced the end of the pen over my bottom lip, running it back and forth a few times before gently nibbling on the end. I heard the shuffling of Dean moving in his seat and a ragged clearing of his throat before the sound of vigorous laptop keys clicking ensued. Without looking up at him I continued reading, the pen still tapping my bottom lip, and when I neared the bottom of the paragraph, I slowly licked the pad of my index finger. My eyes never leaving the words, I turned the page swiftly with my dampened digit, the transition from one page to the next perfectly seamless. Another shuffle from the man opposite followed by a quiet groan filled the silence between us. Pen still between my teeth, I lifted only my eyes to glance at him and noted the dusting of pink across his cheeks and the furrow in his brow. Concluding that he’d had one too many beers I decided to ignore his persistent fidgeting, returning to my previous task on monotonous reading. Several sentences in and I’d almost forgotten Deans restlessness - that was until I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, deep in thought, that I earned myself a throaty groan and an exasperated sigh. I looked up just in time to watch him wipe a large hand down his face, momentarily masking his pained expression.

“Can you not do that? I can’t concentrate when you do that.”

“Do what?” Upon asking my question I absently took the pen between my teeth again, quickly glancing down at the book to place a mental bookmark.

“That.”

“What?”

“That. That thing you do with our mouth, and the pen, and your tongue and your finger. Can you please stop before it kills me.”

The heat beneath my skin was immediate at his admission, knowing my small, absent-minded actions were playing on his mind and making it hard for him to think straight. I instinctively crossed my legs, a fluttering in my lower belly instantly dragging my mind back to the deprived things I’d imagined Dean doing to me in the depths of night. The places I’d imagined his hands travelling, the areas his lips would touch and the sensations his tongue could create. These were deeply, deeply personal fantasies, and right now as Dean looked at me with a restrained hunger, I felt like I was wearing these fantasies for the world to see. For Dean to see.

“It doesn’t help that you’ve been sat over there like a sexy fucking librarian all evening, but every time you do that anything with that mouth - shit, sweetheart you’re driving me insane.” His voice was gravelly as he looked at me with desperate eyes across the table. The overly rational part of my brain had shut down completely, and now the part of my mind that had spent hours conjuring vivid scenes of Dean Winchester ravishing me in my entirety had taken the charge. I stood slowly, taking a moment to reason with myself - unsuccessfully of course - before sinking to my knees in front of my chair. I could see Deans strong thighs were spread wide beneath the table so I crawled forwards, across the cold tiles and placed myself between his legs. Resting my palms softly on his thighs I made him flinch at the unexpected contact. He immediately scooted his chair back, allowing a gap for me to poke my head through - his hand instantly acting as a barrier between the edge of the table and my skull. I got comfortable and allowed myself a moment to gaze up at him, to take in the strained furrow in his brow and the parting of his lips. I observed the way his chest rose and fell in apprehensive breaths, and the way his free hand clenched into a fist on his thigh - like he was so desperate yet so scared to touch me.

“(Y/n)-”

“Dean,” I spoke softly, slowly running my hands up his thighs - delicate palms against rough denim, “you’re a smart boy - you know I wouldn’t do something I didn’t want to do. So please, don’t say I don’t have to do this.”

Dean released a shaky breath the moment my fingers unclasped his jeans. I tugged them down slightly with his help, just enough so I could dip my hand into his boxers and wrap my fingers around his half-hard length. The moment my skin touched his, his head lolled back and his eyes fluttered closed with a breathy moan on his lips.

“Fuck…”

I gently pulled him from his confines, coming face to face with the cock I’d literally dreamt of again and again. I took the scene in, committing to memory the sharp outline of his jaw and the way his long lashes rested on his lightly-freckled cheeks. The way that, every time he breathed in, I could see his defined muscle tone through the thin fabric of his shirt; and with every small caress that my fingers made against his length, it made his fingers twitch and teeth clench. I licked my lips before leaning in and took his tip into my mouth, not giving him a chance to finish sucking in air through his teeth before I plunged his entire length down my throat.

“Oh FUCK.”

His hands flew to my hair, fingers gripping tight as they loosened strands from the messy bun, causing them to fall around my face. He’d lifted his head to look down at me, pupils blown as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked nothing more than enthralled. Infatuated. Entranced. I moved my head up and down, up and down, again and again to a steady rhythm, pressing my tongue to the underside of his now rock-hard cock to trace every vein and nerve-ending.

“Shit, (Y/n), I didn’t know you could suck cock, like, at all… how’re you s’fuckin’ good…” his voice was breathless as he continued to grip my hair, his head flopping to the side as pleasure started to overcome his senses. I released him with a small ‘pop’, wrapping my fingers around him and smearing the warm mixture of saliva and precum from tip to base.

“Despite everything I told you earlier, Dean, I’m not a virgin - and this certainly isn’t my first rodeo,” my voice came out more sultry than I’d expected and I could feel Dean tremble beneath my palms.

“Fuck, I wish I’d known that sooner,” I chewed on my bottom lip, quickly becoming addicted to the way he writhed at my touch. The way he moaned and gripped my hair tighter when I sucked him back into my mouth was like pure ecstasy, my insides heating up and throbbing with an ache of familiar arousal. Like a thirst that could only be satisfied by him. By tasting him, feeling him on my tongue and drinking in every sound that passed his plush parted lips. The sensation of my glasses slipping down my nose as I sped up my ministrations had me reaching to push them back up, but not before Dean beat me to it. With the rough pad of his thumb he pushed on the plastic bridge, his palm and fingers pressed to my flushed cheek in the most tender, almost heart wrenching caress. I thought my heart might stop when he tilted my face up to his; lustful eyes burning into mine with a vehemence I’d never encountered. I stopped in my tracks, all actions ceased as the spell he’d somehow put me under wouldn’t let me look away.

“If you keep going like that darlin’ this whole thing is gonna be over before you know it,” his voice was raspy, a rawness to it from the harsh breaths and ragged moans that had been pulled from his throat. He slowly pulled his cock from my spit-slick lips and grasped it loosely, giving himself a few lazy pumps whilst his other hand never left my face. He stared down at me, taking a few moments as though he was committing the sight of me, knelt between his knees with flushed cheeks and swollen lips to memory. Once it seemed that memory was locked away in the depths of his mind, he grasped me by the arm and pulled me effortlessly into his lap, his fingers almost bruising against my skin. Immediately I felt him, in his entirety, press against me with the heat and wetness seeping through my jeans and past my panties. This time when our eyes met, there was a mutual desperation; a need to consume each other and to feel every inch of his heated skin against mine. He pulled me frantically down to him and crashed his lips against mine.

Some people describe their first kiss with someone like butterflies in their stomach, or fireworks exploding all around them. That wasn’t at all what this was like. Kissing Dean Winchester was different - it was wild and untamed - and describing this experience in such a mundane way would be like adding water to a top-shelf whiskey. Kissing Dean Winchester was like driving the impala at one thirty with the roar of the engine drowning out the rest of the world. It was like trying to ride a wild mustang without a saddle, or daring to stand on the highest peak on Earth with nothing to tie you down. It was exhilarating in the most dangerous way imaginable - and I was now officially a thrill seeker.

The warm taste of the beer on his tongue and the masculine scent of old leather and cologne was pulling me under. Breathing no longer mattered as long as his mouth was on mine and his fingers were in my hair, now tugging the bobble out and throwing it to the floor. As my hair tumbled free he grabbed under my thighs and stood effortlessly, moving me from his lap to the edge of the table without his lips leaving mine. I winced slightly as the corners and several books and the laptop jabbed into my rear and I fumbled to move everything aside, failing when I refused to unlock our lips. Deans patience was non-existent and with one sweep of his strong arm everything tumbled to the floor - including the laptop. I threw the remaining books from underneath me down to join them, no longer caring for their wellbeing. Before I could pull Dean back in - to allow him to do whatever the fuck he wanted to do to me - he hastily pulled off my boots and tugged down my jeans, throwing every item to the growing pile of chaos beside us. I discarded my sweater and top, but before I let his fingers touch my bra I wanted nothing more than to return the favour.

“I guess you can forget about that whole ‘never seeing me shirtless’ thing, huh?” he smirked through the sexual fog, not waiting for a reply as his lips hungrily found mine again, his own top falling to the floor.

“Shut up Winchester. Now are you gonna fuck me or wh- OH FUCK-”

Two thick fingers crept under my panties and plunged into me with zero hesitation, curling up and stroking the sensual cushion deep within my core with skillful precision.

“Oh yeah? You want me to fuck you?” Even with my face now buried in the crook of his neck, I could hear the smirk in his voice, the tormenting tone going straight to my brain.

“Y-yes- fuck- please,” my knees twitched either side of him, squeezing at his hips with every push of his fingers. I gripped his shoulders tight, nails indenting his skin as I leant back to look at him better. Seeing the beads of sweat on his chest and brow alongside the raw, carnal desire in his eyes could have undone me there and then. He frowned in disapproval when I moved to remove my glasses, the fingers that were just inside me now wrapped forcefully around my wrist.

“What d’ya think you’re doing?” straight away I knew his growling question left no room for negotiation.

“I was just-”

“The glasses stay on.”

“To the end?”

“‘Til I say you can take them off.”

I did as I was told, moving my hand to grip the soft strands on the back of his neck, softly dragging my nails over his scalp and drawing a shiver from his spine and a groan from his lungs. He pulled me against him, crushing his lips against mine one more time. He swiftly pulled away and I leant back on my hands, both of us taking a moment to drink each other in - to bask in lascivious glory. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and looked up at him through my lashes, the lenses of my glasses starting to fog around the edges. Another deep moan rumbled from his chest as his heated gaze stayed locked to mine.

“I can’t wait any longer now that you’ve looked at me like that. Fuck.”

With a large hand gripping the soft flesh of my thigh he pulled my underwear to one side and lined himself up, slowly sinking in. Blissful moans harmonised between us, the rawness of him stretching me was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and my quivering thighs wrapped around him, pushing him to the hilt. He secured his large hands on the soft flesh of my hips and held me in place as he slowly withdrew. I could feel him; feel every ridge and vein drag out and then in, out and in, over my most sensitive, intimate, area. The slick sounds of our intimacy began to echo around the room as he picked up speed, strong thighs working at a feverish pace. With every thrust he pushed against that one spot that made my legs jerk and eyes water, my arms almost giving out underneath me as the table rattled beneath my weight. With the ferocity of his pounding and the heightened sensitivity he’d curated between my legs only moments before, we both knew that neither of us would last long. The sounds of his ragged breaths and throaty moans alone had me clenching around him already, and I know my constricting muscles already had his hips stuttering as I sucked him in with every thrust.

“Fuck (Y/n)- You’re so fuckin’ tight-”

I chewed on my bottom lip as his desperate eyes met mine.

“Oh yeah? Well I feel like you’re cock is in my fucking ribcage- oh fuck-”

He slipped one hand between us, his large palm resting on my lower belly as his thumb drew fast circles around my clit. The immediate contact on my bundle of nerves had my whole body quivering, the knot of an impending climax already starting to twist tighter and tighter in the depths of my core. The way that Dean fucked me into the motel room table was something that I would be able to feel deep in my soul for the rest of my life - my body and entire nervous system having never been worked in such a feral way before. Dean dropped forward and crushed my body into his - one large strong arm wrapped around my trembling body and kept me pressed against him as his head dropped to the crook of my neck. Soft lips pressed hot kisses against my shoulder, teeth gently nibbling the soft flesh as the coil wound and wound, the wave of orgasmic bliss rising higher and higher as my mind emptied, leaving behind only one thought.

Dean.

He was all consuming - all I could see, taste and smell. All I could feel. Oh God could I feel him; driving me to the brink of pure bliss as he frantically sped up - desperate to seek his own undoing as well as my own. One… two… three more fervid thrusts and the peak he’d helped me ascend to shattered around me as I practically screamed his name, the white-hot euphoria scorching my insides as I clamped like a vice around him.

“Oh shit- (Y/n) I can’t- fuck-”

I grabbed the back of his head and pushed his mouth to mine as he came undone, spilling inside me as he worked through his own white-hot euphoria.

The kiss we shared evolved from hot and needy to soft and wanting - the sensation of hot cum running down the inside of my thigh and cooling against my skin being the only thing to pull me away. Dean continued to lean over me for a moment, looking down at me with an expression that told me he had so much he wanted to say. Instead, he looked down at his release now starting to pool on the floor beneath us, then to the books and laptop that had been thrown across the floor before turning back to face me with the most devilish grin on his face.

“You know that this mess is all your fault, right?”

I scoffed.

“My fault? How is it my fault?”

“Because, sweetheart…” he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and pushed lightly on the plastic bridge sitting on my nose.

“You put on on those fucking glasses.”

--------------------------------------------------

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#dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x female!reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x you smut #supernatural reader insert #supernatural one shot #dean winchester one shot #dean smut #supernatural smut #smut

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cuntiel · 2 months ago

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wildwestdean · 6 months ago

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impetus

summary: dean gets targeted by a witch while working a case, and she curses him to yearn for what he secretly loves the most. it seems to have no effect, until it's pointed out that he can't seem to stay away from you - but what happens when he tries to fight it?

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 9.4k+

warnings: violence, hunting/working a case, mentions of murders, gore, evil witches, reader and dean get attacked, swearing, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, yearning, mutual pining, idiots oblivious to their own feelings, magical curses, hallucinations, nightmares, depictions of death, depictions of drowning, fighting/arguments, heart-to-heart, confessions, use of [y/n], nicknames, mature themes

“Right, well, this isn’t creepy at all,” Dean declared, rolling Baby to a stop before switching into park.

You both sat quietly as you surveyed the desolate building, a feeling of unease washing over you.

“Maybe we should wait for Sam,” you suggested half heartedly. He was only down at the Sheriff’s station, and it wouldn’t even take ten minutes for him to meet you here, but you knew Dean wouldn’t wait.

“No,” he said, confirming what you already knew. “Someone else is missing and this is our best lead so far. If you don’t want to go in, that's fine, but I am.”

“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” you snapped, sitting up as tall as you could despite the pit forming in your stomach.

“Awe, you worried about me, sweetheart?” Dean teased, turning to look at you with a grin; one that was effectively wiped from his face when he saw the look in your eyes. “Hey, what is it?”

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, shrugging lightly. “I just have a bad feeling about this.”

“Bad feeling like what?” he questioned, his brows knitting together.

You thought about it, trying to pinpoint what it was you felt, but you couldn’t. “Just…. don’t go wandering off,” you ended up saying- begging, more like.

“Alright,” he agreed easily. “We stick together, and we’ll be in and out before you know it.”

“Right,” you confirmed with a nod. “Let’s gear up.”

You exited the car as quietly as you could, making your way around to the back as Dean unlocked the trunk and propped up the panel to the arsenal.

“You and Sam better be right about this,” he muttered, digging out the box of witch-killing bullets.

Your mind raced through the details of the case: An exsanguinated priest, a dead nun with her tongue ripped out, the president of the high schools abstinence club found without a heart, and various livestock missing various body parts - if this wasn’t a witch, you were a little scared to find out what else it could be.

“We have to be,” you breathed out, loading your ammo.

“Can you do me a favour and sound at least a little confident?” he asked playfully, lightly nudging your arm with his own before tucking his gun into his jeans.

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, holstering your own gun.

“It’s alright,” he said earnestly, handing you your favourite knife (one that used to be his before you claimed it as your own). “I’m just not used to seeing you so spooked.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly as you took the knife from him. “I’m not used to feeling spooked.”

“We’ll make it through,” he consoled, closing up the trunk. “Just like we always do.”

“Just like we always do,” you echoed with a nod, following him towards the building.

The overgrowth brushed your calves as you made your way up the walk, and after a quick survey of the facade, Dean swung the door open after picking the lock.

“Wait!” you hissed, stopping him before he entered. “Sam does know we’re here, right?”

You watched as his shoulders shrugged before stepping inside. “Probably.”

“That’s… comforting,” you sighed, following him across the threshold.

The two of you did a quick preliminary sweep of the main level before making your way to the top floor, finding nothing of significance in any of the rooms. Making your way back down, you both stopped dead in your tracks as you heard a clatter come from beneath you.

“Of course there’s a basement,” Dean whispered. “Why wouldn’t the creepy ass witch be in the creepy ass basement of this creepy ass house?”

“How do you know she’s a creepy ass witch?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe she’s hot. Or a guy. Or both.”

He faltered over his response, considering your words for a moment. “I’ll bet whatever tab you drink up at the bar once we end up ganking this bitch. She’s creepy.”

“Deal,” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

You both chuckled, before another noise from the basement drew your attention back to the case at hand. Dean awkwardly cleared his throat before leading the way in search of the basement entrance, using the occasional noise as guidance.

“God, I hate witches,” he muttered to himself, slapping away cobwebs as he descended the stairs.

“I don’t think the witch put those webs there,” you said with a snicker.

“No, they’re just the one turning this rotting corpse of a house into a lair of evil and despair,” he hissed.

You rolled your eyes in response, unable to stop the fond smile from creeping onto your face as you made it to the bottom of the stairs.

A muffled cry caught your attention, and Dean spared you a quick look before running in the direction it came from, you hot on his heels. Coming up on a corner, he slowed to a halt and peered around the wall.

“It looks clear,” he decided after a moment. “Just be careful,” he added, continuing on his way.

Upon turning the corner, you were enveloped in the warm glow of candles, which would have been nice, had it not been for the rest of the scene. An altar lay at the far wall, burning candelabras stood in each corner of the room, and the very person you were searching for was bound and gagged in a chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of candles.

Dean cursed and muttered under his breath, surveying the room. “I’ll get him, you get the altar.“

“Okay,” you agreed, running across the room. Once you reached the altar, you couldn’t help but stare in shock and disgust for a moment as you took in the sight; all the missing body parts seemingly staring back at you from where they lay soaked in blood. It took Dean shouting your name from across the room to bring you back to your senses, and you quickly upturned the altar as Dean instructed the now freed man to get out as fast as possible and wait by the car. As soon as the contents of the altar were scattered, an ear piercing shriek came from behind you.

Quickly whirling on your heels, you were greeted by a cloaked figure, who seemingly came out of nowhere.

“What have you done?” she screamed, dropping her hood as she stared daggers into you.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned innocence. “Did I ruin your big plan?”

“You ruined everything!” she shrieked, slowly approaching you. “You’ll pay for this!”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean called out from behind her.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?! How many centuries passed by until the circumstances were right? I had it! I had it all! I was one spell away from seeing my love again!” she continued to scream, advancing further towards you as she ignored Dean.

“Back off, Grunhilda!” Dean roared from behind her, drawing his gun.

“No!” she shrieked, barely lifting her hand in order to easily swing his gun away - and stop you from drawing your own. “You stupid little gnat. You think you can just come in here and mess with things you don’t understand? You think you can take this from me?!”

Her shouting was drowned out by the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as your throat constricted, the air leaving your lungs and not returning. You felt your bones cracking beneath your skin as your feet left the floor, and you shared a look of terror with Dean before black began to cloud the edges of your vision.

Without an effective weapon handy, Dean rushed the witch and tackled her to the floor, sending you crashing down. You met the concrete with a thud, and it knocked the rest of your senses out of you. You laid there for who knows how long, fighting off the waves of pain and nausea, willing yourself to move as you listened to the struggle happening a few feet away from you.

By the time you managed to prop yourself up, Dean was pinned down as she advanced on him, and you desperately looked around for either of your guns.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you heard her ask, menace laced deep in her words. “To want something so desperately, to feel that desire within your very soul?!”

Dean struggled against her hold as you struggled to pick yourself up, to at least crawl to a weapon if you had to.

“Well you will,” she sneered, cackling to herself. “You’ll know how it feels. To have what you want the very most to be so close to you, to have it at the edge of your fingertips, only to never be able to grasp it! For it to be the only thing you can think about!”

“Shut the hell up,” Dean seethed through clenched teeth, glaring at her.

She only stepped closer towards him, cackling to herself. “Your strongest yearning, hidden deep in your heart, will nevermore be yours to part. Be it with sun or with rain, that which brings joy won’t be without pain.”

“You finished yet?” Dean interrupted, before he had the wind knocked out of him, rendering him silent.

Moving as quickly as you could without being noticed, you closed in on Dean’s pistol while the witch carried on.

“Whatever you crave you cannot say, yet you’ll seek it out be it night or day,” she continued, hovering over him. “Consider yourself lucky, you useless toad. I’ve had countless lifetimes yearning to see my love again, and I’ll spend lifetimes more. At least you only have this one measly little life to yearn for what you want.”

Grasping the gun in your hands, you carefully rose to your feet and steadied yourself to take aim. “Man, you really do talk too much,” you huffed out.

The shot rang out just as she turned towards you, though it was silenced by a roaring wind that accompanied a bright blue light. Within seconds, everything was calm and quiet again.

Fighting every urge you had to collapse back onto the floor, you trudged your way over to Dean in an attempt to help him up.

“God, I told you she’d be creepy,” he gasped out, groaning as he stood.

“You want a prize?” you asked incredulously, staring up at him.

“I wanna get the hell out of here,” he said, ushering you to take leave. “Then I want those drinks you owe me.”

After what felt like another entire day, you and Dean had dropped the victim off at the hospital, patched each other up, cleaned out the basement, showered, and filled Sam in on everything that went down.

“So… she cursed you?” Sam asked curiously, trying to understand.

“I dunno. She tried to, I guess,” Dean replied nonchalantly. “But [Y/N/N] put a bullet in her. No witch, no curse, right?”

Sam shared a brief look with you, before turning back to Dean. “Yeah, but… there was no body.”

“What?” Dean asked gruffly.

“The witch,” you said. “I shot, but she vanished. What if she isn’t dead?”

“Well, I feel normal, so I’m gonna say she’s dead,” Dean declared with a shrug. “Now, can we head to the bar? I’m in desperate need of a drink… or twelve.”

Without waiting for an answer, he quickly stood and donned his jacket before looking back at you and Sam. “You guys coming or what?”

“Oh, do I have a choice to not go?” you asked playfully.

“You can stay if you want, but your wallet comes with me,” he replied, smiling innocently.

“Alright, let’s go,” you said with a dramatic sigh, grabbing your own jacket.

Not long after, the three of you were sliding into a booth in the nearest dive, enjoying the lack of people; you guys seriously needed to decompress.

“Alright, I’ll be back,” you declared, hopping out of the booth to get the first round of drinks.

“Make sure you get a tab started!” Dean jokingly called after you.

You flipped him off in response, taking a seat at the bar after placing your order. While you waited, Sam watched as Dean grew more restless in his seat.

“Dude, what the hell is your problem?” he finally asked, eyeing Dean as he fidgeted anxiously.

“What?” Dean asked cluelessly, glancing around the bar. “I’m thirsty. She’s been gone for what, like, half an hour?”

“It’s… barely been two minutes, Dean,” Sam informed him with an amused grin.

“Yeah, well. I want my beer,” Dean mumbled, tapping his fingers on the table as he glanced around once more. “I’m gonna go see if she needs help.”

Before Sam could even reply, Dean was already halfway across the bar, meeting you just as you got your final drink.

“Need a hand?” Dean asked cheerfully, his sudden appearance making you jump. “Sorry,” he added with a snicker.

“Dick,” you muttered with a laugh, hopping down from the stool. “Here you go,” you added, handing him his beer.

“Awesome,” he beamed, taking the bottle from your outstretched hand.

He followed closely as you made your way back to the table, handing Sam his drink before sliding into the booth; Dean followed suit, leaving you nestled in between him and the wall.

The three of you had a few more rounds before Dean slipped away, determined to teach a lesson to the arrogant ass harassing players around the pool tables - just because you didn’t need to hustle people anymore didn’t mean it wasn’t still fun every now and then. You watched him fondly, laughing quietly to yourself as you watched him fumble around with his cue before making a terrible break. Harder than it looks, you could just hear him say.

Your attention was turned back to Sam when he cleared his throat, and you were met with his questioning gaze. “Does he seem weird to you?”

“Weird how?” you asked, face scrunched in confusion.

“I don’t know, strange,” he replied with a small shrug. “Like- like antsy or something.”

Your eyes flit back across the room to Dean, who was very much in his element as he upped his ante, before focusing on Sam again. “I haven’t noticed anything, Sammy.”

He sighed in resignation, seeming to already know that would be your response. “It’s probably nothing, just forget I said anything,” he replied, shaking his head dismissively before finishing his drink.

“If you say so,” you muttered quietly, sipping your drink as you cast a worried gaze across the bar, getting lost in thought.

By the time you each finished another round of drinks, Dean made his way back over to the table; much to the surprise of you and Sam.

“Done so soon?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, sliding back into the seat beside you.

“But you only played one round,” you said quizzically.

“So?” Dean wondered, gulping down the rest of his beer.

“So, you usually play a lot more than that,” Sam pitched in, shifting his gaze between you and Dean.

Dean sighed, his bottle clanging on the table as he set it back down. “Why am I getting the third degree here? I played a game, he learned his lesson, I got over it. End of story.”

“Okay, grouchy,” you snickered, ruffling his hair a little just because you knew he hated it. Except he really did love it when it was you doing it.

“Whatever, anyone want another round?” he asked with a huff, lightly swatting your hand away.

“No, I’m gonna call it a night,” you admitted, shifting to slip your jacket back on.

“Yeah, me too,” Sam declared, starting to stand from the table.

Dean stood as well, assumingly just to let you out. “Alright, let’s go.”

You and Sam both stilled in your movements at his response, sharing a shocked look with each other. “You’re… coming with us?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked with a scoff, shrugging his jacket on as he looked questioningly between you and Sam. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you guys?”

“We just didn’t expect you to call it a night so early,” Sam explained helplessly. “Gettin’ old, huh?” he added, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“Yeah, I mean, you barely even wracked up a tab!” you declared with a laugh, before grinning mischievously. “Drinks just don’t agree with you anymore, do they, old man?”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes, fixing his collar just to busy his hands. “Okay, alright, one more wisecrack and I’m leaving you both here.”

Despite the finality in his tone, the amusement dancing in his eyes gave him away - as did the hand he extended to you to help you slide from the booth.

“Whatever you say, grandpa,” Sam teased, patting Dean on the shoulder before walking away with laughter in his wake. “I’ll be outside!”

You chuckled in response, and the stern look Dean gave you only made you laugh even more. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry it up, chuckles,” he chided, wiggling his fingers at you. He surveyed the bar as you finally took hold of his hand, sliding out from your seat with ease and standing before him. “Ready?” he asked, gaze turning back to look down at you.

“Yeah, I just gotta go pay,” you replied, nodding your head in the direction of the bar counter.

“Alright,” he said with a nod. He gave your hand a squeeze, though instead of letting go like he normally would, he held it firmly as he led the way across the bar.

You followed along quietly, trying your hardest to not read too much into it. Though when you stood before the bar and he had yet to release your hand, you gave him a puzzled look. “Did you wanna go get the car?” you asked hesitantly.

He looked confused for a moment, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on either, before he cleared his throat with a curt nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you out there. Don’t take too long,” he rushed, giving your hand another fleeting squeeze before shuffling away.

Strange, you thought briefly, before shifting your attention to the bartender before you.

As you paid the tab, Dean settled into the driver's seat of Baby, and Sam watched him impatiently drum his fingers against the wheel as he hummed along to whatever song was in his head; and he couldn’t help but snort a laugh as Dean checked his watch one, two, three times since getting into the car.

“You’re ridiculous,” Sam chided with a laugh, shaking his head.

“What?” Dean inquired, annoyance clear in his voice.

“Dude, please tell me you see what’s going on,” Sam pleaded.

Dean widened his eyes in confusion, glancing around the near empty parking lot before looking back at his brother. “What’s going on?”

Before Sam could reply, their attention was caught by the opening of the bar’s door when you emerged from the building, a grin forming on your face as you caught sight of them waiting in the car.

Dean matched your grin, quickly reaching for the door handle and scrambling outside. “There she is!” he greeted happily, opening the back door for you.

“Fucking idiot,” Sam muttered to himself, staring out the window with an amused grin as you and Dean settled into your seats.

The three of you made it back in no time, and, having to settle for a single bed when first getting to town over driving for another who-knows-how-long just to find another motel, shuffled out of the car and into your shared room with heavy feet.

“Finally,” Dean muttered with relief, shutting the door behind him as Sam took a seat. “Whoa, whoa,” Dean barked, holding up a hand. “What’re you doing?”

Sam froze just as he sat on the bed, staring up at his brother. “What?”

“That’s my bed,” Dean declared with a huff.

“No, it’s not,” Sam answered with a scoff. “It’s your turn for the couch.”

“Dude, I’m not sleeping on the pull-out!” Dean declared with finality.

“What, are you kidding me?” Sam asked incredulously. “You got the bed last time!”

“Yeah, and I just got ragdolled by a crazy ass witch, I deserve a mattress!” Dean argued, stepping towards the bed. “Get up.”

“No,” Sam argued stubbornly, relaxing further atop the sheets.

“You guys are ridiculous,” you said with an exasperated sigh, walking across the room. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Not a chance,” Dean denied, not even sparing you a glance.

“What, why?” you asked in confusion.

“First of all, I’m not sharing with Sam,” Dean replied, turning to look at you. “Second, you got it worse than I did. I’m not shoving you on a pull-out.”

“Oh, please-” you started to argue, before he cut you off.

“I patched you up myself, [Y/N]. Don’t bother trying to lie to me,” he cautioned.

You opened your mouth to argue once more, but the look on his face stopped you short. “Whatever,” you mumbled, turning towards the bathroom. “I’m getting ready for bed. Figure this out before I get back so I can actually go to bed, please.”

The bickering resumed as you quickly retreated, shutting the bathroom door on Dean’s disgruntled declaration of “best two out of three.”

By the time you re-entered the room, you were met with silence. Surveying the surroundings, you found Sam digging through his toiletries bag while sitting in his original spot on the bed. Your gaze snapped over to the couch, where Dean sat looking like a kicked puppy.

“You went with scissors again, didn’t you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He met your gaze as Sam snickered behind you, causing his face to sour even more. “Shut up,” he mumbled before standing, bristling past you with slumped shoulders.

You chuckled quietly to yourself and grabbed the spare sheets, quickly making up the pull-out for Dean while he got ready; hopefully he’d be a little less cranky about it all if this was at least already done.

Once finished, you made your way over to the bed and curled up under the covers. After saying a quick goodnight to Sam, you were asleep before Dean even left the bathroom.

Fear gnawed at Dean, his body frozen in place as a cold spread through him, panic clinging to him like ice. He tried to call out to you, but all that left him was a strangled breath as his lungs seized up. He watched as the waves carried you away, further and further from where he stood. By the time his legs finally moved to carry him closer to shore, his feet were so heavy it was as though he was wading through quicksand.

“No, no, no,” he pleaded quietly, watching as the waters edge never grew near no matter how far he ran.

Your voice cried out to him, surging him forward even faster as you drifted ever outwards, terror seeping deeper into his bones with every futile step he took.

He couldn’t reach you.

He couldn’t save you.

The realisation that you were gone caused his world to come crashing down around him as he fell to his knees. A roaring filled his ears, and he didn’t know whether it was the irascible water that held you captive or the blood racing from his pounding heart.

As he stayed there - watching the crashing waves for any sign of you, listening for a call of his name, unwilling to move for fear he’d miss you - the water suddenly crept up around him, as if to mock him.

The sky darkened as he let out an anguished cry, his voice blending in with the storm beginning to brew around him. Yet despite the deafening howls, he heard it clear as day: your voice, calling out to him.

“Dean.”

The world stilled around him once more, your voice ringing out in a whisper as gentle as the wind.

“Dean.”

He stood, frantically searching the horizon for you. He tried to call out, yet his voice still never came.

“Dean!” you called out, voice booming like thunder from above.

A small hand gripped his own, pulling him so forcefully he was yanked off his feet. He let out a startled cry, a spark of lightning igniting so brightly before him that he screwed his eyes shut.

“God dammit, Dean!”

Another force shook him, and when we reopened his eyes, he was met with the suspiciously stained ceiling of the motel room. He bolted upright, heart hammering against his chest as he looked around. He caught your worried gaze as he wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing as you leaned in closer.

“[Y/N?]” he gasped out, pushing himself further upright.

His hand reached out automatically, fingers tentatively brushing against your cheek as if to evaluate your solidity. When he was satisfied that you wouldn’t evaporate, he surged forward to wrap you in a desperate embrace; the icy grip of terror finally starting to melt.

“It was just a nightmare, De,” you soothed quietly, tracing a hand along his back. “Everything’s alright.”

“Yeah,” he said tightly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as he let you go. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m alright, get back to bed.”

“You’re okay?” you questioned, concern laced in both your face and tone of voice.

“I’m okay,” he affirmed with a nod, casting his gaze aside so you wouldn’t see the panic still swirling within him.

“Okay,” you said softly, placing a gentle kiss upon the crown of his head before standing from the edge of the pull-out.

Dean got up after you to grab a glass of water, his heart jumping in his chest as he remembered the sight of you being ripped away by the current.

“Just a nightmare,” he reminded himself under his breath. “Just a nightmare.”

Not having slept another wink after his nightmare, Dean was unsurprisingly the first one up the next morning. Taking it upon himself to get breakfast for the three of you, he found himself at the nearest diner waiting for his order.

Drumming his fingers impatiently on the sticky linoleum counter, a burning desire to call you began to build within him. Knowing you were likely still sleeping, he decided to busy himself with a stupid game you downloaded on his phone.

Yet the urge to reach out to you grew tenfold as he sat there, a sinking feeling that it might mean you were in danger starting to take hold of him. Just as his mind began to swirl with questions of what the hell was going on with him, he heard your voice calling his name.

His head snapped up, expecting to see you sliding onto the stool beside him, ready to give you hell for walking here in search of him all by yourself in a random town. He figured you must’ve known he was here, and it wouldn’t have been a far walk from the motel, but it was still stupid.

Though the words died on his tongue as he realized you weren’t there, and that familiar feeling of dread trickled through him after scanning the diner and not finding you anywhere.

Another voice called out, this time the waitress, announcing that his order was ready. He met her smiling face with nothing but confusion, her smile faltering for a moment.

“Everything alright?” she asked hesitantly.

“Huh?” he asked, before snapping out of his daze. “Oh, yeah. Just a little too early for me. Thanks-” he paused, squinting to read her name tag. “Thanks, Edna,” he charmed, flashing his signature grin as he gathered the order.

“Anytime, sugar,” she charmed, her smile perking back up as she sent him a wink.

With one last - albeit awkward - grin sent her way, Dean quickly left the diner; already feeling lighter for knowing he’d be back at the motel soon. His grin only grew when he glanced across the street and caught a glimpse of you staring back at him, proving that he wasn’t crazy and you really did come to meet him.

He took a step forward, intending to call out to you, when a truck drove by and blocked you from sight. The grin was wiped from his face and the coffee tray nearly slipped out of his hand when he noticed you had completely disappeared in its wake.

Fearing the worst once more, he scrambled into the car and quickly called you, firing Baby to life as the line rang.

“Hey,” you answered with a stifled yawn. “Please tell me you’re getting breakfast. And coffee.”

“Yeah, I-” he faltered in his response, having to let out a breath of relief as he realized you were safe and sound. “I’ll be back in a few, you and Sammy still there?”

“Where else would we be?” you asked with a giggle.

While the sound would normally bring a smile to his face, your words only caused a frown to appear. “You only waking up now?”

“Don’t judge me,” you teased. “It’s only… ten after seven, I barely slept in.”

“Just not used to being up before you,” he lied, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel.

“Miracles really do happen,” you joked with a laugh. “You sound weird, is everything okay?” you added, worry tinting your voice.

“Hm?” he wondered, not processing your question right away. “Oh, no- yeah, I-... just didn’t get much sleep.”

“Right,” you said, teetering on the edge of believing him or not.

“Really, I’m good,” he assured, sensing your apprehension. “I just gotta catch some z’s and I’ll be good as new.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few then,” you relented. “Drive safe,” you added as an afterthought before hanging up.

The line went dead as he stopped at a red light, his stomach churning as he stared at his reflection in the rearview.

“Just need some sleep,” he assured himself.

“Dude, would you quit it with the pacing?” Sam snapped, setting his book down on the table for sheer lack of concentration.

Dean stopped just long enough to stare daggers at his brother before marching down the library once more. “She’s been gone too long.”

“She’s been gone an hour,” Sam informed, hands running over his face in exasperation.

“Exactly,” Dean replied, pointing a finger at Sam in acknowledgment. “Something must’ve happened.”

“Dude, she’s at the grocery store. With Jack. What the hell could possibly happen?”

“I don’t know!” Dean exclaimed, arms flailing as he whirled to face Sam. “Something must’ve! She hasn’t answered my last text and it’s been-” he paused, pulling out his phone to brandish the screen. “Seven minutes!”

“Oh, my god,” Sam groaned, tossing his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I can’t deal with this anymore.”

“What are you talking about? Aren’t you worried?” Dean asked gruffly.

“No, Dean, I’m not worried! There’s no reason to be worried!” Sam proclaimed.

“No reason? She could be dead!” Dean barked, his face taking on an expression of disbelief.

Sam sighed as he leaned over the table, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, let me ask you this: why, exactly, do you think she’s dead?”

“Oh, come on, Sam!” Dean grumbled. “We don’t exactly live cookie cutter lives here, you know. One minute she’s returning the shopping cart, and the next she’s got a damn knife in her back!”

“Dean,” Sam soothed. “You know as well as I do that’s a load of crap.”

“No,” Dean argued, shaking his head. “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything, you know why?”

Before Sam could even respond, Dean waved his phone around before dropping it on the table. “Because she won’t answer her damn phone!”

“Okay, this is actually ridiculous,” Sam declared. “How can you seriously not see what’s been happening to you?”

“Knock it off, Sam,” Dean muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he began pacing again. “I’m fucking fine.”

“You’re fine,” Sam repeated incredulously. “You’re friggin’ cursed, Dean!”

“I’m not cursed!” shouted Dean. “Would you quit it with that crap?”

“Right, because nothing’s been going on with you lately, right?”

“Right!” Dean agreed with a huff.

“You haven’t been, say, I don’t know…. not sleeping? Feeling stir crazy? Getting paranoid?”

“Sam-”

“No, I’m serious, Dean! How can you not see this?”

“Because I’m fine!” Dean argued, stalling his movements to gather his phone from the table.

After a few moments of silence, Dean rolled his eyes and found himself once more walking the length of the library. “Okay, maybe I’ve been feeling a little weird lately, but I’ve just been tired - and you know what? I survived worse. So yeah, I’m fine!”

“Right,” Sam said sceptically. “And have you… noticed when it is that you feel… weird?”

“I don’t know!” Dean announced frustratedly.

“Dean,” Sam chastised.

“What?”

“You’ve been feeling like this all week, and it’s only getting worse. You’ve been like this since that witch cursed you - and don’t say she didn’t. Use your fucking head, Dean! You’re cursed!”

Dean’s jaw clenched as he tried to remain calm, taking a moment to formulate his response. “You’re insane,” he finally declared.

“I think you’re the insane one,” Sam contested. “You were cursed to yearn for something, Dean. Only in this case… it’s someone.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“C’mon, Dean!” Sam pleaded with a laugh. “The only time you get like this is when you’re more than ten feet away from [Y/N].”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean muttered dismissively.

“You’ve checked your phone another five times since you picked it up.”

“So?” Dean questioned, failing to resist the urge to check it once more. “I’m worried, not cursed.”

“You’re worried because you’re cursed!” Sam argued.

“I’m worried because I lo-” Dean quickly fell silent as the words died on his tongue, his brain firing into total overdrive as he laughed nervously. “I care, that’s why I’m worried.”

Sam stared at his brother in total disbelief, trying to find a way to make him realize what was going on- or, most likely, acknowledge what was going on.

Yet before the conversation could go any further, the bunker door screeched open and the sound of your laughter fleeted down to greet Dean, effectively turning his scowl into an affectionate grin.

“Hope you remembered my pie!” he called out, marching to meet you at the foot of the stairs without so much as a glance back in Sam’s direction.

“When have I ever forgotten?” you asked, feigning offence as you held out the bag which contained his pie.

“Well,” he started, taking the bag from you. “There was that time in Redford-”

“Hey!” you interrupted with a laugh. “I didn’t forget, they were out!”

“See, I still don’t believe you,” he teased, heading for the kitchen.

“Believe whatever you want, Dean,” you replied playfully.

“I’m still waiting for it, you know. You should get me two next time,” he joked, though he was partly serious.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice tentatively called out.

“Yeah?” Dean replied hotly, keeping his back to Sam as he went to grab a beer from the fridge.

“Who, uh… who the hell are you talking to?” he asked carefully, surveying the empty kitchen.

“Hilarious, Sam,” he said dryly, shutting the fridge. “I’m talking to-”

His mouth ran dry as he turned around, being met with just his brother, who was staring with concern from the doorway.

“[Y/N],” Dean finished weakly.

“Her and Jack aren’t back yet, Dean,” Sam said carefully, as though talking to a lost child.

“Yes, they are. They got back, she gave me my pie, we came in here,” Dean said fiercely, his confidence shattering when he went to gesture at the pie he set down moments earlier and found it to be gone.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Sam suggested, not knowing what to do.

“I’m fine!” Dean shouted, hovering over the counter. “I’m fine,” he repeated, moreso to himself than anything.

“Okay, look, how about I try calling [Y/N], okay?” Sam offered, hesitantly walking further into the kitchen. “See when they’ll be back.”

“They are back!” Dean barked, glaring at Sam. “She was just in here!”

Sam didn’t know what to say, the fear and concern for his brother crashing down on him.

“She was just in here,” Dean repeated shakily, meeting Sam’s gaze with confusion.

“Dean,” Sam started to say, before the familiar tone of your ringtone came from Dean’s phone, cutting through the air like a knife.

Dean pulled the phone from his pocket, clearing his throat before answering. “Yeah?”

“Dean, thank god,” you cheered, sighing in relief. “Listen, we came out to a flat tire and I don’t have a spare because I forgot to fucking replace it and there are too many people around for Jack to, you know, try fixing it,” you rambled anxiously. “Can you please come help?”

“You’re still at the store?” Dean clarified, looking up at Sam with frightened eyes.

“Yeah, we’re stuck in the parking lot,” you told him breezily.

“Okay,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Alright, I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks, De!” you said happily, ending the call.

Dean stood there for a few moments staring down at his unopened bottle of beer on the counter, trying to gather his thoughts, before finally lifting his gaze to Sam.

“I’ll, uh…. I’ll be back,” he told him, not waiting for a response before trudging out of the kitchen.

You found yourself yet again rushing down the hall to Dean’s room, his muffled yells waking you in the dead of night once more.

He uttered your name as you shut the door behind you, and though it took you by surprise the very first time it happened - nearly two weeks ago, now - it was something you’ve almost come to expect. It was killing you, watching him go through this every night and not being able to fix it. You would sit with him, find ways to gently rouse him from his terror filled slumber and comfort him when he woke, but it never seemed like enough; he deserved more.

At first you didn’t think there was too much going on, figuring his shift in behaviour was just due to his lack of sleep. You didn’t believe Sam when he talked to you about it; Dean may have been acting a little more strange than usual, but it didn’t raise any red flags.

It wasn’t until the morning following your conversation that you noticed it, cluing in and realising how different Dean had been; how long he’d been different. The excess text messages, the increase in phone calls, the insistence on you not going anywhere without him and his exuberant reactions to you getting back safe when you did go somewhere without him, his constant questioning on where you were or where you’ve just been. Something else was going on, and you could only think it really did come down to the witch you two encountered. So you and Sam called up Rowena, getting her take on the situation and figuring out what to do.

Her words now echoed through your head as you perched yourself on the edge of his bed: “Magic isn’t simple. Some curses are anchored by the witch, ending whenever they were to die. But others are more complex, rooted not in the witch but the object of the curse itself, not breaking until their purpose is carried out one way or another. Perhaps if you can figure out what it is Dean needs, you can break the curse yourselves. If this carries on for any longer… I’m worried it will kill him.”

While you ran your fingers through his hair, you decided right then and there that once he woke up, you wouldn’t leave without confronting him about it. You knew it would likely start a fight, and you felt a little guilty knowing you would all but interrogate him right after having another nightmare, but all that guilt flew right out the window the second Dean startled himself awake, the sight of his panic stricken face as he gasped for air nearly bringing you to tears; you’ve seen him like this too often as of late.

“It’s alright, Dean,” you soothed, reaching out to him. “I’m right here, everything’s fine.”

His gaze snapped to you, unable to hide the confusion and terror still coursing through him despite the relief he felt. “[Y/N]?”

“Yeah, De,” you cooed, running a hand across his shoulder blades. “We’re in your room, everyone’s okay.”

He let out a shuddering breath, hanging his head in his hands. “You’re okay,” he whispered softly. “You’re okay.”

You sat quietly with him for a few more minutes, patiently comforting him as best as you could while you thought of how to approach this conversation.

Clearing his throat, Dean was the first to speak again as he rose from the bed. “Sorry I woke you again.”

The dejection and shame laced in his voice tore your heart to bits, and you had to put up a good fight to keep your emotions in check. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“Yeah, I do,” he disagreed, trudging to his sink in the corner.

“Dean, please talk to me,” you pleaded, watching as he turned on the water.

You fell silent, waiting for him to deny you and brush you off again. You waited for him to say something, to do something, but all he did was stare at the running water.

“Dean?” you asked cautiously, slowly getting up from the bed yourself.

“I can’t save you,” he muttered quietly, his gaze on the faucet unyielding.

“What?” you asked curiously, not knowing what he meant.

“I can never save you,” he carried on. “You always just… slip away from me. Every time. It’s always the same.”

“What’s always the same?” you questioned, moving closer towards him.

“I try,” he muttered, seemingly oblivious to your presence. “I run, and I fight, and I try, but I can never reach you. I can never get to you.”

He seemed to snap out of his daze a little, moving to splash water over his face before turning off the tap. “You keep dying. I keep watching you die. I can’t watch you die again, [Y/N]. I can’t.”

“This is what your nightmares have been?” you wondered.

He fell silent again for a minute before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah.”

“It’s not real, Dean,” you told him softly.

“It’s real enough for me,” he muttered, turning to face you.

“And is this why you’ve been… acting differently towards me?” you asked hesitantly.

He averted his gaze, hanging his head as he considered your question. “I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe, yeah. I don’t know.”

“Dean,” you scolded with a sigh, plopping back down on the bed. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

“Because everything’s fine!” he argued once again.

“I’m not stupid, Dean!” you challenged. “I know you. I can see something's eating you alive and it’s fucking killing me to witness it. So please, tell me what the hell is going on.”

“It’s just nightmares,” he lied, crossing his arms against his chest.

“It’s more than nightmares!” you cried. “You’re withering away into nothing, Dean! I mean let’s face it! You’re practically a zombie nowadays with how little sleep you get, you’ve been acting like a puppy with separation anxiety, and let’s not forget how completely erratic you’ve been.”

He glared at you, jaw clenching as he decided whether or not to entertain this conversation. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t slept lately,” he admitted starkly. “But like I keep saying, I’m fine.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying?” you sneered, glaring up at him.

He rolled his eyes, averting his gaze to anywhere else as he shook his head. “No, but I’m getting tired of having this conversation all the time.”

“Well too bad!” you yelled, abruptly standing from the bed. “Cause I’m tired of never having this conversation go anywhere! I’m tired of you brushing off the idea of you being cursed. I didn’t believe it at first either, but what the hell else could it be, Dean?”

“Oh, come on!” he barked, running a hand over his face. “I see Sam got his hooks into you.”

“Yeah, he did. And you need to listen to us.”

“No, I really don’t,” he scoffed, starting to head to the door.

“Even if it kills you?” you blurted out.

“It’s not gonna kill me!”

“God, look at you, Dean! It already is!” you argued, marching closer to him. “How would you feel if the situation were reversed?”

He let out a sigh, pausing with his hand on the doorknob before turning back to you. “What?”

“What if it were me going through all this instead of you? Would you let me get away with not even listening to you and Sam?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, staring at you in silence for so long you expected him to turn away again. Instead, he let out a deep breath as he took a seat, gesturing for you to carry on. “Five minutes.”

You almost went to argue before you thought better of it, knowing full well that if Dean never came around to the theory he would actually cut you off at the five minute mark. So, you did your best to recount the entire situation for him, reiterating what you, Sam, and Rowena had to say about it all in the hopes of getting through to him. By the time you finished, you knew it was well over five minutes, so you took Dean not interrupting you to be a good sign.

“Okay,” he finally said with a small nod. “Well, I listened. Can I go now?”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, anger and fear bubbling inside of you as you exploded. “God, you are unbelievable!”

“Well what do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “I just don’t believe that’s what’s going on.”

“How can you not believe it?” you asked incredulously. “It’s obvious!”

“Look, I said I don’t believe it, alright?” Dean snapped. “Why are you so hellbent on making this into some big fight? Just accept it.”

“No!” you seethed. “I can’t just accept the fact that this could kill you. Especially not when there’s a way we could end this.”

“No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “You can’t fix this, [Y/N/N]. You just can’t.”

“I can!” you cried. “Just tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“You know what,” you scolded.

“This is so fucking ridiculous.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Why the hell do you care so much?” he questioned exasperatedly.

“Because I’m fucking terrified, Dean!” you exclaimed. “I’ve watched you grow more restless and anxious every day since the night we finished that case. I’ve seen the life drain from you more and more as sleep became nearly impossible for you. And I know it’s nearly impossible for you, because I have spent the last eleven nights sitting on that bed as you got terrorised by your own mind. I don’t care if you believe in this curse or not, Dean, because I do.”

Dean stood quietly, absorbing what you said as the severity of the situation began to dawn on him.

“I mean don’t you get it?” you asked sadly, cutting through the silence. “If something happens to you, if I lose you… that’s not something I can come back from.”

Dean fell silent once more, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath, pacing around the room a little as he turned everything over in his head.

“I’m scared, Dean,” you reiterated softly. “Please, just let us try to fix this.”

“There’s some things I should tell you, then,” he admitted quietly after a moment of silence, taking a seat on the bed.

“About what’s been happening?” you asked hopefully.

He nodded, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” you said, moving his desk chair to take a seat. “I’m listening.”

He took a bracing breath, taking a few minutes to build the courage to speak. “Well, you know I’ve been having nightmares.”

“I do,” you agreed quietly.

“It’s always the same one,” he admitted, keeping his gaze cast downwards. “I could never figure out why. It didn't make sense to me why it was always the same thing. So I finally talked to Sam about it, and he had a pretty good theory. But, you know me. I didn’t want to believe it because it came back down to that witch and this stupid fucking curse.”

He let out a bitter laugh, pausing long enough for you to speak up. “What did he have to say about it?”

“I tried telling myself I was fine,” he continued, ignoring your question. “I was fine, at first. At first it was just not sleeping well… but then other things started happening.”

“Other things like what?” you wondered quietly.

“Like my blood feeling like it’s on fucking fire,” he muttered, wiping at his face. “And my skin feeling like it-… like it’s being peeled off my goddamn bones, and my face feeling like it’s melting… and how I get this- this bubble inside my chest that feels like it’s either gonna burst or suffocate me and how it all only happens-” he stopped in his rambling, taking a deep breath before chuckling in disbelief. “God, it only happens when you’re not around, [Y/N].”

“I-... what do you mean?” you asked breathlessly.

“Oh, come on, [Y/N],” he said bitterly. “I know you’ve noticed. I text you more, I’m almost always calling you. I just- I get this… this unwavering panic inside me when you’re not around. I keep-... I swear to god I see you everywhere when you’re gone. I catch sight of you across the street, I smell your stupid shampoo when I’m alone, I hear your voice when no one’s there. I had an entire conversation with you and you weren’t even there,” he carried on, shaking his head as he briskly wiped away an angry tear. “God, I’m going fucking crazy,” he added with a manic chuckle.

“You’re not crazy, Dean,” you said gently.

“That night,” he started, staring at the wall across from him. “She was trying to get back someone she lost… someone she loved.”

“Right,” you agreed.

“They used to drown them, people they accused of being witches,” he continued slowly.

“Yeah, it was pretty common. Sink, and you were innocent. Float, and you were guilty,” you pitched in. “But… what does that have to do with this?”

“I think they were innocent,” he said simply. “Whoever she lost… I think that’s how she lost them.”

“Why do you think that?” you asked curiously.

Dean cleared his throat, staring pensively at his hands once more. “The nightmares. It’s always… you always drown. I keep-... I can never save you.”

“I don’t get-” you started to say, before he cut you off.

“It’s how she lost who she loves, [Y/N],” he said curtly. “It makes sense for me to see the one I love go the same way.”

“I-... what?” you asked, too stunned to think of anything else to say.

“The dreams, the hallucinations, the- the way I’ve been feeling… I didn’t want to admit it, I still don’t, but I can’t… I mean I can only ignore it for so long, right?” he said, scoffing quietly. “Especially with you and Sam breathing down my neck about it.”

“Ignore what, Dean?” you asked breathlessly, your heart hammering in your chest.

“You,” he muttered. “They way I feel about you. The way I’ve always felt about you.”

You didn’t dare respond, his words ringing in your ears as he fell silent, each of you lost in your own thoughts for a while.

“I’ve always known that I love you, [Y/N/N],” he carried on, slowly meeting your gaze with glistening eyes. “But this… this curse, this whatever it is. God, it’s just made it all so much worse, and I knew. I knew it was you that my entire being was screaming out for but I couldn’t… I couldn’t admit it.”

“Why not?” you asked shakily, feeling your tears starting to build.

“How could I put that on you?” he asked, a few rogue tears slipping down his face. “You said it yourself, this thing is killing me. It’s gonna kill me, unless I get what I want, and given that that’s you, I’m calling it game over.”

“No, Dean, it’s not,” you denied with a sniffle, cutting through your own stray tears. “You should’ve told me.”

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, shrugging lightly as he looked back at his hands. “I told you now.”

“Dean,” you sighed, wiping your face as you stood from your seat. “Do you trust me?” you asked, walking towards him.

“Of course I do,” he said quickly, almost offended by the question.

“Okay, well, I’ll need you to trust me on this,” you replied, stopping just in front of where he sat.

“Okay,” he said with a huff.

“You gotta look at me, though,” you said, laughing softly.

Sighing dejectedly, he slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips as he looked at you.

You smiled softly at him, gently taking his face in your hands before wordlessly bringing your lips down to meet his. At first, neither of you really knew what was happening, and just when you thought to pull away you felt his lips moving against your own. His hands gripped your waist to hold you in place a moment longer before you each pulled away, staring silently at each other as you processed what just happened.

“What, uh… what was that for?” Dean finally asked.

“Well, it was either that or slapping some sense into you,” you said playfully. “Which I almost think you still deserve, because I can’t believe you honestly think I don’t love you back.”

“What?” he asked, his grip on your waist loosening in shock before tightening once more.

“You’ve had me since the day we met, Dean,” you told him softly, carding your fingers through his hair.

“You actually…” he trailed off quietly, trying to focus his thoughts. “You actually love me, of all people?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.”

“So I- well, I guess I could’ve saved a lot of trouble if I really did just tell you, huh?” he asked jokingly, laughing tightly.

“I’ll give you hell for it tomorrow,” you teased, half serious. “For now, how about we try getting you back to sleep?”

“Actually,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I have a better idea involving this bed.”

You couldn’t help but snort a laugh, grinning fondly at him. “Oh, really?”

He grinned back, laughing with you before taking on a more sombre tone. “Do you trust me?”

“Always,” you said honestly.

“Good,” he replied with a grin, laughing heartily at the shriek you let out when he tossed you on the bed.

He stared down at you, a look you’ve never seen before painted on his face. “What?” you asked, giggling nervously.

“I love you,” he said earnestly, brushing a lock of hair away from your face.

“I love you, too,” you replied shyly, grinning softly.

He matched your grin, drinking you in a moment longer before crashing his lips upon yours once more.

When Dean woke the next morning, it didn’t take long for a grin to spread across his face as he quickly realized two things.

The first thing being that you, the love of his life, still remained tangled up in both his arms and the sheets, sleeping peacefully atop his chest.

The second being that, for the first time in a total of thirteen days, he was able to sleep without being haunted by his nightmares.

He felt you stir, and his grin widened as you nestled in closer, tightening your grip on him as you slept. He planted a kiss against your temple, pulling you in close as he blissfully settled in for another peaceful rest.

Maybe witches aren’t so bad.

tagging: @roseblue373

let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

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alexsoenomel · 2 months ago

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POV: Texts from Dean

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deansbeer · 9 months ago

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little help goes a long way ⎯⎯ DEAN WINCHESTER.

⎯⎯ where you accidentally give dean a hard on during a hunt.

YAP SESH! he's been running on my mind all day and i needed to let my thoughts run wild. so have fun readin' — you'll def thank me later!

୨ৎ JENSEN'S LIBRARY.

★ next part. -> satiated desire

the hunt had taken an unexpected turn, leaving you and dean pressed up against each other, your back flush against his chest. you shifted slightly, trying to get a better vantage point, when you felt dean's grip tighten on your hips, holding you in place.

"dean—" you began to ask, but the words died on your lips as you felt something hard pressing against you from behind. your eyes widened in realization, heat creeping up your face.

"shit, sweetheart, i'm so sorry," dean murmured, his voice strained. "i didn't mean for that to happen."

you whisper to dean in his ear, "we'll deal with this after the hunt, okay?"

he nodded mutely, your heart racing, already imagining ways to help him with his... situation. a small smile plays on your lips as he replied, "you're the best," he murmurs, hearing the mix of relief and anticipation in his voice.

"of course, dean. i've got you."

dean let out a shaky breath, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.

with that, the two of you turned your focus back to the hunt, both eagerly awaiting the chance to properly address the growing tension between you.

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artyandink · 2 months ago

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libidinal

If Dean could curse every witch on this planet for dosing you and him with an aphrodisiac after ganking them, he would. His entire body was on fire— burning, and his mind was embarrassingly stuck on you. You, your thighs, lips, your ass. It all rattled about in his head like a broken record, and he craved you, craved the relief like crazy.

He knew that you were feeling the same things he was right now, the ache, burn, relentless want that you just couldn’t shake no matter how hard you tried. Ugh, you needed him. Like you’d die if you didn’t have him. Dean felt the same damn way — trust him — like one touch and he’d break the damn best friend code of conduct.

You’d think both of you would have more control of yourselves, considering how you were both hunters who’d faced stuff like vampires and shit. "This is gettin’ on my nerves, sweetheart," he scoffed, eyes fluttering up and down you. You were too hot for this world— and that wasn’t just the pollen talking, but his drugged up mind couldn’t stop.

"Fuck this." he slowly took off his sweat-soaked shirt, looking for signs that you’d jump him. Dean rubbed the sweat off his chest, having no damn right to look that jacked and edible right now, ugh. He can't take all of this crap, including being quarantined in this damn motel room by Sam. It’s for a reason, though.

He groaned, aching, desperate, gesturing for you to keep away so he could resist this damned pollen’s effects. "Oh, m’ gonna kill Sammy if he doesn’t find a cure for this stat." Dean covered his ears, yeah, no. He acted as if covering his ears and blocking out all noise would stop the ache for you, well, it sure didn’t.

Pacing back and forth, he took one look at you— nope, look away, you looked too hot, nope. "Yeah, I’ll kill him." He winced when he got a very R-rated image in his head— he was desperate for you, you, for some relief, mainly sex.

He felt like every second without his hands on your ass was torture— he hoped he wouldn’t go to hell.

“Oh, I’m fine.” You breathed, sarcastic, giving him a look with raised eyebrows. “Just — you know — feeling like my body’s burning alive, I’m sweatin’, my brain hurts.” Your eyes were hungrily searching his bare chest, biting your lip— no, stop, even if you felt on fire and were sweating buckets.

“You’re clearly not,” he retorted. He would’ve found it funny that you were checking him out, but the need was so overwhelming, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from throwing you onto the nearest surface.

“So… no need to be sarcastic. M’ just trying to control myself.” He muttered under his breath, crossing his arms and keeping the distance between you. “Can’t say the same for you though, sweetheart, ‘cause I can see ya gawkin’.”

“Yeah, just quit it, you look like a five star buffet. A girl can’t help herself when she’s drugged up on an aphrodisiac.” You groaned, dabbing your sweaty-ass neck with a towel, not able to help the way your eyes hungrily drank in his chest. “I’m makin’ do with the view I’ve got while my pussy’s yellin’ at me right now.”

“Christ, darlin’.” He muttered. He felt all fuzzy inside when you said that, he hated how hungry the damn pollen made him for you, for your body. Dean’s eyes darkened, taking in the way you kept looking at him, how you were yearning for him like he was with you. His fingers gripped on the chair he was sitting on, and he leaned forward— he needed to stay on the damn chair.

“And what kinda things is it tellin’ you, hm?” He asked, voice lowering, growling almost. His cock was telling him to go over there, moan in your ear as he thrusted into you, that’s what— but he had to deny himself of such luxurious pleasures. How great.

“To throw away all sense of modern feminism and let you fuck me hard on the floor.” You breathed, moaning softly at getting the words out. “Or letting you bend me over the table. Eat me out on the bed, take me from behind on said bed.” Another desperate moan.

Shit.

Dean almost groaned out loud, damn you. You were going to be the death of him. He was so damn hard right now, and he gripped even tighter on the chair, he would break it if he wasn’t careful.

“Sweet girl, I know you’re not talkin' about feminism when you got your hungry eyes all over me right damn now.” He bit out, clenching his jaw. Dean couldn’t help the fantasies that were running through his mind, especially when you let those moans out.

“I know.” You murmured, nodding, levelling the playing field and taking your shirt off too, leaning back against the bed’s headboard. Shit. Your skin that glistened with sweat, glowing more in the shitty motel light, tits now on display for his hungry-ass eyes. Your head tipped back, eyebrows pinched together tight, lips parted ever so slightly. Shit.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, eyes drinking in that perfect body of yours like a man who hadn’t had a drop of water in years. He’d seen you in a bikini before and almost lost it, but this view, this view was a sight for sore eyes. One that he was now staring at shamelessly.

His mouth hung agape as his eyes traveled from your chest to your face, he was desperate — all for you. “What’re you gettin’ at?” He asked, voice low and ragged.

“That I’m hot too. A woman can exist with her shirt off.” You scoffed, thighs rubbing together for any friction. C’mon, fuck, you got nothing— guess Dean’s cock was the answer, but not fucking your friend was the first cardinal rule of maintaining a best-friendship. “Oh, I’m gonna kill those witches even if they’re in the afterlife. I—” You let out a small whimper of frustration, the ache building. “God damn.”

“Damn right you’re hot, sweetheart.” he muttered, eyes locked to your thighs, practically drooling— maybe he wasn’t talking about the heat both of you were burning under. Dean’s tongue darted out and wet his dry lips, watching you as you rubbed your thighs against one another for friction. Damn it, it should be him being that friction, if that even made sense— he didn’t know, his brain was sludge. “I know, baby girl, m’ feelin’ what you are, I get it.”

He wanted to reach out and touch you so bad, but he had to get a grip. Sam could come back with a cure— maybe. Could he wait that long? Probably not.

You, however, simply did not have the patience nor the fucks to deal with Sam and his annoying lateness— you needed your best friend, he needed you, you had two holes he could put his dick into — you weren’t doing ass stuff on the first fuck — so it’s a win-win. “Dean, fuck this cure.” You whined, breath hitching as you yanked your sweats down, panties going with, pussy leaking and aching and so very empty. “Can’t wait, I can’t— c’mere. Fuck me, c’mere.”

Ok— yeah— yes, ma’am.

The sight had his eyes getting dark, nearly feral as he quickly stood up from his chair. The chair fell backwards and made a loud thud against the floor, but he couldn’t care less— not when you looked so damn delectable on the bed in front of him. Dean took quick steps towards you, practically ripping off the rest of his shirt.

He kneeled on the bed in front of you, practically pinning you to the bed. He couldn’t help himself. “M’ here, I’m here. Tell me what you want.” He huffed out, hips already bucking against the bed, moaning at the friction as he kissed over your bare tits and up your neck, licking up your neck, sweat on his tongue— yes, it’s disgusting, but he’d ponder on that in retrospect, right now he felt like an animal.

You guided his hand between your legs then kissed him, hotly, hungry, your lips devouring his, hand on the back of his head keeping him there. It was like a dam had broken, your breath harsh and heavy against his lips.

He grunted into the kiss, eyes slipping shut against the onslaught of your lips against his. His hand easily found its way down to you, the second you pushed him where you wanted him. God, his hand ached to be between your thighs.

“M’ here,” he breathed in between hot kisses. “M’ here, sweetheart, I gotcha.” The words were muffled, breathless, as he pushed your thighs apart, finding your wetness, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head. God, he was starved for you, as you were for him, it felt frantic, hazy, like relief that he was finally touching your skin that would go away instantly, as it wasn’t enough. Your scent had his eyes actually rolling back for a second, a pant and a whine leaving his mouth in quick succession as his free hand pushed sweaty hair out of your face, his own spiky from your hand running through it.

He ground his cock against the bed, feeling himself leaking — as were you — and these touches alone honestly had him feeling like he could embarrass himself right here, and come in his pants like a teenager before even getting the chance to fuck you properly.

You nodded against his lips, practically gone and inattentive to anything but him, leaning more of your body weight back against the headboard and pulling — yanking — him with you, panting, desperate. “Need you, baby, please.”

Oh, he needed you too, baby girl.

“Need you too, gorgeous.” he panted, letting you push him around between your legs and wiping sweat off his forehead briefly, wiping that hand on the sheets— shit, that left a pretty dark mark. He bit down on your bottom lip, groaning into the kiss. God, you looked so pretty, so needy and desperate, and you were all for him. He needed to mark you in some way, make you his in every possible way. He needed to.

“You need me inside this pretty pussy, baby?” He asked, his hand already gliding over your slickness, his eyes locked on yours. His fingers pushed inside you, a moan leaving both your mouths as he felt the lack of resistance on your cunt’s part, and how it sucked his fingers in — fuck, you were tight — and he worked your bra off so he could suck and flick his tongue against your nipples one at a time, moaning against the softness of your tits— mmh, that felt so good.

You nodded frantically, cause fuck yeah, moaning, lips still pressed to his as the pressure had you whimpering in relief. “Yes— yes, baby, d-don’t you stop, ok? God, feels so good.”

“I won’t, wasn’t plannin’ on it, baby doll.” he grumbled against your lips. He didn’t plan on stopping anytime soon, not when you felt this good around his fingers, when you sounded so damn pretty.

“Christ, I need you.” His words were nearly a whisper as he pushed down his jeans and boxers. He was so hard, so desperate for you, that he couldn’t hold back anymore. “You ready, baby?” Well, he certainly was, let’s put it that way. He’d been grinding on the bed the whole time he was on top of you.

“So ready.” You nodded, kissing him desperately, hotly again, panting, whimpering, the works. God, you felt like you were on fire, like it wouldn’t stop until you had him— it felt almost primal. Why wouldn’t you be ready, though? You weren’t a woman if you didn’t get soaked for Dean Winchester.

“M’ gonna take care of you, baby girl, I will.” He muttered against your lips, taking deep breaths. The words came out in a near growl and a grunt, he was hungry for you, starved, so he’d let you kiss him breathless, and he’d kiss you back just as fiercely as you.

He needed to give you the relief you needed, the pleasure, the release. He still rubbed at your pussy, all while he continued kissing you, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip.

You moaned against his lips, nails raking down his back, leg hooking over his hip— fuck the cure, fuck Sammy (though the poor guy deserves more credit), you just needed this right now, you felt like you could explode. Spontaneously combust. Lit match to gasoline. “God, don’t wait.”

“I won’t wait. Not anymore.” He grunted as he felt your nails dig into his skin, and your legs wrapped around him. He was so desperate to be inside you, and the sight of you just beneath him, the sounds coming out of your mouth, they just made him throb.

“I got you, I’m gonna take care of you baby doll, m’ gonna take care of you real good.” He panted against your neck, biting down on the skin as he slid into you, his mouth dropping open at the pure relief.

Your head fell back, a long, drawn moan leaving your mouth— you swore it felt like a cooling balm had been slapped on your bodies, or ice cold water. It just felt like a splash of pure relief, and you couldn’t stop chasing it, it felt like euphoria. “Shitfuck.”

“Oh, god,” he groaned, groaned, eyes squeezed shut. He hadn’t felt relief like this in so long, and your moans were like a damn symphony to his ears. He nearly felt like he was in heaven, that you were an angel.

“You’re so perfect — perfect.” He panted against your skin, placing kisses against your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder, as he found a pace. “Feels so good, darlin’, good girl.” It took all the effort in the world for him to not just lose himself and start pounding into you, just to say.

Good girl? You could’ve come right there. Squirted, even.

But no. Your leg hitched higher on his hip, clutching at his shoulder and at the headboard, your forehead pinched, eyes closed as you just felt it, couldn’t stop feeling, desperately letting shameless moans slip past your lips— as if you could control those.

“Yeah, that’s it — give it to me, baby.” he panted, his eyes taking in the sight of you, how you were falling apart. “Take it, take it all, just let me do all the work, yeah, good girl.” One of his hands trailed down your body, to the back of your thigh, holding it up, using it as leverage to push into you.

He wouldn’t last long, he couldn’t. Not with the sounds coming out of your mouth, the way you looked. “You’re so damn pretty when you give it up, baby.”

“Dean,” You couldn’t help but moan, over and over, paired with the occasional shameless “yes”, eventually bringing him in for a hungry, sloppy kiss, feeling the pendant on his necklace cool against your skin.

“Ah—” he groaned against your lips, his kisses almost violent, more teeth than tongue than anything else. God, his name on your pretty lips was sinful, but he wanted to hear it again and again.

His hands continued to touch you everywhere they could, not missing a curve or angle, and just taking in the pure ecstasy of it all. “You look so perfect like this — all for me.” he panted against you, the coolness of the amulet was almost refreshing against his over-heated skin, he’ll had to admit, and seeing it between your tits? God, another bonus.

Ooh, an idea. You used your leg hooked around his waist, plus some hunter training, rolling you both over, immediately gripping the shitty-ass fabric and plush of the pillow so you could begin to move up and down, hitting that angle without missing a beat. “Sh—Shit.”

Oh, oh wow, he had to take a few deep breaths. He didn’t expect you to suddenly roll the two of you over but he certainly wasn’t complaining. You looked so damn perfect on top of him, like a goddamn dream. He gripped onto your hips, helping you move, a moan leaving his lips as you kept up the pace.

“That’s it baby doll, good girl—“ he couldn’t help but babble. “Can’t keep my hands off you.” He panted, staring up at you. “Doing all the work, look at you— I ain’t gonna last, sweetheart, please tell me you’re almost there.”

“M’ almost there.” The sentence came out as a moan, seeing him in his glory, amulet on his chest, all ridges of muscle and soft skin, your other hand gripping the headboard as you moved, assisted by his hands on your hips, calloused pads of his fingers pressing into your skin. “P—Please, baby, a—almost there, so, so close—”

“Just— just come with me, please— please—” He panted, his hands gripping your hips so tight, he knew that he’d leave marks, but he’d deal with it later. Right at that moment, he was just lost in the feeling.

“Come on, give it to me, baby, I wanna see it, wanna feel it.” He was desperate, but a gentleman, he wanted you to reach it first. You were absolutely too gorgeous for words, and he was nearly going feral— his mouth went dry. “Good girl, good girl, good girl, c’mon — oh, c’mon—”

The coil in your stomach snapped as you came, pure, unbridled euphoria and uninhibited ecstasy, your eyes rolling back, hips stuttering and pressing into his hands as your thighs shook, but you kept on to get him there. “O-Oh, baby, c-c’mon, Dean, please— please—”

Sweet mother of god.

Your voice, your movements, your face, it all just pushed him over that final edge, and a loud moan tore out of his throat as he rode it out. “God, baby doll, god—” was all he could manage.

He didn’t even realise his eyes fluttered shut. He was panting heavily, his chest rising and falling, the amulet resting gently between his pectorals. “Oh god, baby girl, c’mere— come here.” He muttered, hands gripping your hips, pulling you down. He just wanted to feel you against him— wait, what? The burn wasn’t going, it just wasn’t.

“Dean.” You whined, letting out a frustrated moan. “S’wasn’t enough, I can still feel it. Still feel it, baby.” You panted, keeping yourself up. Well, of course this thing wasn’t a one-and-done. You already broke all the cardinal rules of friendship without compunction, but now you had to do it again? Wow. Great going.

“I know sweetheart, I know.” He breathed, eyes opening, and looking up at you, the corners of his lips slightly turned up. He could feel it too, it was like something was missing, and he didn’t know what it was.

He pulled you down, and held you against his chest as he caught his breath. One of his hands moved to the side of your face, and he gently guided you into a soft kiss, the other hand moving down and squeezing your ass. “God, I need you so goddamn much.”

“Mhmm. Need you too.” You whined, your kisses becoming more insistent, needier— ok, don’t blame you, it seems to affect women more. “Can you— need you t’ take over, Dean.”

A small smirk appeared on his lips as you began to become more needy. “Don’t mind if I do, sweetheart.” He growled against your lips. He pushed you off of him, and rolled the two of you over, so you were now beneath him again, and his body was above yours.

“You want me to take over, huh?” He questioned, his lips moving to your neck, leaving nips and open-mouthed kisses over the skin. “You want me to take care of you?” His hips started snapping against you, a groan leaving his lips, cause oh, Jesus.

Woah, ok, you could get used to this. Especially with how you moaned, nodding desperately, leaving red marks on his shoulders and arms, his amulet touching the valley of your now bouncing tits with every thrust again, head tipping back as his cock brushed your cervix, hearing his grunts and pants in your ear mixed with your moans.

He couldn’t help the smirk that stayed on his lips as you clawed at his skin. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you? You like it when I take care of you?” He questioned, his mouth against your neck, his hips snapping against you, desperate to hear the pretty sounds leaving your lips.

“Tell me how much you like it, baby girl, go on.” His words were punctuated by a sharp bite to your shoulder, the other hand gripping your hip.

“Love it, Dean, fuck.” You gasped, your eyes rolling back, the knot in your stomach coming faster this time, scratching at his hips, the hot-ass dip in his back— anything you could reach, really, you weren’t picky.

“That’s it baby girl, there you go—“ he panted, his hips thrusting against yours, just pushing you closer and closer, his mouth against your skin still, leaving open-mouthed kisses and harsh bites.

The sounds you were making were just pushing him closer and closer, he was just desperate for you, and he couldn’t control the words that blurted out of his mouth. “God, you look so damn perfect baby, so damn pretty, so much better than I ever dreamed—“ Sure, he just revealed that he’d thought about this, but he still put your legs over his shoulders, leaning forward, splitting you in half and thrusting into you.

The new angle made your mouth fall open in a perfect ‘o’, and the feeling just overwhelmed your brain, made your body go positively wild, and you could swear some drool dribbled from the corner of your mouth. “D-Dean—”

Christ, he’s never seen anything so pretty.

He groaned as he took in the sight of you, your legs over his shoulders. “You like that, huh? You like it when I—“ his words were cut off with a strangled moan, you were just so perfect, he was never going to be able to get enough.

He managed to make a few more noises, some of them resembling your name, before he just dropped his forehead to your shoulder. “Baby— baby, need to come again in you, can I?“

You made a noise that sounded like a moaned yes, and you’d never known that being split in half by a guy would ever feel this good, your hands braced on the underside of your thighs. Well, that was a confirmation.

He groaned as he felt you nod against his shoulder, words being lost on him after that. That was a yes, a good, proper yes. He didn’t even know what he was saying, all that he knew was that he needed to give you it. So he just gave it to you hard, and fast, not letting up an inch. “Good girl, good girl, you’re doing so good, taking it so well, baby doll—” all the while, he panted against your skin.

He groaned against your skin, his mouth pressed to your shoulder. Hearing that, feeling you around him, he was done for, he was gone— “Yeah, baby, oh, you’re so good, so good, feels so damn good, I’m coming baby, I’m gonna—“

He let out a strangled moan, and his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight as he rode it out, burying his face into the crook of your neck, panting, grunting, smoothing your hair back as he spilled into you with a low moan.

You stroked his hair, helping him come down from it, feeling tired out— I mean, at least the pollen’s fucked out, right? Just… you hated witches now. You get Dean’s point— you didn’t before, but now you do.

He let out a weary groan, breathing still laboured and his skin was still flushed. When he came to and registered that you were stroking his hair, he let his head fall onto your chest, his head against your tits. Mm, like a pillow, feels s’nice.

“God, that was intense.” He whispered against your skin. “You okay, sweetheart?” He was spent, absolutely boneless and limp, and just content to lay there and bask in the aftermath of what you’d just done.

“Better than before.” You breathed, nodding, rubbing your cheek. “S’ not as sore as I thought it’d be, if I’m bein’ honest. But now I get why you hate witches.”

He let out a chuckle, which just sounds more like a quiet scoff, and he lifted his head up to look at you, a slight smirk on his lips. “Oh yeah? You get it now, huh?” His head returned to its original position after a few moments, and he nuzzled against you, an arm wrapping around your waist. “Not sore, huh? I didn’t go too hard on ya, did I?”

“No, but, uh…” You grinned cheekily. “Being carried to the bath would be much appreciated.” Oh, the little shit.

Of course.

He lifted his head to look at you, an entertained and amused look on his face. “Oh, you’re gonna be real cute, aren’t you?” He questioned, and then in a quick movement, he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and holding you against his chest.

TAGLIST:

@goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

@dob-4-life @marcis-mixtapez @nonoreas0n @gabrielasilva1510

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@lyarr24 @ximm19

@a-girl-who-loves-disney @jeneelsworld @deans-spinster-witch @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @kayleighwinchester

@cheynovak

special tags for my boos: @jasvtsc @deanswidow @beausling @titsout4nicholas @figthoughts

@deansbite

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lostalioth · 4 months ago

Text

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

→ premise: there existed no such cricumstances in which dean doesnt want your lips against his. bloodied, bruised, even with broken bones, a kiss from his girl makes it all better.

→ pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: tw: blood, fluff, but some sort of instense making out, established relationship, descriptions of blood and injuries, blood in mouth, nicknames [baby, sweetheart, my girl], reader is described a bit to have anxiety

→ a/n: as always i hope dean isn’t too out of character as i have never written for him! enjoy my loves :) and sorry its short.

A hunt had gone south they got the monster and it was done but Dean was injured, they were headed back to the bunker. That was all Sam spit out over the phone, normally you appreciated his ability to get straight to the point. Currently you were cursing it as he hung up shortly after cause he was the one driving back. You had a million and one questions running through your head and more than half of them weren’t good.

This was the part of the boys going off hunting and you staying back that you hated the most. When one of them got hurt or something went wrong and all you could do was sit there, a chill running down your spine as your blood boiled in your veins, anxiously pacing the living room, trying to not let yourself jump to the worst conclusions which you regularly failed to do.

You used to go on hunts with them and instead of you currently being the one riddled with anxiety, it was Dean. Once the two of you pulled your heads out of your asses (as Sam would say) and realized you’ve had feelings for each other for years, you got together. Being officially together seemed to make Dean's protective nature increase tenfold. He was even more terrified to lose you now than before. He began fussing over you whenever you'd get even the slightest scarpe or bump on a hunt. He would glue himself to your side the whole duration. Forcing you to normally stay back in the motel room when the hunt turned into a more dangerous situation than dean cared to put you in.

You loved Dean but it began to get a bit too tedious to deal with and even Sam made a comment on how overprotective he was being. In an attempt to make hunts go easier and ease your boyfriend's anxiety, once you all situated yourselfs in the bunker you suggested to him that you go out on hunts less, especially when they could now take Cas. Dean jumped at the suggestion but you couldn't blame him.

“I think that's a great idea baby” he said with a kiss to your forehead.

You still helped out, researching things when Sam needed the help, going through old books and files in the library, patching them up when they’d come back with cuts and bruises. You hadn't realized just how jittery you'd be however stuck in the bunker when he was out and especially when they went on far away hunts.

They'd go to the hospital when things were really bad, so you knew if the boys were on their way back then it couldn’t be too bad. The reminder did nothing to sooth your racing thoughts, your heart thumping so hard you could practically hear it pounding in your ears. You didn't know just how long you've been pacing back and forth, too afraid to look up at the clock and realize it's only been a few minutes since Sam called.

You don't hear the sound of baby pulling into the garage, your head is too clouded as you were damn near about to wear a grove down into the old floors. The sound of a door shutting loudly and two sets of heavy footsteps are heard down the hallway. Spinning so quickly on your feet you nearly lose your balance you turn to face the noise. Watching as the brothers emerge from the dark hall, Dean's arm rests on Sam's shoulder almost using him like a human crutch. You let out a small gasp making them stop and both of their eyes snap up to yours, weather you gasped in surprise at the state of your boyfriend or in relief you can’t tell.

“Hi sweetheart, We’re home” Dean tilts his head, his voice laced with his usual sarcasm and deep tone. He pushes off of Sam, clearly able to at least stand on his own, slowly making his way over to you a small limp in his step.

In the blink of an eye you’re rushing into his arms, your soft hands grabbing ahold of his beaten up face and crashing your lips against his. He grunts out a “fuck” in surprise or pain the word dying in his throat turning into a noise as his eyes fall shut and he grabs ahold of your hips. With a sharp tug he pulls your body as close as he can to his, his hands sliding up your sides. His bloodied lips against your plush ones, kissing you like a man starved, a kiss you’ve come accustomed to when he comes home from longer hunts. “Missed you” he hums in a hushed tone into the kiss for only you to hear, making your racing heart only speed up. His blood flows into your opened mouth as the kiss goes on, the metallic taste on your tongue foreign but you were far too relieved he was back in one piece to care about the blood coating your tongue.

Any pain Dean felt after the whole ordeal and from the bumpy ride back to the bunker seemed to fade from his body. He could care less about his brother's presence still in the room or the blood still dripping from his face and that covered his clothes or his split lip. It felt as if all the bruises that were forming on his body were already being kissed away as your soft lips slid against his. The taste of your mouth overcoming the taste of the blood in his, your scent calming his body, reminding him he's finally home again. Your body grounding him.

A rough deep cough stops the moment making the two of you reluctantly pull away, lips swollen and parted as you catch your breath.

“Before this gets any more R-rated maybe we should patch him up and you know clean him up” Sam suggested with a small light hearted chuckle as he walks off to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. You were grateful you remembered just yesterday that it had needed to be restocked. “Sorry Sammy” Dean calls after him, you turn your head away and follow up with a “Sorry not sorry” down the hall after him making a small smirk grow on your boyfriend's face.

Once he's out of eye sight, Dean grabs ahold of your face by lightly squeezing your cheeks and turns your head back to face him. Leaning down to begin softly kissing you again, groaning against your lips when the pain in his body begins to return.

“Who needs a first aid kit, all i need is my girl's kisses” He mumbled softly against your mouth, making you break out into a smile. A small tear slips down your cheek, your breath returning to your lungs and the chill in your spine fading as relief finally settled over your body knowing he's okay.

→ a/n: if you enjoyed please reblog or send me some dean requests id love to write more for him!

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supernaturalfreewill · 5 months ago

Text

"If getting my shit absolutely rocked by a monster is what it takes to get you in my bed, it was definitely worth it," Dean murmured, his bleary green eyes fixed on your face. You lifted the cloth you were using to dab at the wound near his hairline.

"I'm not sure sitting on the edge of the bed counts," you said with a small smile.

"Hey—I'll fucking take what I can get," he said softly, his eyes closing.

You drank in the sight of him and sighed. "You really scared us. That was stupid," you scolded him, but there was no bite in your voice.

His eyes opened again and searched your face, took in the soft pout on your lips. "You have no idea how stupid I can be," he quipped.

You couldn't help a low laugh. "Yeah, I do. And I'm still here. So, shut up and rest."

"You're staying here tonight?" he asked hopefully.

You nodded. "Yeah. Sam made up the couch for me."

"The couch? That's so far," he objected. "Why sleep on the couch when I have a perfectly available and delightfully comfortable spot right here next to me?"

You smiled and relented. "Fine. But keep your hands to yourself, and don't hog the blankets," you said.

"I'll do my best. But I'm not responsible for what happens when I'm concussed and/or asleep..."

Prompt: "You have no idea how stupid I can be." / "Yeah, I do. And I'm still here."

#dean winchester imagines #dean winchester drabbles #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n

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dewwinchester · 6 months ago

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stitches | d.w.

synopsis: dean texts you for help, and you drop everything for him.

requested by: @dingo-ate-my-hot-lettuce-crazy

pairing: pre-series!dean winchester x reader

word count: 1.6k+

warnings: fluff, some angst, john winchester, blood, wounds/injury, stitching up wounds, typical spn series warnings. no use of y/n, no pronouns used!

a/n: if john winchester has no haters, i'm dead <33 also, it's currently 12am, so if the editing is a little wonky, pls forgive me

You gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white as you navigated through the torrential downpour hammering down around you and your car. The rain was relentless, blinding you as it pounded against the windshield. The smell of wet asphalt filled your car as the tires slipped on the rain-soaked road. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears – a mixture of adrenaline from trying to avoid a horrific car wreck and anxiety from the message still illuminating your car in a dim light.

I need your help.

It wasn’t a message you were expecting. Normally, in your line of work, pleas for help came in the form of a frantic phone call or a scream in the dark. They never came in the form of a random text message.

And they never came from Dean Winchester.

You were having a relatively normal night, working a case and staking out a couple of vamps, when your phone buzzed with several messages from Dean. First, he asked if you were busy. Then, he asked if you were nearby. Moments later, he sent you an address to a motel. Then, came the message that caused you to leave the stakeout completely and go frantically speeding down the road.

Your tires screeched as you rounded a corner. The neon light of the motel soon appeared ahead, its reflection dancing across the many puddles on the asphalt. You pulled into the first parking spot you saw and stepped out of your car. The rain immediately soaked you to the bone, wetting your hair and your clothes, sending a chill through you, but you couldn't find yourself caring as your eyes scanned for Dean's room number.

The motel was rather seedy-looking – more so than normal. The wooden palings were splitting, and the paint was chipping off the trimmings and walls. There wasn't any other car in sight. You wondered just how bad things were if Dean had found himself in a place like this.

Once you found his room, you practically ran over to the door and threw it open, not bothering to knock. Your eyes immediately landed on Dean, who sat on the edge of one of the beds, his back to you. A wave of relief washed over you – he was alive – but the sight of his tense shoulders and the untouched beer bottle in his hand kept your anxiety simmering.

You closed the door behind you and took off your saturated jacket, leaving it next to Dean's leather one.

"Hey," you said with a sigh, "You okay?"

Dean responded with a curt nod but said nothing more. You stepped closer to him and placed your hand gently on his shoulder. He flinched at the touch, and you felt a pang in your chest. When you finally got close enough, you quickly scanned his face. The bags under his eyes were darker than usual, and his normally sharp gaze was clouded with exhaustion. HIs hair was wet and spiky, and his lip trembled from the cold.

Your eyes continued to trail down to his side, where his shirt clung to his skin, dark and wet with blood. Three jagged and deep gashes spread across Dean's side. His shirt was torn.

Your eyes widened as panic once again surged through you. You frantically looked around for anything you could use to stop the bleeding. You grabbed the first towel you could get your hands on and pressed it to his side, grimacing when Dean winced in pain.

"Jesus, Dean. What the hell happened?"

"Werewolf," he gritted out.

"I think you're gonna need stitches."

There was no first aid kit in sight, so your mind began running through alternatives. You could go to the front desk and ask if there were any supplies, but asking for anything more than a simple band-aid would cause suspicion, and the last thing you needed was someone knocking on the door asking too many questions.

You could use dental floss. You had known plenty of hunters that used it in the past and not had a problem, but you weren't sure there were any needles…

"There's a sewing kit in the bathroom."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "You read my mind."

“One of my many talents.”

----

Needle, thread, dental floss, tissues, water. You looked over the supplies in front of you, mind racing at a million miles an hour. Despite being a hunter yourself, you weren’t exactly a natural when it came to stitching wounds and performing first aid. In fact, the sight of too much blood caused your head to throb and your legs to go numb.

Dean had already taken off his shirt, leaving you to see the full extent of his injuries. The gashes started at the top of his ribs and curled around to his left shoulder blade. Blood continued to trail down his back, causing your mouth to go dry. Pins and needles tingled your toes, and the room began to spin…

You shook off your thoughts and shifted your weight between your two feet, hoping to get some blood flow back there. You put your thoughts and discomfort behind you and prepared to begin.

“This isn’t gonna feel great,” you said, trying to control the shake in your voice.

“Not my first time,” he replied.

You grabbed the needle and thread, and – with shaky hands – tried your best to thread the cotton through the eye. You sat behind him, deciding to start around his shoulder. With a damp cloth, you tried your best to clean around the area, whispering apologies whenever Dean flinched.

“What happened?” you asked quietly, using your gentlest touch to guide the needle through.

“I told you,” he said through gritted teeth, “werewolf.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” you trailed off. “Where’s your dad?”

Dean clenched his jaw, and you immediately knew you had touched on a rough subject. Throughout the time that you had known Dean, you had learnt his relationship with his father was far from healthy. John Winchester was not your favourite person in the world. In fact, you and Dean had gotten into plenty of arguments about him in the past.

“He’s not here.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you said, continuing your stitching. “Why isn’t he here?”

“Do we have to do this–?”

“--Yes.”

Dean sighed, scrubbing his hand down his face. The anger and tension radiating off him was palpable, his shoulders were tense and his breathing was heavy. You finished stitching the first gash, and tied the thread off with a neat little knot. Instead of immediately moving on to the next one, you moved around and knelt in front of Dean so you were eye level. You placed a hand on his right knee and traced gentle circles into his skin with your thumb. You raised your eyebrows, sending him a look that was simultaneously stern and empathetic.

You just wanted to know he was okay.

“We’d been stakin’ out the thing for weeks,” Dean began. “We finally pinpointed it to this boathouse. Dad was sure that it was in there, so he sent me in first to sweep the area.”

“And…?”

“Turns out it was a lot smarter than we thought,” Dean said, a dejected smile on his lips. “It was waitin’ there for us. Dad knew, but I didn’t.”

“Then why did he send you in there?”

Dean shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. But the thing had me on the ground before I even realized what was goin’ on. Put it’s claws in me and ran.”

You shuddered.

“Dad didn’t stay,” Dean continued. “The second he realised it jumped ship, he went too. Left me with my phone and wallet… I walked here.”

“What?”

If Dean’s anger was palpable, you were damn-near irate. You pressed your lips together, trying to control yourself from spewing all sorts of profanities. If you had it your way, you would have marched your way up to John Winchester and given him what for. You would have knocked his lights out if Dean had let you.

You stood and pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes.

"He – you? God!"

"Alright hot-head, calm down."

"No, I will not calm down!" You spun on your heel, turning to face him again. "Your own father left you for dead!"

"He's done worse."

You laughed bitterly. "That doesn't surprise me."

"Alright," Dean sighed, raising a hand to stop your tirade. "I'm okay! I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Oh yeah, you're the pinnacle of okay."

"Your sarcasm isn't helping."

You shook your head. Angry tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you were too stubborn to let them fall.

"I just wish you would understand that you deserve better," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You could leave his ass behind any time you like -"

"Oh yeah? And then what?"

You paused, and looked down to your feet.

"You could come with me?"

For half a second, Dean smiled. “You and I would kill each other in half an hour.”

He was right – but you’d never let him admit it.

“Why’d you text me then?” You asked. “If we’re just gonna kill one another–”

Dean shot you a pointed look.��

“– I’m serious.” You said.

Dean stood up with a groan and walked over to you. You stood with your arms crossed, a slight frown creasing your brow. Nothing could be heard but the rain that battered against the windows and the thundering of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Dean tucked a strand of your wet hair behind your ear, “You’re the first one I thought of… The only one I wanted here.”

A blush crept onto your cheeks and you shook your head fondly. “You’re fantastic at changing the subject.”

Dean winked, but his smooth-talking was soon replaced by a painful scowl.

“Let’s finish this up later, shall we? I’d rather not bleed to death.”

You helped Dean back to the bed and prepared to finish stitching him up. You knew this was far from over – with Dean, it never was – but for now, you would focus on the rain that pattered against the roof and the relief that Dean was with you, safe.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader fluff #dean winchester fluff #supernatural #dean winchester #spn #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester x y/n #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean fluff #dean fic #supernatural fic #*my writing

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deansbabyangel · 21 days ago

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wanna wear my jacket? — a dean winchester drabble

summary: reader gets cold during a hunt, and dean takes the chance to tease her before giving her his jacket.

includes: fluff, pet names (sweetheart, angel), protective dean vibes, playful banter.

the wind was biting as you trudged through the woods, every step crunching against frozen leaves. you pulled your arms tighter around yourself, wishing you had grabbed an actual coat instead of your trusty flannel.

“you okay back there, sweetheart?” dean called from up ahead, turning to look at you. the smirk on his face told you he already knew the answer.

“fine,” you huffed, even though your teeth were practically chattering.

he raised an eyebrow, slowing his pace so he could walk beside you. “fine, huh? ‘cause you look like a popsicle.”

“i forgot my jacket, okay?” you admitted, pouting a little as you tried to rub warmth into your arms. “it didn’t match my outfit.”

dean let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “your priorities, angel. they never fail to amaze me.”

before you could come up with a sassy reply, he was shrugging off his leather jacket and holding it out to you.

“here,” he said simply.

you blinked up at him, wide-eyed. “but, dean, what about you? you’ll be cold.”

“sweetheart,” he drawled, draping the jacket over your shoulders, “i’ve been through worse than a little cold. plus, watching you turn into a human icicle ain’t exactly my idea of a fun night.”

the jacket was warm, smelling like leather and faint traces of his cologne. it was so big on you that the sleeves hung past your fingertips, but you didn’t mind one bit.

“thanks, dean,” you murmured, a shy smile tugging at your lips.

“don’t mention it,” he said, ruffling your hair affectionately. “but if you ever leave your coat behind again, i’m making you wear one of sam’s hoodies. no more fashion statements on hunts, got it?”

you giggled, wrapping the jacket tighter around yourself. “got it, boss.”

dean smirked, slinging an arm around your shoulders as you both continued walking. “good. now let’s finish this up so i can get you back to the bunker and warm you up properly.”

a/n: aaa this is so soft i could cry!! pls let me know what you think + feel free to send requests my way!! i love writing fluffy dean moments <3

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thirdsaltyhunter · 3 months ago

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If I Catch You

Summary: Dean chasing you through the halls of the bunker in a ghostface mask, what more do you need

Warning: SMUT, if I catch you I f*ck you trope, mask k*nk, choking, praise, edging, manhandling

A/N: did I forget to post this yesterday cause I was to busy partying... yes but hopefully you'll enjoy this enough to forgive me

You had always loved Halloween even despite being a hunter. It brought back the happy memories from your childhood, when there were no worries, the monsters were only people in masks and the good guys always won at the end of every scary movie. Dean shared your appreciation for the holiday. Even before you and him started dating, you would often spend Halloween nights curled up on motel beds, watching horror marathons with all the snacks and sugar you could handle. Sam on the other hand didn't see the appeal. Sometimes he would join you in your movie watching, but it was mostly to appease you and avoid ridicule from Dean.

This year you and your boyfriend had the bunker all to yourself. Sam had chosen to spend the night with Eileen and leave the two of you to your festivities.

The empty bunker allowed the perfect opportunity for you and Dean to play out a fantasy that you had talked about a few nights before, when you were cuddled up bingeing the Scream franchise.

"Ghostface is hot," you blurted randomly in the middle of the movie. You mostly said this to see his reaction, but there was a hint of truth to your statement.

"Why?" he said in utter confusion. He paused the movie and looked down at you in his arms.

You shrugged. "I don't know masked men are just hot."

"Masked men?" he tried to hide the hint of amusement.

"Oh yeah, it's a real popular thing now. I can show you all the thirst trap videos."

"Yeah I don't need to see that."

You laughed at his look of disgust before he continued.

"So what your saying is that I need to get a Ghostface mask, hm?" he said with a smirk.

"I mean I wouldn't mind, have you chase me through the halls in it." You tilted your head back to face him, your lips almost touching.

"What happens when I catch you?", he asked with a devious smile, his hold on you tightening slightly.

"You'll have to find out," you responded, your voice sultry and teasing.

"I think that can be arranged."

One costume store purchase later and you found yourself in only a set of sexy underwear, standing in the empty hallway. The concrete floor was cool under your bare feet, but your racing pulse kept you from being cold.

Dean had given you a head start before he would try to come and find you. Your excitement was growing. He wasn't going to chase you, if it came down to a sprint race, Dean would win every time. No, he was going to hunt you. You knew this made the game more even, but you also knew that he was crafty and smart. Though in all honesty you wanted to be caught, you were just going to be a little tease before you let him find you.

You had just rounded the corner by the kitchen, when the power went out, causing the bunker's red emergency lights to come on.

Nice touch, you thought.

You heard his voice echo through the hall, signaling that he was coming to find you. Your adrenaline was pumping. Not out of fear, you knew Dean would never hurt you, but out of anticipation for what would happen when he found you.

You slipped into kitchen looking for a spot to hide. Unsatisfied with the spots, you head to the library. You hid in the far corner behind one of the shelves and waited. You listened for his footsteps but heard nothing, years of hunting had trained him to be light on his feet. When you finally heard his voice call your name he was much closer than you expected. He purposefully stepped heavy coming up the stairs from the War Room, his boots thudding against the stone.

You took the opportunity to dart out the door in the back of the library. The bookcase blocked you from his view, but he definitely heard the door shut. You bolted down the back hall, heart pounding as you rounded the corner just as the door opened behind you.

Quietly you slipped into one of the bedrooms and hid under the bed. You listened until his footsteps passed the door and went down the hall. Crawling out from your hiding spot, you checked to make sure the hall was empty before sprinting the opposite direction.

As you ran past the next hall you saw him rounding the other end. You picked up the pace, knowing he had seen you. You turned the next corner and stopped, pressing your back against the cool tile wall to catch your breath. When you decided the coast was clear you went to move to the next hall, when an arm wrapped around your middle, you back pinned to his chest.

You tried to wriggle from his grasp just making it free when you stumbled. You caught yourself, but his hand caught your ankle dragging you across the polished concrete floor and pulling you under him.

He rolled you over and you came face to face with the black eyes and long mouth of the mask, illuminated by the red glow of the lights. This was the first time you had actually seen him in the mask and it was even hotter than you imagined. When he pinned your hands above your head you knew you weren't getting away.

"Gotcha," he growled.

"What are you going to do with me now?" you said through panting breaths, partially from running, partially from how incredibly turned on you were right now.

"You'll have to find out," he responded before using one hand to pull his belt from his jean and loop it around your wrists.

Ok that was hot.

When your hands were secured, he stood up scooping you up off the floor and tossing you over his shoulder, delivering a quick smack to your ass before walking toward your shared bedroom. It wasn't often that he manhandled you like this and you were loving every second of it.

When you got to the bedroom, he tossed you onto the bed and straddled your legs. He hooked two fingers into the belt around your wrists.

"You want this to stay on?" he asked.

You nodded eagerly. Even being dominant and aggressive, he never wanted to push you limits, solely focused on giving you what you wanted.

"Stay," he ordered, getting up from the bed to strip down to his boxers, leaving the mask in place.

You watched him with lust blown eyes, your chest still rising and falling rapidly as you admired his body. He moved to the end of the bed, grabbing your ankle and pulling you to the end. Your underwear was pulled down your legs and tossed over his shoulder. He wrapped you legs around his hips and you could feel his clothed erection. You moaned grinding down on him until his arm crossed you hips, holding you still.

He ran two finger through your slick. '"So wet for me. Is this just from me chasing you?"

You nodded again.

He lowered to his knee, his masked face coming level with your dripping cunt. Two of his fingers dipped into you, immediately curling into the spot that made your back arch and your knees weak. Your head fell back letting the pleasure wash over you.

From the box under the bed, he pulled out your vibrator. He planned to torture you tonight.

"Don't cum until I'm inside you. Do you understand me?" he said turning the toy to the lowest setting and pressing it to your clit.

"Yes," you moaned, hands gripping the sheet above your head. You didn't know how long you were going to last. You were already on the edge of release and he had hardly touched you yet.

As you got close he removed the vibrator, running his hand up your thighs and squeezing your hips to sooth you. You whined and looked at him between you legs. You tried to give him your best puppy eyes, but you couldn't see his expression. You only were met with the blank stare of the mask and the vibrations returning to your sensitive cunt.

He continued teasing you, edging you another four or five times. You hated it and loved it at the same time. It amazed you how he knew exactly where to keep you on edge, or at least it would amaze you, if there was a single part of your brain that could think straight.

"Dean," you whined again, desperate for release.

"Beg for it," he responded sternly, fingers dipping inside you again.

"Please, fuck me." You squirmed, you didn't know if you wanted to get away from he sensation or fuck yourself on his fingers.

He sped up his motions and leaned over you body until he was face to face with you. You could just barely see his eyes, but you knew he was watching you fall into ecstasy.

"Please," you begged.

He removed his fingers and dropped his boxers. His cock was thick and dripping precum, edging you had teased him almost equally as much. He pulled your hips even closer to the edge of the bed and hooked your shaking legs over his shoulders. His hands gripped your hips firmly as he slid into you, filling you completely.

He watched your face as your head fell back in pleasure, a loud moan escaping your lips.

"That's my girl," he praised, running his hands up and down your sides, desperately trying to keep himself together.

He started thrusting into you, slow, but so deep you could hardly take it.

"Look at me," he said, his hand came up to circle around your throat to put your attention back on him.

Your eyes opened to watch as he fucked you. You could see a blush of exertion creeping down his neck from under the mask. He gently added pressure to the sides of your throat as the speed of his hips increased.

Your hands reached for him as you got closer to falling apart. Noticing how close you were, he started to circle your clit with his thumb. You came with cry of his name, your hand gripping his forearm, his hand loosening from your throat, causing you to feel almost high.

He planted his hand beside your head as his hips stuttered and he came with a deep moan. You both stilled for a few minutes, panting and trying to regain your bearings.

After a moment, he gently pulled out to go get a towel to clean up your combined mess. You squirmed from the sensitivity as he wiped you down. He whispered an apology before tossing the rag and undoing the belt from your wrists.

Finally removing the mask, he ran a hand down his face and smiled down at you. It was funny to see him have that boyish grin after playing the sexy, dangerous slasher for the past hour. He lifted you up to place you at the top of the bed against the pillows.

"That was awesome," he said, laying down beside you and wrapping you in his arms.

"Yeah it was, I fucking love you." You laughed and buried your head in his neck.

"I love you too sweetheart, and I love that I can do things like this with you."

You nodded in agreement before you started to feel how worn out you were.

Both of you were exhausted from your activities and quickly fell asleep, deciding to take a nap before settling down for a night of Halloween movies and junk food.

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deanbrainrotwritings · 7 months ago

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— i believe in a thing called love

SUMMARY : dean thinks you’re playing a game but he slowly realises you’re not.

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), unprotected piv, oral (f. receiving), fingering, edging, praise kink?, horniness

WORD COUNT : 4.2k

A/N : title from a song by the darkness. this fills the square amnesia for my @jacklesversebingo card. I’m sorry yall, I like cliffhangers 😔 (but there’s a part two coming, yay!)

You don’t remember ever waking up to a more warm and pleasant morning.

Usually, you woke up after sleeping however many hours you could have, and always felt like it wasn’t enough. Your eyes burned with sleepiness, your body felt heavy with fatigue, and your mind was clouded with the darkness of unconsciousness.

Not this morning.

You felt light and warm, like the vapour of your too-hot shower. Your bed was soft and your sheets smelled of sweet and flowery fabric softener.

You opened your eyes to a room blanketed in complete darkness. There was not a window in sight for sunlight to slither into and your stomach sank slightly when you realised that you didn’t know where you were. Or how you got to where you were now.

Your nakedness beneath soft, thin sheets made you feel vulnerable. You pulled the sheets up your body and started to get out of bed, only for the sheets to catch on something. No, on someone. A man who groaned gravelly and slightly tugged the sheets away from you.

Your eyes widened, your blood went cold with fear, and your body became hot with adrenaline. You froze as you thought of what to do and looked around to see if you could make any shapes while the darkness smothered you.

“Come back to bed, sweetheart,” he pleaded lazily, his voice thick with sleep making your skin prickle. He gave the blanket a lazy tug to encourage you, but you ignored him. You didn’t know him, the audacity. You simply released the blanket and blindly made your way around the room for clothes that you must have left somewhere.

You heard him sigh tiredly, the blankets rustled when he shifted, and the room lit up with the quiet click of a lamp’s switch and you yelped when you saw him, equally naked, in the bed. He sat up in alarm and looked around, before just staring at you in confusion.

His hair was a mess and he looked tired… but hot. His arms were thick and strong. His shoulders were broad and a familiar tattoo rested above his heart, beneath his collarbone. He wasn’t ripped like someone who was obsessed with going to the gym and dieting. He was so damn fine. The thin blankets came lower down his hips when he sat up inquisitively. His stomach became taut and you could see the faint lines of his abs. At least you slept with someone hot and not some creep. Well… he could still be a creep.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” He moved the blankets from his hips, subsequently flashing you his dick, when he began to get up and make his way to you.

“No, stop!” You shouted, covering your eyes before deciding to cover yourself instead. He instantly obeyed and froze on the spot, bewildered. “Cover your eyes,” you demanded exasperatedly.

“What? Why?” He asked, but he still covered his eyes with his hand. But who could blame you for quickly stealing a glance at his very pretty cock? “Did you start your period? You’re not due for another two weeks.” You blinked at him, astonished and disoriented.

“Uhhh, what? How do you even know that, dude?” You flushed with embarrassment.

“Dude?” He lowered his hand to give you an irritated look. The only reason you didn’t shout at him to look away was that he wasn’t staring at you like you were a piece of cake. “It’s way too early for jokes.” He shook his head at you and turned around to sift through the tall dresser behind him. Your eyes hesitantly dropped to his perky ass and you forced yourself to look away before he turned to you.

Forgive me. I am just human.

“Where’s my damned clothes?” You asked, leaning forward over the bed to drag the blanket towards yourself to cover up. He turned with a deadpan expression while he slipped his boxers up to his hips. But when you lifted your brows expectantly, he rolled his eyes at you and smiled sarcastically, flourishing his arms in front of the dresser.

He was kind enough to pull out a black shirt that looked like it was his, then pink women's underwear, and finally some colourfully striped socks. He handed them to you, but you backed away.

“No, I’m not wearing that,” you refused, looking disgustedly at the cotton underwear and the small socks.

“It’s yours,” he told you flatly.

“What do you mean it’s mine?”

He blinked at you boredly and dropped the clothes on the bed to cross his arms across his very sexy broad chest. “Alright. How long are you gonna keep this up?”

“I… uh, what?”

He smiled slowly and climbed up on the bed to get closer to you. Once he did, he reached for your waist and tugged you forward. Your heart thudded heavily in your chest and you clutched the blanket closer to your breasts. Even standing on his knees in the bed, he was taller than you.

“What game are you playin’ at, hmm?” He asked seductively, gently squeezing your side. Your lips parted slightly and your heart raced.

You studied his face, captivated by his beauty. The crinkles at the corner of his verdant eyes called to you when he smiled down at you. You could see he was doing the same. His eyes followed a path along your face until they landed on your lips. You couldn’t help following the same path on his own with your eyes. After letting your eyes drift across the curve of his freckled nose, the line of his jaw, and the attractive stubble, your eyes fell to his pillowy lips.

His hand moved to your jaw. He looked playful and your heart sped up the longer he admired you. His calloused hand gently slid up your jawline to tangle his fingers in your hair until finally, he dipped down and kissed you. His lips felt soft against your slightly-chapped lips, but he didn’t seem to mind.

His mouth moved lazily, yet expertly over yours. Your stomach fluttered and your breath hitched. As simple as it was, it felt amazing. His lips on yours sent waves of need and excitement through your body, electrifying your skin.

He clouded your mind with his kiss and your mouth slowly fell open. He cupped the back of your head in his hand and tilted his head, slowly becoming more firm and needy. Your hand released the sheet from your body and your hands found their way into his soft brown hair. He hummed lowly in appreciation and splayed his free hand across the bare skin of your back.

He carefully removed his hand from your hair, then you felt his hands move to the back of your thighs. He broke the kiss momentarily, his breath against your swollen lips made you dizzy as he hoisted you up. You clung to him, dazed and aroused, and he carefully dropped you into the bed again.

His knees parted your legs. You could feel your arousal dripping down as you were exposed to the room’s cool air. He almost instantly pressed his hips to your wet core. You could feel the warmth of his hard cock against your pulsing clit. You moaned softly and he gave you a charming smile that heated your cheeks in response.

He leaned down to kiss you again. This time, his tongue pushed past your lips. The warmth and wetness of his saliva moved against your tongue. He did it as if he’d done a thousand times to you—shamelessly, with craving.

His lips moved passionately, firmly against yours. His tongue brushed over yours needily, lovingly. He tasted you with hunger and pulled away with heavy breaths, ignoring the string of spit connecting your lips to his.

He leaned forward again, except this time—when you closed your eyes—you felt his lips brush against your cheeks. His warm breath tickled your neck and ear, so shivers trickled through your body.

You squirmed beneath him and wiggled your hips longingly.

“I’m gonna make you come so hard on my tongue, baby,” he whispered. You cursed softly. Your cunt clenched with excitement at the thought of him doing to your pussy, what he’d done to your mouth. You almost didn’t feel him press wet kisses down your neck until he sucked gently at your pulse.

He moved down your body slowly. Used his teeth, tongue, and lips on your flesh to hold you in his spell. He did it so precisely, fanning the embers to create a fire of desire that overwhelmed your body with lust.

His lips brushed against your nipple and your heart lurched. Heat pooled between your legs, followed by a warm wetness that you somehow knew would boost his ego.

“Tell me what you’re thinkin’,” he whispered against your breast before gently sinking his teeth around your nipple. His fingers pinched the other. How he expected you to respond was unclear as he teased your sensitive skin with his expert tongue and strummed at your flesh like a professional guitarist.

“How did I end up here?” You replied quietly, carding your fingers through his short hair. He chuckled softly at your response, moved on from one breast to the other. His saliva on your abandoned nipple enhanced the coldness of the room, causing your skin to tingle.

His laugh was a whole other thing. Hot and deep. Everything about him seemed to be that way. Hot and deep.

His hand sneaked down to your ribs, your stomach, and stayed there. Warm, heavy, huge, and calloused. One hell of a man. You bet he could choke you with one hand.

You moaned softly at the thought and squeezed his sides with your thighs in attempts to alleviate your desire. It was futile, but you had a feeling that’s how he wanted you. He smirked against your breast, you could feel the stretch of a smile on his sinful lips, and he finally moved on.

“You’re so desperate today, aren’t ya?” Amusement seeped into his voice, but there was nothing amusing about the way his hand finally moved between your legs. He slid his middle finger through your folds, slowly teasing your clit with ghostly touches. “Always so wet, baby, fuck,” he moaned against your hipbone.

“Please,” you whined, clutching his hair tighter. He sucked a lavender mark on your hips and slid his lips down to your pelvis.

“Yeah?” He teased with a smirk. You loosened your grip on his hair, just slightly. His green eyes sparkled up at you, but all you could really focus on was his finger turning to two fingers that quickly dipped into your entrance to gather your excessive slick. “Fuck.” Oh, God. No one should sound so hot saying that word, but your stomach seemed to flip excitedly when it sounded so pleased. “Look at that, sweetheart. You’re soaked, it’s gonna be so easy for me to fuck you.”

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered, your toes curled with excitement.

He parted your folds with his fingers and lowered himself to level his mouth with your dripping cunt. His warm breath on your wet heat made you squirm and your legs shamelessly opened wider for him. The Pied Piper of sex.

His eyes fluttered shut when he kissed your clit. You don’t think anyone’s ever done that to you before. To be fair, you can’t remember much and you don’t know if it’s because of his intoxicating sensuality or because of something much more serious. Quite frankly, you didn’t care as he continued to kiss you down to your clenching entrance with hums of appreciation vibrating through your desperate core.

“Please,” you laughed breathily, weakly attempting to pull his face closer between your legs. He perked up even more at that, and flicked his tongue against your clit, perfectly striking a nerve like a chord that resonated through your entire body and made you quiver.

He flattened his tongue from your aching pussy to your clit, slowly and loudly savouring the taste of your arousal on his tongue. He did it over and over before settling for lapping at your entrance where your arousal puddled. His moans were husky and praising.

You gently weaved your fingers through his hair and panted heavily. His nose nudged at your pulsing clit and his tongue pushed into your fluttering pussy.

“Fuck, please,” you whimpered, tightening your grip on the hair at the top of his head. He hummed against your core and roughly licked his way up to your clit. Quick flicks of his tongue on your clit made you writhe with pleasure. Curses slipped from your lips and all you could think about was the sensation of how wet your pussy was with his spit and how close to coming you were again.

You felt one of his fingers slowly push inside your cunt. He worked you open carefully with one thick finger plunged deep inside you and simultaneously began to suck on your clit. Your body became tense; you were right on the edge of your orgasm, but he moved away from your aching cunt to quickly kiss his way up your flushed body, to reach your lips.

“I wanna come,” you pleaded quietly, staring profoundly into his greedy eyes.

He chuckled playfully at you and slowly pushed a second finger inside you. His breath fanned over your lips and you traced the slick of your pussy on his smug mouth with your eyes. He stroked your walls slowly, skilfully pressing the pads of his fingers into the sensitive depths of your cunt. You clamped down in desperation for him to press over and over into your g-spot, but he wasn’t merciful. He wanted you to feel the length of his fingers moving deeply inside you.

“Say my name,” he murmured against your lips. You squeezed his hips with your knees as you squirmed restlessly. Again, he made you delirious with pleasure after a request so you could do anything but properly think. He angled his fingers into that delicious spot inside you, but the buildup of your climax was as torturously slow as the stroke of his fingers.

“Your name?” You gasped mindlessly, closing your eyes to focus on feeling him being in all the right places. His lips brushed against yours, ignited your body like a spark to hot-wire a car. His thumb pressed gently into your clit and he slowly drew circles.

“Dean,” he whispered bewitchingly against your lips. You felt his arm press into the pillow beside your head and he tenderly brushed your hair away from your neck.

“Dean,” you moaned—begged, heart hammering in your chest at his tenderness. His response was instant, with his lips pressed against yours, numbing your mind once more, but a third finger slid into your pussy so you nearly toppled off the edge again. After a few thrusts that left you moaning wantonly against Dean’s mouth, his fingers disappeared from inside you. “God,” you cursed in irritation.

Soon, the entirety of his warmth was gone from your body. His bruising kiss left you breathless and thoughtless, but you managed to open your eyes to watch him lower his boxers with his thumb hooked at the stretchy waistband—leaving himself completely bare again.

Dean bit his lip as he stroked his cock with his fingers coated in your slick. He seemed more than happy to have you watch. And you were more than happy with staring at the girth and length of him in his hand. His cock was pretty, beautiful even—if you could even imagine. Throbbing. Leaking precum at the tip so your mouth watered for a lewd long moment. You bit your lip and wondered what he tasted like—hopefully as good as he looked, how he’d fuck your mouth if you asked him to.

The sight of him like this made your arousal skyrocket.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” He asked breathlessly, slowly making his way closer between your legs.

The thought of his cock stretching you out instantly drove you crazy.

Once he was close enough, he leaned over you again with his arm beside your head again. He slid his hot cock through your folds and your breath caught in your throat. He moaned softly. You tore your eyes from where he coated you in his precum repeatedly.

“I want you… inside me,” you replied bashfully, heat flared up to your ears and you squirmed involuntarily—desperate to be fucked as you ruined the sheets beneath you with your slick. But over and over he teased your clit with slippery circles of his tip that began to build your resolve. He wasn’t going to let you finish and you knew it.

“Which part of me?” Of course he’d do that.

You became frustrated quickly and remained quiet to think of your next move. Dean had taken you to a point where your confidence was merely pent up sexual frustration.

You sat up and climbed into his lap without a single thought. As shamelessly as he’d touched you, you gripped the base of his cock. His lips parted and his eyes widened in pleasant surprise when you took his chin between your fingers and kissed him hard. He gave you full control and released his dick so his hands could find your hips instead and pull you closer.

He felt heavy in your hand, the throb and heat of him made your grip tighten in anticipation. He moaned against your mouth when you slowly stroked up his silky skin, slick with his precum. You thumbed at the slit, smeared his excitement around the head of his cock, and sucked his bottom lip into your mouth.

Dean groaned softly and squeezed your hip. He slowly let himself lay on his back and pulled you down with your lips still locked in a breathy and covetous kiss. You twisted your hand upwards, faster, and emphasised the movement of your fingers beneath the head of his cock. He pulled away slightly with a gasp and found his place between your legs to run a teasing finger through your drenched folds.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard… wanna bury myself inside of you,” he murmured against your lips.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasped instantly against his parted mouth, “yes.”

Dean kissed you hard and replaced your hand on his cock with his own again. He pulled away to catch his breath with you. Using his other hand, he brushed your hair out of the way and continued to pant for breath. He watched between your bodies, his throbbing cock in his hand, but you only watched him—curiously and longingly. He stroked himself slowly and he cursed under his breath when the tip finally breached the wet opening of your vagina.

Your breath hitched, but his name managed to slip out quietly. He hummed in satisfaction when you slowly lowered yourself on him. The delightful stretch of having him inside you weakened your knees and your pussy tightened around him. He thrusted upwards slowly, sliding his cock further into your wet heat, perfectly stroking your g-spot.

You pulled away a small distance and watched him become utterly enraptured. His freckled cheeks were tainted a deep red that spread up to the tips of his ears and down to his neck like a wildfire. He looked so fucking beautiful. His brows furrowed in concentration and his plush lips parted to release soft groans of pleasure that made your pussy throb around him greedily.

His eyes fluttered open and he leaned up slightly to reach your lips. He managed to land a small peck before you started lifting yourself up and down on his cock. A broken moan from him made you smile devilishly. He fell back into the mattress and squeezed your hips roughly.

“Dammit, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he praised breathily. You hummed softly and wrapped your hands around his wrists to guide his hands up to your breasts before bouncing on his lap faster, building a more steadfast rhythm.

“I love the way you feel, too,” you moaned softly, aroused at the sound of Dean’s cock entering your wet pussy and your skin hitting his when he was buried so deeply inside you the breath was nearly punched out of your lungs in surprise.

“You’re so unbelievably beautiful,” he continued to worship quietly, pinching almost painfully at your nipples, then teasingly brushed the pads of his thumbs over them—maybe soothingly. You moaned and leaned back with your hands on his thighs the closer you got to your orgasm.

One of Dean’s hands moved away from your breast to slowly slide down the front of your body. You watched him stare up at you, adoring you with his touch and lauding you in between groans and gasps of ecstasy. He squeezed your thigh encouragingly and cursed at the way you clenched your cunt around his sensitive cock.

You allowed yourself to close your eyes and let the pleasure of riding him saturate your mind and body. His hands moved along your body, praising without words when all he could do was groan and pant lewdly at your enthusiastic fucking.

He kneaded your breasts, squeezed your flesh, scratched gently at your skin. You were teeming with bliss and you were embarrassingly wet, but everything about him made you pathetically horny and he appeared to absolutely love every second of it.

Dean’s hand finally moved between your legs to find your clit and rub it continuously. His hips bucked upwards when you whined his name and clamped down on his cock as you orgasmed. Your body shook above him and he hummed low in his throat, partially amused, but mostly satisfied.

His thumb rubbed furiously at your clit—dilating the duration of your orgasm, intensifying it—and only stopped when you couldn’t handle it anymore. Your whimper and the way you weakly draped your body over his with your forehead pressed into his warm shoulder, stopped him.

You couldn’t process much after that, but soon your face was pressed into his pillow and your pussy was getting filled again with his cock. His fingers bruised your hips and you gasped out moans as your second orgasm began to build.

"Shit, you love it like this, don't you, sweetheart?" You were flustered by the soppy sound of your cunt every time he pounded into you from behind, but you were partially grateful that he was close to finishing. A perplexing, carnal part of you wanted him to keep ploughing into your pussy until you ached.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl,” Dean praised gruffly. You only whimpered brokenly in response as he fucked you through the squelch and wetness of your second orgasm. Your toes curled with the unbelievable sensation that seized your body when you felt his cum fill you with warmth. His release slipped between your thighs in a mixture with yours and you cried his name as your walls pulsed around his throbbing cock.

Dean released you and your body sank completely into the soft mattress. He panted against your shoulder and murmured praises with his comforting hands sailing along your body.

Your mind slowly returned to the real world and the beat of your heart slowed to its normal rhythm. You were exhausted and you wanted to clean yourself up, but Dean had other plans for you: staying in bed and cuddling.

You willed yourself into getting up out of his bed. You sat up—his arm loosely around your waist—and became aware of the lack of windows and the wooden stake that rested at the far end of the little platform—a shelf really—he had above his bed next to a little fan.

“Um…” you trailed off, wiggling out of his arm to slide out of the messy bed.

“You’re seriously not gonna stay in bed?” He questioned you as you looked around, attempting to ignore the rest of your mixed release dripping from between your legs. You felt his fingers move between yours, then a sharp tug pulled you back in bed. Your legs were shaky so you ended up right back where he wanted you to be—in his embrace.

“Yeah,” you laughed awkwardly. You squirmed and wiggled until he finally released you, “I don’t know you and I need to… get back… somewhere, home.” He sat up on his side and stared at you blankly for a few seconds. No, he’s too beautiful.

You looked away and decided to pull “your” clothes from where he’d thrown it to get something to cover your body now that your post-orgasmic brain was becoming logical and self-conscious.

“Babe, drop it, we’ll play that game later,” he dismissed you with a cute snort. You groaned at him when he snagged his shirt from your hands. He slowly peppered kisses along your neck and shoulder and you were unable to fight him.

“Dean, I’m serious,” you tried weakly and gripped his hair to pull him away as gently as you could. You turned to look at him again and he backed off. “Look at me and tell me if I’m lying to you.” He rolled his eyes but held your gaze for a few moments as he contemplated you.

You saw the amusement on his handsome face but you continued to frown. The amusement faded into perplexity and concern.

“Ah, shit,” he muttered.

—> stone flower

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