#dean x y/n

[crossroadsangel67]

MDNI. NSFW. 18+

dean’s had a long week, and he needs to get out his anger somehow, on someone… why not by fucking you?

warnings: lowk toxic lolz but at least the sex is dayum good, dom!dean, sub!reader, blood, overstimulation, oral f!receiving, fingering, unprotected piv, manhandling, dean breaking shit

REQUESTED

this hunt was going seriously bad. you couldn’t remember the last time you had felt this hopeless over a case. you weren’t even sure if it was your kind of thing anymore. all you knew was that you were tired, dean was tired, and little girls all over town were being swiped out of their homes in the middle of the night.

you and dean have been in town for two weeks, and you didn’t think you’d ever seen him so angry. at first, he was just upset and sad for the families and these girls like you were, but now? he was just insanely frustrated.

so frustrated that he just had to pick a fight.

“we’re getting fucking nowhere!” he voice boomed in the small motel room. you ran your hands over your face, huffing. “you think i don’t know that? you think i don’t know that these girls could very well be dead?!” you snapped back.

“well you’re not doing shit! you’re sitting here on your laptop researching, researching what?! and having your nose in a book instead of getting out there and helping me look for them is just fucking stupid!” dean’s face was red hot with anger.

“you think i’ve done nothing, is that it?! i’ve been up all night every night trying to find anything, anything, that leads back to their disappearances. stop acting like i’m sitting around with my head up my ass!”

“well what do you want me to say, y/n?! great job, i know you’re doing your best, sweetie, it’s okay. cause you’re not doing your best and none of it is okay!”

you weren’t nearly as angry as dean was. you knew it was because he had so much pent up anger, but you still didn’t expect him to start acting the way he did.

“and you are… insufferable right now.” he said coldly, his words filled with hate. your angry expression faltered when he said that.

dean stormed off into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, rattling the walls. you scoffed and sat on the edge of the bed.

you wanted to tell him how absolutely ridiculous and childish he was being, but instead you just sat there in silence, now hurt more than anything.

just as you were about to open your mouth and holler something to him, you heard a loud slam from in the bathroom. then another. then glass breaking.

“dean?!” you stood up and ran over to the locked door, rattling the knob.

bang.

“dean, open the door!” you stepped back and the door flung open and he tried to push past you. you stopped him and gave the bathroom a once-over. the mirror was broken, things were ripped off of the wall, and the shower curtain was bent in half and in the tub of the shower.

your breath caught in your throat as he pushed past you, and you immediately grabbed his arm, holding on still as he walked toward the front door, turning him back to you.

his tired eyes avoided contact with yours. he looked like he wanted to fucking hurt someone.

he turned away again, snatching his arm from your grip and reaching for the door knob. you jumped in front of him and had your back against the door.

“move.”

“no.”

“y/n, i swear to god—!”

“i said no!”

he gripped your upper arms and pulled you away from the door, but you still held on tight to him. the two of you finally made eye contact. the look in his eyes broke your heart. he was so fucking angry.

“dean, baby, calm down,” you said quietly, holding him close. “hey, hey,” you grabbed his face in your hands, turning him to look at you, hoping to ground him.

you knew you had to do something, so you did the only thing you knew to do to catch his full attention.

you smashed your lips into his. he pulled away at first, looking at you with his jaw clenched. but then he kissed you back even harder, his fingers in your hair and his hand gripping your back tight.

dean backed you up to the bed, breaking the kiss to push you down onto it.

he placed his hands on either side of you, kissing you again. you just melted into it, feeling the heat radiating from his cheeks.

he pulled away and started biting and sucking at your neck, harder than usual. you turned your head to the side, soft pants and gasps leaving your lips.

your face dropped as you glanced down at his right hand, and you pushed him off of your neck.

“dean, stop. you’re bleeding.” you took his right hand, inspecting the wound. blood was dripping from his cracked knuckles, where bruises were starting to form. those cuts were sharp, and you knew he had punched the mirror.

“i don’t care,” he growled, his lips going back to your neck.

“dean.” you said firmly, scolding him and pulling away.

“y/n/n… baby, please leave it.” he said in a gentler tone now, his free hand cupping your cheek. “i need you, right now… please… just leave it.” his voice was filled with a desire so strong. he had been so insanely tense all week, so much so that you barely touched each other, and that was rare to happen.

and so you were sympathetic. you needed him just as much as he needed you. and the two of you needed to let loose, before you kill each other in this damn motel room.

he started desperately kissing you on the lips again, laying you back down on the bed.

dean was a gentle lover. he always took his time with you. he’d trace every curve and detail on your body before he’d worry about the thought of chasing his own high.

so, it took you by surprise when he ripped your shirt open, instead of going button by button. and it took you by surprise when he pulled down your pants and panties in one swift motion, instead of teasingly pulling down your pants and biting down on the lace to slide them down your thighs. he even got that bra off quicker than usual.

his own clothes came flying off even quicker, and his cock sprung free of its restraints. he was already half hard when he took it in his hand, stroking himself with purpose. his pupils were crazy dilated.

“flip around.” he demanded, his breaths quickening as he stroked himself faster.

you did as told, rolling over and going on your hands and knees. he grabbed your hips, pulling you to where he wanted you.

“y’know, you’ve been on my nerves all fucking week. and i couldn’t figure out why…” he breathed into your ear, before slamming into your tight cunt without warning. you let out a pained cry as he buried himself deep inside of you, your walls stretching. he let out a deep groan. “turns out, all i needed was to fuck you. to fuck this tight little cunt. who’s pussy is this, huh?”

he thrusted in and out again, harder this time, his grip on your hips tightening. you let out a deep groan. “yours,” you breathed out, mumbling the word.

dean grabbed your hair in one hand, yanking your head back. “what was that? couldn’t hear you.” he mocked, and you could feel the heat of his breath on the back of your neck. he pulled back again, slamming back into you. “fuck! yours, it’s yours!” you groaned, your face contorting from the mix of pain and pleasure.

it wasn’t very often that dean treated you like this. like you were his property. his little fuck toy. but, god, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it every once in a while. and after these few weeks? you needed to be fucked. not made love to, but fucked.

“atta girl.” his head rolled back and his mouth dropped open as he thrusted in and out of you at his own pace. he let go of the grip on your hair and took the back of your neck, pushing your top half down into the mattress.

you were moaning into the sheets and moving your hips to meet his deep thrusts. the sound of your breathy moans and skin slapping against his was enough to make him cum right there if he wanted to.

but not until you did.

he pulled out, and before you could even get a word out, he flipped you over onto your back. your chest was rising and falling in a way that made him even more hungry for you.

“let’s see how many i can get out of you.” he smirked and dipped his head down between your legs. he pushed your thighs into the bed, leaving you wide open for him. you let out a whine when his mouth latched onto your clit. his tongue went crazy, showing you no mercy.

he pushed two fingers into your hole, scissoring you open to ensure you’d stay stretched out for him. he curled his fingers, brushing repeatedly against your g-spot. your mouth dropped open and you let out a filthy moan as your orgasm hit you. but he didn’t stop there.

in fact, he didn’t slow down at all.

“mmph, dean—” you cut yourself off with a whine. your body was still shaking from the previous orgasm. dean kept going, speaking in between circling your clit with his tongue.

“when i hear stop, i’ll stop. until then, i decide when i’m done with you.” he groaned as he licked at your wet cunt, loving the taste of your juices. he went back to your sensitive bud, twirling his tongue around and spelling his full name, as if carving a soulful mark into your most vulnerable spot.

it was when he was on the last letter of winchester that another orgasm ripped through you. you let out a moan that was much more like a cry, and you were sure it was loud enough for someone in the parking lot of the motel to hear.

you gripped the sheets, nearly ripping them with your nails when dean kept going. you tried to squirm away, but he had an iron grip around those thighs of yours.

you were a begging mess at this point, but you wouldn’t tell him the word stop. no matter how overstimulated you were, you wouldn’t dare tell him to stop. it was like an addiction, no matter how much your body fought against it, you were still chasing that thrill, that high.

when the third orgasm hit, your body was shaking so much it was almost comical. that’s when dean decided that was enough of that. he pulled away, and crawled back on top of you.

“look at the mess we made, hm?” he smirked darkly as he held up his right hand. the blood from his knuckles had mixed with your cum, and it was all over his hand.

you were in such a blissful state that you hadn’t even processed right away that he licked his fingers clean. you gasped at the sight of him, his lips glistening with your juices, drops of red around the edges, and his pupils blown out of proportion.

he kissed you with a deep desire, tangling his tongue with yours so you could taste the mixture the two of you had made.

dean continued to deepen the kiss as he took your legs, bending your knees. he broke your contact to throw your legs over his shoulders. your pussy throbbed as he pushed back into you, slowly but deeply.

he squeezed your thighs and groaned as he bottomed out, nestling his thick cock deep inside of you before he started to thrust in and out of you.

you gripped the pillows behind your head as he pounded in and out of you. the moans and whines leaving your lips were unholy, but absolute heaven on earth for dean to hear. he was mesmerized by the way your tits bounced with each thrust, how you looked at him with a sparkle in your eyes, and how your lips were parted, all for him.

“give me one more, baby.” his voice was deep and rough, but it had such a loving desire underneath, one that you couldn’t possibly say no to.

you nodded eagerly, and soon your head rolled back as he rubbed at your clit with his thumb. you were in ecstasy, your back arching into him as he hit the back of your thighs rapidly.

dean was getting close, and he was so desperate to reach that high, spilling deep inside of you. but he held out to drag your last orgasm out of you, which didn’t take long at all.

“c’mon, sweetheart. cum f’me. give me one last one.”

and that was all it took to send you over the edge, you came around his cock and your body was convulsing. you were a moaning mess, his name coming from your lips like a prayer.

“that’s it, fuck. good girl.”

he dropped his hand from your clit and kept a tight grip on your hips, speeding up his motions before stilling completely, bottoming out as he spilled into you. he let out a deep groan, almost a whine, as he let his body relax against yours.

the two of you stayed in that position for a little while, taking the time to catch your breaths before dean slowly pulled out of you. he held the back of your thighs, bringing your legs back down to rest on the bed.

it was then that he realized just how spent you looked. your body was still shaking, your makeup was smeared, and your eyes were tired.

dean sighed and rested next to you, pulling the blanket up over the two of you as he snaked an arm around your shoulders.

“y/n/n, did i go too far, honey?” he whispered, placing soft kisses on your cheek. you chuckled breathlessly and leaned into his touch.

“still mad at me?” you smirked up at him, holding back a laugh.

he rolled his eyes, but still had an amused smile on his face. “how could i stay mad after that?”

you took his chin in your hand and angled his face down, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “you didn’t go too far. i loved it… and i love you.”

“and i love you.” he whispered back against your lips.

“you know we’re gonna figure this out, right? the case?” you smiled softly to him, patting his cheek lightly.

“i know, honey. i know we will. together.”

check out my MASTERLIST to see more of my work and what’s coming up next in the works <3

[forevaafan]

He left you.

Pairing: Dean x F!Reader / Platonic Sam x F!Reader/ Dean x Lisa

Word count: 417

Summary: Supernatural rewrite, begins after the season 5x22. After years of longing Dean x Reader finally give in and find comfort in each other when Sam goes to the cage. But Dean keeps his promise to Sam and leaves hunting (and the reader) behind for the apple pie life. 

Warning: Angst, Hurt, Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Emotional Cheating

Enjoy!

He left you. That is all you knew. 

You woke up to the left side of the motel bed unmade, empty, and cold. It felt hollow without the weight of his arms wrapped around you, a morning comfort you grew accustomed to over the past month. There was a possibility he went for a coffee run or to take a call outside. But you knew that wasn't the case when the laptop was no longer on the table, and the books and scraps of paper that had been scattered around the room were no longer existent. He was gone. 

Your first thought was to call him. But you knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t answer if his intent was to leave. So the second choice was to call Bobby. 

You quickly dressed and grabbed the first burner phone you could find in your bag. 

“Bobby? It’s me y/n.” you said not trying to sound too panicked. Since your dad passed Bobby took you in as a daughter. If anyone 

“Hey kiddo. You doing ok?” 

“Um yea, I’m fine. I was wondering if you heard from Dean?” There was a long moment of silence that only added to the lump slowly growing in your throat. 

“Did he not tell you? He said he told you.”

You cleared your throat as best as you could. “Um nope.” You let the silence linger hoping Bobby would eventually clear the air and rid you off all the worst case scenarios running through your mind. 

“Damn it Dean!” You heard some shuffling. He was angry and he was stalling. 

“Bobby you can tell me I’ll -” 

“That boy is an Idjit! I knew he would do something stupid eventually. And I warned him if he hurt yo-” 

“Bobby!” You couldn't take it anymore. “Where’s Dean?” 

He let out an exasperated sigh, “He said he made some sort of promise to Sam. He’s taking a break from hunting for a while.” 

Out of all things you imagined he would say this was nowhere on your list. Top three scenarios running through our head had Dean running to make a deal with whoever or whatever to get Sam out, but just leaving all together? You didn't even know how to finish that thought. 

“You alright kid?” Bobby questioned breaking the silence. 

Not sure what to say, you answered the only way you knew how. “No, but I will be.”

_ _ _

Ok this was a super quick intro to a story that has been in my head for years. I have a couple chapters of this and a few more SPN stories on the way so let me know your thoughts. I love angst so be prepared for that ride. This is very much a story of Dean protecting the people he loves in all the wrong ways but the only way he knows how.

[lila-lou]

✨High School Sweetheart - Pt 6✨

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: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Fuff, Dean being hurt

Word Count: 7683

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

The two of you had only just drifted into a blissful sleep when Dean’s phone buzzed loudly, shattering the peaceful quiet of the morning. He groaned, reaching over to grab it from the nightstand, squinting at the screen before reluctantly answering.

“’Bout time you woke up”, Sam’s voice came through the line, laced with barely-contained amusement. “You know it’s almost eleven, right? Figured I’d let you sleep in, but we’ve got work to do, and I can’t exactly solve this on my own”.

Dean groaned, rubbing his face as he processed the reminder of reality creeping back in. “Yeah, yeah, I hear you”, he mumbled, still not fully awake but too comfortable to be annoyed. “I’ll be there soon”.

Sam’s tone turned playful. “And by the way, hope you got everything… out of your system”, he teased, clearly enjoying this a bit too much. “Because I need you focused now”.

Dean rolled his eyes, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t you worry about me”, he shot back, though there was no mistaking the relaxed, satisfied look on his face as he glanced over at you, who was stirring awake beside him. “I’ll be there soon”. he repeated, hanging up.

He sighed, running a hand over his face and turning to you with a soft smile. “Looks like duty calls”, he murmured, reaching out to brush a few strands of hair from your face.

You gave a sleepy smile, knowing this was just part of his world. “Guess you’ve got a brother to keep happy”, you replied with a small chuckle.

Dean hesitated, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he looked at you, clearly weighing his words. Finally, he broke into a small, almost shy smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, uh… are you free tonight?”, he asked, his voice softer, laced with a hint of vulnerability that you didn’t often see from him.

You couldn’t help but smile, warmth spreading through you at the unexpected question. “I think I could clear my schedule”, you teased gently, reaching up to brush a hand along his cheek, feeling the slight stubble beneath your fingers.

Dean chuckled softly, his blush deepening as he looked down, momentarily avoiding your gaze. “I, uh… don’t really have a plan”, he admitted, a bit awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Just… didn’t want this to be it. Wanted to see you again. Later”.

The honesty in his voice, mixed with a hint of that rare vulnerability, made your heart skip a beat. Here was Dean, always so tough and confident, looking almost boyish as he waited for your answer, the faintest hint of nerves showing through.

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, your smile warm. “I’d like that, too. Plans or no plans, just… you”.

He let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, relaxing as he gave you a small, lopsided grin. “Good. Then it’s a date. Or… not a date. Whatever you want to call it”, he mumbled, still slightly awkward, but the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable.

“Date sounds perfect”, you replied, making him smile even more.

As Dean moved around your room, pulling on his jeans and shrugging into his shirt, you couldn’t help but watch him, your gaze lingering on every detail. The way his muscles moved beneath his skin, the comfortable confidence in his movements—it all drew you in, each small moment only deepening the warmth in your chest. When his fingers worked the buttons on his shirt, your eyes followed, lingering just a bit longer as he adjusted the fabric around his waist, catching the faint lines of his hips.

He glanced up, catching you watching, and a playful smirk curved on his lips. “Like what you see?”, he teased, his voice low, that familiar, cocky edge slipping back in.

You felt a blush spread over your cheeks but managed a smirk in return. “Maybe”, you replied, crossing your arms and giving him a casual shrug. “But I’ve definitely seen better”.

He laughed, stepping close enough to brush a kiss across your forehead. “Liar”, he murmured, his voice soft, his thumb tracing over your cheek in a gentle caress. “I’ll see you tonight”, he added, his gaze lingering on you, full of warmth and unspoken promises.

As soon as the door closed behind him, you found yourself grinning uncontrollably, that familiar, fluttery feeling bubbling up inside you. It was like you were 16 again, caught up in a crush so intense it left you wiggling your legs and barely able to contain your excitement. Everything about him—his easy charm, the way he looked at you, that unexpected, almost shy invitation for tonight—had left you feeling giddy and weightless.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, leaning back against the pillow as if grounding yourself, but the grin wouldn’t leave your face. Memories of stolen glances and nervous excitement flooded back, blending with the thrill of the present. It was strange, a little overwhelming, and completely wonderful all at once.

Tonight was just hours away, and the anticipation brought back that same rush of energy, the same heart-flipping thrill that had first pulled you toward Dean all those years ago.

When Dean pulled up in the Impala, Sam was already standing outside their motel room, arms crossed, his face lit up with an all-too-knowing grin. The second Dean got out of the car, Sam didn’t waste a beat, his teasing tone loaded and ready.

“Look who finally decided to show up”, Sam said, his voice dripping with amusement as he raised an eyebrow. “Had a good night, did you?”.

Dean rolled his eyes, but the faint blush creeping up his neck was hard to miss. He tried to brush past Sam, heading for the trunk to help Sam load their gear. “Don’t start, Sammy”, he muttered, though his attempt at being nonchalant was betrayed by the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, I’m just warming up”, Sam replied, following Dean to the back of the car with a wicked grin.

As Dean popped open the trunk, Sam leaned in, his grin growing wider. “So, did you manage to get any actual sleep, or was it… a marathon?”, he teased, waggling his eyebrows for good measure.

Dean shot him a look, a mix of exasperation and amusement. “You got a real talent for sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, you know that?”.

Sam chuckled, unfazed. “Hey, when my big brother rolls in looking like he’s been hit by the ‘love truck’, I think I’m allowed to ask a few questions”.

Dean shook his head, but there was no hiding the soft smile that slipped through. “Alright, fine, I had a good night. You happy?”.

“Yeah, I am”, Sam said, clapping a hand on Dean’s shoulder with a genuine smile. “It’s good to see you like this, man”.

Dean gave him a sidelong look, a bit of warmth creeping back into his eyes. “Thanks, Sammy”, he muttered, shutting the trunk with finality as they loaded up their weapons. “Now, let’s get back to business”.

Sam gave a mock salute, but as they climbed into the Impala, Dean could see his brother’s grin lingering.

As evening fell, Dean stood in front of the motel mirror, groaning quietly as he shrugged on a clean shirt, the movement pulling at sore muscles. After the day they’d had, he was practically covered in cuts and bruises, his back aching from being thrown across half the room by one of the particularly nasty spirits at the haunted house. His chest and shoulders throbbed, the kind of deep, lingering pain that promised to stick around for a while.

He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as he twisted his sore shoulder just enough to catch his reflection. There was no hiding the tired look in his eyes, or the bruises scattered across his arms and neck. It wasn’t the first time he’d come out of a hunt worse for wear, but tonight, it felt particularly exhausting—maybe because he’d been looking forward to seeing you all day.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself as he reached for his jacket. He didn’t want to cancel or show up looking like he’d been through a war zone. Taking a final glance in the mirror, he gave himself a nod, pushing through the discomfort with the usual Winchester resolve.

Just as he finished, Sam glanced over from where he was sitting on the edge of his bed, observing Dean with a raised eyebrow. “You sure you’re up for this?”.

Dean shot him a look, brushing off the concern with a smirk. “Trust me, a couple of bruises aren’t gonna stop me”.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, just try not to collapse halfway through, okay?”.

Dean rolled his eyes, grabbing his keys. “I’ll be fine. And… Don’t wait up”, he muttered, heading out the door.

Meanwhile, you took your time in the shower, letting the warm water ease any tension and lingering nerves. You’d been looking forward to the evening, feeling a mix of excitement and a familiar sense of comfort at the thought of spending time with Dean. The anticipation had a way of making you a little giddy, like you were preparing for a first date all over again.

You took extra care, smoothing on a favorite lotion with a soft, comforting scent that lingered on your skin. After you dressed, you gave yourself one last look in the mirror, brushing through your hair and smoothing down your clothes, making sure every detail was just right.

When the doorbell rang, you opened it to find Dean standing there with his usual confident grin, leaning casually against the doorframe as if everything was perfectly fine. He looked a little more dressed up than usual, but you noticed the faint shadows under his eyes and a hint of stiffness in his stance. He was doing his best to hide it, but it was clear he was dealing with the aftermath of a rough day.

“Hey”, he greeted smoothly, his tone light, like he hadn’t just spent the day dealing with angry spirits. “You look… amazing”.

You returned his smile, taking in the faint bruises along his jaw and the way he was holding himself a little too carefully. “Thanks”, you replied, giving him a once-over that you hoped looked casual. “And you look… sore”.

Dean laughed softly, though he couldn’t quite mask the wince as he straightened up. “Sore? Nah. Just a scratch or two”. He tried to brush it off, but you could see through his act, noting the way his shoulder seemed tense, the subtle flinch as he moved his arm.

“Uh-huh. Come on in”, you said, stepping aside to let him in, deciding not to push it—at least, not yet. He walked in, doing his best to look unaffected as he settled into your cozy living room, glancing around with a smile that softened the roughness from his day.

You went to the kitchen, grabbing a couple of drinks and trying to think of a gentle way to help him relax without making a big deal out of it. When you returned, you sat down next to him, handing him a drink as you leaned back, smiling at him. “You know”, you said, your tone teasing but warm, “it’s okay to admit you had a tough day”.

Dean glanced at you, giving a half-smile before looking away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe a little rougher than I’d planned”, he admitted, a bit sheepish.

As Dean slowly shrugged off his jacket, wincing slightly, you reached over to set his beer on the small table beside him, taking the opportunity to really look at him. The bruises and cuts peeking out from under his sleeves and collar told the story of his day more vividly than any words could. A particularly nasty-looking cut traced along his forearm, and there was a faint line of bruising at the base of his neck, disappearing under his shirt.

“You really got yourself into it today, didn’t you?”, you murmured, reaching out instinctively to brush a thumb over a small scrape near his wrist. He gave a small chuckle, though it came out a bit strained.

“Guess the ghosts had it in for me today”, he said, trying to sound casual. But his eyes softened as he noticed your concern. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’ll be fine”.

Dean kept brushing off your attempts to tend to his injuries, offering dismissive shrugs and that trademark grin, though the discomfort was evident in his eyes. You tried one last time, softly suggesting he let you help clean up a particularly nasty cut along his shoulder, but he just waved you off with a quiet, “I got it, really”.

Eventually, you sighed and let your hand drop, deciding to give up on convincing him. “Alright”, you murmured, trying to hide your frustration. But before you could fully turn away, he reached out, catching your wrist and tugging you toward him with a surprising intensity, landing against his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

Despite the sharp sting of pain that shot through his shoulder from the sudden movement, Dean held you close, determined to show you that he was fine, that he could handle it. His arms wrapped around you with a gentle but firm hold, the steady beat of his heart under your cheek reassuring in its strength. He took a deep, grounding breath, his hand coming up to rest on the back of your head as if to say, I’m here, and I’m alright.

For a moment, he stayed silent, letting the warmth between you speak for itself, the quiet comfort of simply holding you somehow managing to chase away the worst of the ache. “See?”, he whispered finally, his voice low and rough near your ear. “I’m alright”. The words were soft, but there was a quiet determination behind them, an insistence that he could handle himself—even if, deep down, he knew the care in your touch was something he needed just as much.

You pulled back slightly, searching his face, and he met your gaze with a reassuring smile, one that barely masked the lingering pain in his eyes. Gently, you reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead, fingers grazing the line of a fresh bruise. “Dean”, you said, your tone soft but resolute. “I know you’re strong. Just… let me be here for you too, okay?”.

Dean’s voice softened, his words a quiet plea as he murmured, “Then help me get my mind off it”. With a gentle shift of his hands, he guided you to straddle his lap, pulling you closer until you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that left little room for words.

You settled against him, feeling his hands trace up your back, grounding you both in the closeness. His touch was tender, careful, as if savoring each second. He brushed a thumb over your cheek, his eyes softened by the vulnerability he rarely showed anyone, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

With the world outside fading away, he tilted his head and leaned in, pressing his lips softly to yours. The kiss was slow and unhurried, an intimate embrace that seemed to melt the ache of his bruises and replace it with something warm and whole. His fingers trailed down to rest at your waist, holding you close as he deepened the kiss, a sigh of contentment escaping him.

After a while, as the kisses grew deeper and the space between you seemed to disappear, you reached for the hem of Dean’s shirt, your fingers brushing over his skin as you slowly pulled it over his head. The fabric slipped away, revealing the full extent of his injuries, and your breath hitched as you took in the bruises that traced across his chest, shoulders, and arms.

Your gaze lingered on the cuts and bruises, each one a testament to the risks he took, to the life he lived. A pang of concern tightened in your chest, but you fought back the urge to say something, knowing he would only brush it off again. Instead, you raised your hand, your fingertips tracing lightly along the lines of his collarbone, over the bruises with a touch so soft it was barely there.

Dean watched you, his eyes following every movement, his usual bravado softened by the tenderness in your touch. He took a shaky breath, as if the gentle care you showed affected him more than he wanted to admit.

“It’s okay”, he murmured, his voice low, as though he could sense your worry. “I’m okay”.

You met his gaze, seeing the resilience there but also a vulnerability, and without a word, you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder, right where a bruise bloomed.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and he let out a quiet sigh, resting his forehead against yours. The silence was filled with an unspoken understanding, a quiet promise that whatever happened, you’d be there to share the weight of it with him.

It didn’t take long until you found yourself straddling Dean’s now naked hips, a rush of familiarity mixed with the excitement of the moment. His hands rested on your waist, grounding you, his touch both steady and encouraging as you took a breath, your heart racing with anticipation.

Dean’s hands gently guided you, helping to align himself with you, his swollen tip pressing softly against your entrance, the warmth and tension building between you both. He looked up at you, his eyes holding a depth of warmth and tenderness that reassured you, easing any nervousness that lingered. One of his hands brushed a reassuring stroke along your thigh, his other hand steadying you, showing that he was here, fully with you.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you began to lower onto him, feeling him stretch and fill you slowly.

Dean let out a low, guttural groan, his head tilting back slightly as you settled onto him, his hands gripping your waist with a blend of restraint and desire. His gaze dropped between the two of you, watching the connection you shared with a look of almost reverent awe. “Shit", he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this… to you”.

His eyes lifted, meeting yours, and there was an unguarded honesty in his expression that made your breath hitch. The way he looked at you—as though this moment was as profound for him as it was for you—filled you with warmth.

You began to move, easing yourself up and down slowly, each movement sending waves of sensation through you as your body adjusted to the fullness, the stretch pulling quiet whimpers from your lips. The sound only seemed to deepen the connection between you both, making Dean’s grip on your waist tighten slightly, his thumbs tracing gentle circles against your skin in an attempt to steady himself as much as you.

As you moved slowly, one of his hands drifted up from your waist, tracing a gentle line along your side before coming to rest on your breast. His fingers were careful, reverent, as he cupped you, his thumb brushing over your skin in a way that sent another shiver down your spine. His hand lingered there, squeezing gently, adding another layer of closeness to the intimacy between you.

As you softly moaned his name, Dean’s response was immediate and gentle. His head dipped down, and his lips found your nipple, enveloping it with a warmth that made your back arch slightly toward him. His touch was tender yet deliberate, his mouth working in harmony with the hand that wasn’t idling; his thumb and forefinger gently rolled and tugged at your other nipple, creating a dual sensation that had your breath catching in your throat.

The combination of his mouth and fingers was intoxicating, pushing your senses to new heights as he alternated between sucking gently and releasing, creating waves of pleasure that rippled through your entire body.

As you moved against him, finding a rhythm that matched the pulsing desire between you, your nails unknowingly grazed over his shoulders, brushing the sensitive, bruised skin beneath your touch. A low, guttural sound escaped Dean’s throat—a mix of pain and pleasure that made you freeze. “Shit, Dean, I’m so sorry”, you murmured, pulling back slightly, your fingers immediately lifting away from his body, a flicker of shame crossing your expression.

But Dean’s hands shot up to hold yours, stopping you from retreating completely. His gaze softened, and he managed a reassuring smile despite the faint lines of discomfort around his eyes. “No”, he whispered, his voice steady, almost gentle, “don’t stop”. His thumbs brushed over your knuckles, holding your gaze as if to reassure you, his expression filled with a quiet determination. “I’m okay”, he added. “I promise”.

Still, you hesitated, biting your lip, clearly reluctant to add to any pain he was already feeling. Sensing your concern, Dean pulled you closer, guiding your hands to rest against his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath your palms. “You don’t have to hold back”, he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, a hint of vulnerability lacing his words.

After a moment, you nodded, allowing yourself to relax back into the motion, but this time way more mindful.

Sensing the shift in your mood, Dean’s grip on your hips tightened as he tried to urge you back into the rhythm that had been driving you both to the edge just moments ago. “Come on, baby”, he murmured, his voice tinged with both encouragement and need. But when he looked up, hoping to see the same passion and enjoyment in your face, he found you avoiding his gaze, moving more carefully than before. The intensity, the joy that had lit up your expression just a few seconds ago, had faded.

He could feel the hesitance in your movements, how you’d withdrawn into yourself, and it tugged at something deep inside him. The thought of you holding back, bothered him more than he could put into words. With a gentleness that contrasted the urgency of just a few moments before, he loosened his hold on your hips, his fingers tracing soft, reassuring circles against your skin.

“Hey”, he whispered, his tone shifting to one of tender concern. He leaned up slightly, tilting his head to try and meet your eyes, one hand reaching up to cup your face gently. “Look at me”. His thumb brushed your cheek, encouraging you to lift your gaze to his. When your eyes finally met, he saw the worry and guilt flickering there, and his heart ached for you.

“You don’t have to hold back for me”, he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. “I want you to enjoy this… to enjoy us. And I’m tougher than I look”. He offered a small, reassuring smile, one that made his eyes crinkle just slightly. “Promise me, alright?”.

Dean couldn’t help but roll his eyes, a fond smile tugging at his lips as he took in the way you bit your lip, the concern evident on your face. He loved you for it, for that soft, gentle way you cared about him—even when it led to stubbornness that seemed impossible to break through. With a soft, playful grumble, he murmured, “You’re still so damn stubborn, sweetheart”.

Before you could respond, he shifted, guiding you down onto the mattress, his strong arms bracketing you as he hovered above, his gaze intense and filled with both affection and a hint of challenge. Then, without hesitation, he thrust deeply into you, his movements full of purpose, as if he wanted to remind you of the passion that had brought you here.

The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious mix of pleasure and surprise that left you breathless. A moan escaped your lips, loud and uninhibited, followed by a soft curse as your head fell back against the pillow.

Dean’s eyes never left you, his focus entirely on making sure you felt every bit of his presence, the intensity and love that he poured into each thrust. “That’s it”, he murmured, his voice a low, comforting rasp.

But even as you felt yourself melting into the intensity of his movements, a small part of you still held back, reluctant to touch him for fear of hurting him again. But Dean could sense it—the slight hesitance, the restraint—and it only made him push deeper, his movements growing bolder, more intent on drawing every bit of feeling from you.

He leaned down, his voice low and rough with both need and affection. “If you keep your hands to yourself, baby, I might just have to make you grip me”, he murmured, each word filled with purpose as he thrust even harder, his gaze fixed on you with a quiet, challenging intensity.

The power behind his movements had you arching up against him, the depth of his thrusts leaving you breathless and drawing a soft, involuntary moan from your lips. Without thinking, your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as he pressed even closer. The warmth of his skin under your palms, the solid strength of him, reassured you, and the fear of hurting him melted away.

“That’s more like it”, he whispered, his own voice a little unsteady from the feeling of your hands clutching him.

As Dean set a rhythm that was both intense and unrelenting, he seemed to lose himself in the moment, his every movement driving deeper, harder, and filling you completely. His grip on you tightened, and though you didn’t notice, the cuts on his shoulders had reopened slightly. But Dean didn’t care, his focus solely on you, on the way your body responded to each thrust.

The pleasure was overwhelming, leaving you breathless, with his name the only word you could manage, murmured between gasps. His every movement hit your most sensitive spot, brushing your G-spot with a precision that had you shivering uncontrollably, your body barely able to keep up with the intensity of his pace.

You clung to him, your legs wrapping around his waist as his thrusts grew deeper, harder, leaving you completely at his mercy. The sensations built quickly, each one cresting higher than the last, pulling you closer to the edge until you felt yourself on the brink, teetering with each heartbeat, each breath.

“You’re mine, you know that?”, he murmured against your ear, his breath hot on your skin, each word punctuated by a deep, steady thrust that made you gasp. “No one else gets to see you like this… hear you like this”. His fingers dug just slightly into your hips, grounding you both in the moment, his touch a mix of gentle and firm, reminding you just how deeply he felt this.

He brushed his lips along your jaw, his words softening as his tone grew even more intense. “I love watching you fall apart for me”, he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. “Every little sound you make… every shiver… it’s all mine”. His gaze held a mix of admiration and desire, his expression raw and unguarded.

“Just let go”, he urged, his hands steadying you, anchoring you in his hold. “I want to feel every bit of you, sweetheart”. The roughness in his voice was underlined with a quiet affection that made every word feel like a promise, a reminder that in this moment, you were his world.

Dean’s words hit you like a shockwave, the intensity of his possessive tone catching you completely off guard. The rough affection in his voice—claiming you, admiring every reaction you gave him—struck something deep within, sending a fresh surge of heat through you. It was unexpected, raw, and so deeply sincere that it pulled you even closer to the edge.

His gaze never left yours, filled with a fierce tenderness that only intensified the sensations building inside you. The way he looked at you, how his words wrapped around you like a protective embrace, made everything feel more heightened, more electric. The sudden surge of arousal swept through you, pushing you to the brink in mere seconds.

With a sharp, breathless gasp, you felt your body tense, a wave of intense pleasure crashing over you as you came, your entire form shuddering beneath him. The pleasure pulsed through you, leaving you breathless and overwhelmed, your nails digging into his back as you clung to him, riding out the waves of your climax. Dean held you through it, his hands steady.

As you trembled beneath him, still caught in the waves of your climax, Dean couldn’t hold back any longer. The sight of you—your flushed skin, the way his name spilled from your lips, breathless and raw—pushed him over the edge. With a deep, guttural groan, he buried himself in you fully, his body tensing as he joined you in release. The warmth and intensity of his own orgasm surged through him, his hands gripping you tightly, anchoring you both as he let go.

You kept murmuring his name, your eyes closed, lost in the lingering aftermath of your climax, still shivering as the sensation continued to ripple through you. Dean stayed close, his forehead pressed gently to yours as he caught his breath, his touch softening, fingers tracing tender patterns along your waist as he slowly came down.

You lay there, breath still heavy, feeling completely overwhelmed by the intensity of what you’d just shared. Your hands fell limply to your sides, every nerve in your body buzzing with the lingering effects of your climax. Dean stayed close, his gaze soft and warm as he looked down at you, still inside you, as if reluctant to let the moment end.

He reached up, gently brushing his fingers over your cheek, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles. For a few heartbeats, neither of you spoke; words felt almost unnecessary with the way he looked at you, his eyes filled with quiet affection and wonder, as if he couldn’t quite believe this moment was real.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice a soft murmur. “You’re incredible, you know that?”. His tone was laced with warmth, and you felt your heart swell, a smile breaking through despite the exhaustion.

You chuckled softly, your own voice a bit hoarse. “Right back at you, Winchester”.

He grinned, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your forehead, still holding you close, as if he was content to stay like this a little longer.

After the shower, where the two of you had inevitably found yourselves wrapped up in each other again, Dean gently helped you into a plush robe, his touch lingering as he tied the belt around your waist. Your hair was still damp, strands sticking to your skin in delicate curls, and you looked up at him with wide eyes, a softness in your gaze that seemed to melt something inside him.

Dean brushed a few stray strands of hair back from your face, his fingers gentle, almost reverent, as they traced the line of your jaw. He paused, his thumb brushing your cheek, the familiar spark in his eyes mingling with something deeper, a quiet, unspoken affection that made your heart race all over again.

“You’re looking at me like that”, he murmured, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he took in the way you watched him.

You bit your lip, feeling a shy smile break through, the warmth in his gaze making you feel giddy and adored. “Like what?”.

“Like I’m still that kid sneaking in through your window”, he replied, his tone gentle but playful, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

Dean looked at you for a moment longer, an unspoken tenderness lingering in his gaze, as if he wanted to say something—something deep and meaningful, words that hung just on the edge of his lips. But instead, he simply leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his hand gently resting at the back of your head, grounding you both in that quiet moment of intimacy.

As he pulled back, he offered you a small, affectionate smile before turning to slip back into his clothes.

You bit your lip, watching him with that familiar warmth as he lingered by the door, his presence filling the room in a way that made it feel safe, complete. A playful smile tugged at your lips as you whispered, “Up for a midnight snack?”.

Dean’s face lit up with a smirk, a spark of interest flickering in his eyes. “You know me too well”, he murmured, stepping away from the door and back toward you, unable to resist the idea. “I could eat”.

You chuckled softly, gesturing for him to follow you as you padded barefoot to the kitchen, the warmth of your shared laughter making everything feel light and easy. As you rummaged through the fridge, Dean leaned against the counter, watching you with a quiet contentment that made you feel like this was exactly where you were both meant to be.

Pulling out a couple of leftover treats and setting them on the counter, you felt his hands find their way to your waist from behind, his touch gentle but grounding. “Midnight snacks with you”, he murmured, his chin resting on your shoulder as he glanced down at the food, “best part of my life”.

You turned slightly to look at him, meeting his gaze as a soft warmth settled over you both. "Well, don’t get too comfortable”, you teased. “I’m not sharing the last piece of pie”.

He chuckled, his eyes gleaming as he tightened his grip on your waist slightly. “Oh, we’ll see about that”.

You pulled out the piece of pie, smiling as you held it up for him. Before you could even offer it, Dean’s hands found your waist, his grip firm but gentle as he lifted you effortlessly onto the counter. A surprised laugh escaped you as he settled himself between your legs, his hands resting on either side of you, trapping you in the best way.

“You bought this just for me, didn’t you?”, he murmured, his voice low, his gaze flickering between the pie and your face. There was a warmth in his eyes, softened by a hint of playfulness, as he leaned in, his face inches from yours.

You nodded, biting your lip. “Maybe I did”, you replied, unable to hide the smile spreading across your face.

Dean’s eyes lit up, but instead of reaching for the pie, his hands found their way to your waist again, fingers pressing into your hips. He pulled you closer to him, his warmth seeping into you as he tilted his head, his voice a soft murmur. “You spoil me, you know that?”.

Your heart fluttered at the sincerity in his tone, but before you could respond, he closed the space between you, his lips capturing yours in a gentle but insistent kiss. The pie was momentarily forgotten as his hands slid up your sides, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until you melted into him, completely wrapped up in the warmth and comfort of his embrace.

Pulling back slightly, he gave you that familiar, mischievous smile. “Maybe we can share… unless, of course, you’d rather have me all to yourself”.

You couldn’t resist the playful glint in his eyes, so you leaned in, your voice soft but teasing as you set the cake aside on the counter. “Oh, I don’t know, Dean… maybe I do want you all to myself”. You let your fingers trail lightly over his shoulders, your wide grin matching his.

Dean raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by the spark in your tone, his hands moving instinctively to your waist, squeezing just a bit. “Oh, is that right?”, he murmured, leaning in close, his lips brushing against yours with a deliberate slowness that made your heart race. “Guess I’ll just have to make sure you don’t regret it”.

You let out a soft laugh, feeling the warmth of his breath as he held himself close, his hands firm around you. Every little movement, every touch felt charged, full of the anticipation that hung between you. Dean’s eyes lingered on yours for a moment, his gaze dropping to your lips before he finally closed the space, pressing his mouth to yours in a kiss that was both sweet and filled with a simmering intensity.

As his lips left yours, he let his forehead rest against yours for a second. “Now”. he said with a grin, glancing over at the cake, “are we gonna eat that, or do you have other plans?”.

You smiled, savoring the feeling of his forehead against yours, the warmth of his presence making your heart flutter. With a teasing glint in your eyes, you leaned back slightly, your fingers trailing up his chest as you nodded toward the cake beside you on the counter.

“Well”, you said, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips, “maybe I thought I’d let you have a taste… of both”. You reached over, picking up a small bite of the cake and holding it up, daring him with your gaze.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head at you, clearly amused and entirely smitten. He leaned in, taking the bite from your fingers, his eyes never leaving yours, a playful look sparking in his gaze. “You’re trouble, you know that?”, he said, his voice low and warm as he brushed a crumb off your finger with his thumb.

“Maybe”, you whispered back, the warmth in your voice mirroring his, “but you don’t seem to mind”.

He smiled, his hands slipping back to your waist as he pulled you closer, his voice a murmur. “Not even a little”. And with that, he closed the space between you, pressing his lips to yours once again, the taste of sweetness lingering as he kissed you, the world outside fading away.

Before you even had a moment to fully realize his intentions, Dean’s hands slid to the sides of your thighs, gently urging them apart as he pressed closer, his gaze locked with yours. In one fluid, instinctive motion, he pushed down his boxers, his movements both sure and unhurried, the intensity in his eyes making your heart race.

Your breath caught as he eased himself back inside you, the connection rekindling in an instant, filling you with an exhilarating warmth. The familiar feel of him, so close and intimate, sent a wave of sensation through you, and a soft gasp escaped your lips as he held you steady, grounding you in the moment.

He paused for a beat, just looking at you, his expression one of quiet reverence and pure, unguarded affection. Then, he leaned in, his forehead pressed gently against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he began to move, each slow, deliberate thrust bringing you closer, drawing you back into the spell of his touch.

His thrusts were deep and deliberate, echoing the quiet urgency that filled the space between you. The sound of your wetness punctuated the air. You bit your lip, your breaths quick and mingling with his, each exhale a whisper of pleasure.

“Feels good?”, Dean’s voice was low, a touch of his usual cockiness laced with a huskiness that sent shivers down your spine. His gaze was intense, focused entirely on you, watching for every reaction, every flicker of pleasure that crossed your face.

Despite the lingering soreness, the sensation of him moving inside you was overwhelmingly right. You nodded, unable to keep back a moan. “Always does”, you managed to say, your voice breathy.

You placed your hands gently on his forearms, careful to avoid his bruises, your touch light and tender. His steady, almost lazy rhythm had you melting into him.

After a beat, Dean’s lips curled into a small, affectionate smile. “You know”, he murmured, his voice a soft rasp, “I could get used to this… coming home to you”.

Dean’s gaze dropped, lingering on the place where your bodies connected, a look of reverence mixed with undeniable desire crossing his face. His lips parted slightly, clearly captivated by the sight, when you broke the silence, your voice breathless, barely more than a teasing moan.

“Home to me… or in me?”, you asked, a playful smile curving your lips even as you struggled to keep your voice steady.

Dean’s eyes flicked back up to meet yours, and he let out a low chuckle, his hands tightening on your hips. “Both”, he murmured, his tone filled with that familiar cocky edge, softened by something deeper. “But especially to you”, he added, his voice low.

Dean leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Wanna come for me?”, he whispered, his words laced with both encouragement and a subtle challenge that sent a shiver down your spine.

As he spoke, his thumb found your clit, moving in gentle, deliberate circles, each touch perfectly timed to match the slow rhythm of his hips. The sensation was overwhelming, each movement building the pleasure within you to a fever pitch. You felt your breath catch, your body instinctively responding to the pressure and warmth of his touch.

Dean’s gaze stayed on you, his eyes filled with that familiar intensity, watching every change in your expression, every subtle sign of your pleasure building under his hand. His thumb continued its steady, insistent motion, guiding you closer and closer, his voice a quiet anchor in the haze of sensation. “That’s it… let go”, he murmured, his words grounding you even as you felt yourself nearing the edge.

Your hands gripped his arms, his name spilling from your lips as the pleasure crescendoed, building until it felt like it was going to break you apart in the best way. Finally, the wave crashed over you, and you surrendered, every part of you consumed by the release as he held you steady.

As your body relaxed into the aftermath of your release, you felt Dean's rhythm begin to stutter, his grip tightening on your hips as he approached his own peak. His breaths grew ragged, each thrust carrying a mixture of intensity and urgency. Watching you, so wrapped up in your pleasure, had driven him to the edge, and with a low, guttural groan, he finally let go.

He held onto you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he shuddered through his release, his grip gentle yet unyielding as he stayed close. His body softened against yours, his breathing slowly steadying as he came down. Neither of you moved for a while, caught in the quiet aftermath, wrapped in each other’s arms.

After a few moments, Dean lifted his head, his gaze soft and affectionate as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “You’re something else, you know that?”.

You held him close, whispering, “I’m not doing anything”, your voice soft, almost shy. Your fingers traced delicately over his skin, brushing against the fresh scrapes and bruises that had reopened. The sight made you bite your lip in worry, a pang of guilt flaring as you gently scanned for any tissues or something nearby to help clean him up.

Dean noticed your shift in focus, catching the worried look in your eyes. He gently wrapped his hand around yours, stopping your search. “Hey”, he murmured.

Dean gave you a soft, reassuring smile, his thumb brushing gently over your hand as he murmured, “It’s alright. Really”. But you just sighed, the concern in your eyes unwavering as you looked him over.

“No more action tonight”, you said, trying to sound firm, though a hint of softness lingered in your voice. “And by that, I mean… no more of this”, you added with a pointed look, hinting at the intense night you’d just shared. “Let’s get this cake and just… go to bed”.

Dean couldn’t hold back a playful smirk, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. “Are you trying to boss me around?”, he teased, raising an eyebrow as he crossed his arms, leaning against the counter as if daring you.

You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. “I mean it, Dean. You need some rest, and, well… I need to keep you in one piece, don’t I?”.

He chuckled, feigning defeat as he straightened up. “Alright, alright. No more action. But”, he added with a grin, “I’m holding you to that cake promise”.

You handed him the slice with a playful smile, and he accepted it, taking a bite before wrapping an arm around you. “Guess this isn’t a bad way to end the night”, he said softly, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

Together, you headed toward the bedroom, cake in hand, the warmth of his presence beside you making everything feel complete.

———————————

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

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[chevroletdean]

Tainted — Chapter 3: Bruised Fruits & Rotten Cores

SUMMARY: Although they’ve brought Dean back to the bunker, the problem remains. His demonic side has taken over. Can they find a cure for the curse before things escalate?

SHIP: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader (MOC!Dean x Reader, Demon!Dean x Reader) GENRE: Angst TO NOTE/WARNINGS: Season 10 spoilers, established relationship,angst, torture, needles and syringes, use of y/n (twice), cussing, violence, demon!dean being an asshole again, some suggestive remarks, mentions of cheating, poorly proofread by yours truly WORD COUNT: 4.8k A/N: Three things heavily inspired this chapter: Did you know that 10x03 is my favorite Supernatural episode? Jensen did a fantastic job directing it. You'll notice a pattern here, by which I roughly follow the plot of some of season 9's and season 10's episodes. Another thing is that one scene of Princess Mononoke, iykyk. Last but not least, the @jacklesversebingo challenge inspired this chapter, but honestly gave me the final push to write the whole fanfiction. PROMPT: The Blade of a Knife Glinting in the Moonlight CREDIT & LINKS: header & divider by me ──〃★ series masterlist ──〃★ jacklesverse masterlist

⏪PREV. CHAPTER ⏯️PLAYLIST

Who knew how blurry the lines between torment and salvation could get?

Watching Sam inject yet another dose of purified blood into his brother’s arm had her instinctively clutch her own. It felt as though she was the one being tortured, not Dean.

They’ve thought back and forth on what to do, and this was the best plan they could come up with.

Exorcising him was out of the question as Dean was technically not possessed. If a demonic entity were to leave his body, surely nothing but an empty corpse would be left behind. Plus, what vessel without the Mark of Cain could he even use, then, and what damages would that cause for him and the poor bastard he’d possess?

No, they had to turn the corrupted soul back into a human one.

Curing a demon, according to the lore, was possible, even though they had never completed an experiment like this. In theory, it could be done, though. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself as she observed the situation with increasing anxiety.

The mere sight of Dean in heavy chains, tied to an iron chair in the middle of a dungeon, surrounded by pentagrams and protective sigils all around, was enough to burden her with concern. The Latin incantations, the holy water, the purified blood — they were inflicting obvious pain on him.

At least to the demonic part of him.

It wasn’t easy to tell where the one version of Dean ended and the other began. If there was even any particle of the old, human Dean left.

She could barely look at the needle, let alone listen to Dean’s pained grunt.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?,” he sneered, the smirk on his lips taunting regardless of his labored, pained breathing. “Can’t even look at the damage you caused, huh?”

A low blow, but he was hitting where he knew it would hurt. She already felt like shit for making him go through this. She already felt responsible for even letting it go this far.

Mumbling a half-assed excuse in Sam’s direction, she made a beeline towards the exit. She slipped through the heavy iron door and into the hallway, where she wasn’t able to take a breath deep enough to soothe her frayed nerves.

There was more screaming coming from the room they had imprisoned Dean in and never before did she wish she could drown out a sound more than now.

There was no indication of how much time had passed. It could’ve ranged anywhere from a couple of minutes to a solid hour.

To her, everything felt like an eternity lately.

She had spent an eternity without Dean, another eternity tailing him, now barely 48 hours have passed since they finally caught him and her perception of time was still warped.

“Hey,” a familiar voice behind her startled her into a wince.

She turned to Sam, whom she gave an apologetic expression and a silent nod.

“Sorry for leaving you hanging just now,” she muttered, voice laced with the kind of exhaustion sleep couldn’t fix, “I couldn’t bear watching all of that.”

Sam, ever the patient and understanding one, gave a empathetic nod. Bless his kind soul.

She still saw herself as the culprit in all of this. Even if she hadn’t actively been the one to turn Dean into a demon, he had a point: She was a co-artist of this mess, yet too pathetic to own up properly. For Sam to treat her with such compassion, then, seemed unfair.

“I hear you, I need a break too,” Sam sighed, a similar fatigue etched into his demeanor. “Dean could use one as well.”

At that, she tensed visibly. Tight-lipped, she only managed a brief, but meek hum. They were all on edge, and while the pressure of it all definitely crushed Sam and her, this was still about Dean. Ultimately, he was the one subjected to all the pain.

“What if it won’t work?,” she asked, her fear-filled question barely intelligible with how breathless her voice was. “What if we just end up hurting him more?”

Sam placed a soothing hand on her shoulder, but nothing could console her entirely.

“I think we’re making progress,” he responded, though they both knew there was no way of truly telling that. “It’ll be done soon.”

Neither them nor anybody they knew had ever performed the curation of a demon. They tried it with Crowley before, but couldn’t go through with it. What if this was just another experiment prone to failure?

She remained silent at his side, neither knowing what to say nor having the motivation to find the right words for her concerns.

“Just a little more, right?,” Sam sighed insistently and emphasized his words with a gentle squeeze to her shoulder. “No need to push it. Let’s take a breath for now and grab something to eat. I’ll buy some takeout, wanna come with?”

Reluctantly, she shook her head. She had enough of feeling useless.

“Someone has to keep an eye on him,” she replied.

It was the least she could do.

“Will you be okay?,” Sam probed.

Biting her lower lip, she nodded and forced a crooked smile unto her face. Not that she was looking forward to the task, but at the same time it was something she wanted to do, something she needed to do.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

She walked alongside him towards the War Room on the pretext of reminding him what food to order for her. Of course Sam already knew everyone’s go-to burger toppings by heart. She was stalling. Any minute she did not have to spend in the Dungeon was valuable to her.

“You sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yes, Sam, I promise,” she sighed. “I’ll call if I freak out, okay?”

While not entirely convinced, that seemed to reassure Sam just enough to head out.

A deafening silence befell the Bunker right away. It wasn’t any less crushing than the atmosphere in the Dungeon, so she steeled herself with a deep breath and decided to take the bull by the horns.

Each step down the stairs was more dreadful than the last, but she made her way back to that damned iron door, which she opened with as much confidence as she could muster. Within, Dean still sat tied to that chair, his expression a miraculous triad of bemusement, being pissed, and exhaustion.

“Came back all by yourself, sweetcheeks?,” he huffed and she could tell the effort it took him to curl his lips into a teasing smirk. “Where’d you leave Sasquatch?”

Purposefully ignoring his taunts, she ventured to the sink, grabbed the handtowel and held it under lukewarm water for a bit. While she could barely manage to look Dean in the eyes, she did approach the chair with a confident stride.

“How’re you feeling?,” she asked, the softness lacing her voice surprising even herself.

“Like I’m being cooked from the inside,” Dean rasped bitterly. He certainly looked the part, skin pale and sweat sticking to his forehead. The treatment was definitely an intense one. His blood must be boiling not only in the figurative sense.

Against her better judgement, she stepped inside the circle. Dangerous or not, she had to get closer to Dean somehow if she wanted to help him.

His sharp eyes did not leave her form, though she thought it to be a good sign that it was that familiar green she was met with instead of the jet-black.

It might be noteworthy to say that she wasn’t scared. Not of Dean, anyway. While the demon was definitely capable of hurting her, they had taken enough precautions. Plus, it was still Dean she was dealing with. Turned comically super-villain, maybe, but she trusted herself to know how to handle him either way.

She was worried, if anything, to mess up again. To harm him further. All she wanted was to help him.

Thus, her hand was steady as she placed it on Dean’s forehead. Even as his brows furrowed and he narrowed his eyes at her — both in confusion and annoyance — she didn’t falter. Just as she had guessed, he was burning up.

If only for a short moment, she felt him lean into the touch, as if the cool sensation of her skin against his was soothing. Even if Dean wanted to lash out like a caged animal, he was in no condition to fight back much currently.

She slowly withdrew her hand, replacing it with the damp towel instead to gently dab away at his skin. Her gaze wandered to the table Sam had set up, an arrangement of syringes, holy water, and cooling boxes filled with bags of purified blood sitting atop.

“Think you can handle another round?,” she asked, though she wasn’t exactly a huge fan of the idea. Just watching Sam do this had given her nausea earlier. Still, they couldn’t just give up now.

“Is that supposed to be a kinky question?” Dean’s quip lost half of its jeering nature due to the strain in his voice. “What’s next, you telling me you’ll be gentle before you jab that needle into me?”

At least he was still joking around at all. Bitterly so, but she preferred that over lethargy. She took his attempt at humor and jabs as him being in high enough spirits for another shot. The faster they’d get this over with, the better, right?

Dean’s eyes remained glued to her even as she assessed the equipment on the table.

“What’s this whole good-cop-bad-cop act for anyway?,” he scoffed. His fists clenched and unclenched, just the way his jaw locked repeatedly. “Fuck, what’s this whole cure bullshit for anyway?”

Her head spun towards him, bottom lip jutting out into a frown. Looking at her was like looking at a car crash, the view just stirred unwanted discomfort in him, but he couldn’t bring himself to peel his eyes away.

This whole procedure was seriously messing with his head.

“We’re just trying to help you, Dean,” she mumbled, sounding almost disappointed.

“I didn’t ask for any help,” he hissed harshly. His attempts of pulling away were, of course, for naught. The cuffs were on tight, metal and leather biting into his wrists and elbows. “How’re you so sure your savior complex will even work in your favor?”

He saw the twitch in her brow and he knew he was getting under her skin more than any needle could ever penetrate his.

“Sore topic?,” he huffed and tilted his head. “My bad, thought I might ask the doc about any side effects before she pumps more medicine into me.”

She wished she could say there were no side effects. But she saw the aftermath of this treatment right in front of her, didn’t she?

“You’ll be fine,” she grumbled more to herself, and hoping to make herself believe it too. It earned her nothing but a dismissive scoff from Dean.

“At least be honest with me here,” he quipped. “You haven’t got any goddamn clue what you’re doing. All you’re worried about is killing your precious loverboy, but honestly? That part’s long gone already, so whenever you’re ready with playing nurse, feel free to drop the cuffs and let me leave, before you make it worse than it already is.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, clearly offended that this was all a game to him. To her, it was serious.

Syringe in one hand, flask with holy water in the other, she positioned the needle. Dean tensed visibly and he did try thrashing against his restraints, but temper tantrums were getting him nowhere.

“Son of a–!” Dean growled, face scrunching up in pain upon the liquid traversing through his veins. It was like a sizzle in his stream, a sharp sting flowing through his whole body.

What had her heart throb the most were snippets of the old Dean slipping through the cracks. While it should nurture the hope within her that he was not fully gone just yet, it filled her with dread to inflict this pain upon him all the same.

He inhaled sharply and groaned upon exhaling, glaring at her with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine. Dean’s anger she knew to be fiery and burning. Demonic Dean’s was eerily icy in contrast.

“You’ll regret this when I get out of here and tear your pretty face off, princess,” he threatened, the tremor in his voice all due to raw fury.

It was then that her phone rang.

Dismissing Dean’s dagger-throwing glare, she withdrew from him and stepped outside to accept the call. Turns out, amidst all the chaos, she had forgotten to reach out to her friend about the case.

“Where the hell are you?,” they inquired, nearly shouted. “I thought you finished that job! Care to fill me in on why the fuck I just found out there were two more victims?”

“Shit,” she grumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose. As if there wasn’t enough going on already. “Something came up, I had to leave. I forgot to call you, I’m so sorry.”

“Damnit, Y/N! That ghost isn’t going to get rid of itself,” they argued in frustration. “Did you at least figure out where the guy’s buried?”

Glancing back towards the door for a moment, the huntress bit her lower lip. “No, he was cremated, but there’s that journal of his,” she mumbled, contemplating. “Give me a second, I’ll go over what I found and text you the details.”

Figuring it would only take two or three minutes, she hung up the call and scrambled back upstairs. The door to her room— her and Dean’s room, might as well have been a thick brick wall to her. With a creak, she opened it and stepped inside.

Immediately she was hit with a wave of emotion.

Since getting back to the Bunker, she hadn’t even unpacked that duffel bag. She had just thrown it near the bed and left it there to rot. The past couple of weeks her sole focus had been on finding and curing Dean.

She had barely been in this room, mostly staying up all night in the library or falling asleep there. Without Dean, these four walls were nothing but a prison for heartache inducing memories.

“Just three minutes,” she reminded herself as she flicked on the ceiling light.

A moon-shaped sphere-pendant from the kid’s section at Walmart.

She remembered Dean’s teasing smirk when she had pointed at it, but no matter how much he made fun of her for liking that childish thing, he installed it the very same day. Dean always went out of his way to make this sterile, dusty building feel like a home. Their home.

Without any windows in this underground hideout, she sometimes wondered how the Men of Letters had not spent their research days missing natural light. Not even a glimpse of a star? Despite her appreciating the security of the layout, that lamp was a must-have to reclaim some sense of freedom.

Later that same evening, even Dean had admitted that the different settings, which ranged from dimmed, warm white to bright, blue-ish hues had a soothing effect.

“So whenever I’m making out with my girl, there’ll be aliens watching now?,” Dean had joked back then, cheeky grin flashing across his face as the dork wiggled his eyebrows. Leave it to her boyfriend to venture from the romantic atmosphere of a full moon to silly jokes about conspiracy theories.

She had just rolled her eyes and snorted. “Sure, aliens,” was her bemused response, because Dean’s laughter in particular was always contageous. “We better give E.T. one hell of a show.”

Pushing aside memories of easier days, the hunter grabbed her bag and shuffled through it.

After tossing aside dirty clothes, one moldy apple so smushed it nearly fell apart, and various other junk, she finally pulled out a folder. As she flipped through the documents, she took pictures of her notes and sent them to her friend. Luckily, she had written down all the information necessary to put the ghost to rest.

Sending…

Sending…

Since when were the messages loading this slowly? Squinting at her phone, she realized her connection was broken. Considering Charlie and Sam had spent a good amount of time modernizing the Bunker’s setup, this was definitely odd.

As if on cue, the glow of the moon was no more. In fact, every light, every electronic device, every buzzing noise was suddenly snuffed out.

Startled by the blackout, her heart sank.

The emergency power roared to life, painting the location in a deep, red glow of neon. She knew then this wasn’t just a system error — someone had locked all exits and entrances on purpose.

Few things could cause the Bunker to just shut down like that, all of which were someone’s intentional, manual doing. Unless Sam was back and feeling like pulling a prank on her today, it could’ve only been…

Swiftly, she fished for her bag again, pulling out an angel blade. The weapon was heavy in her clammy hand, threatening to slip from her grip. She hurried out of the room, back sliding across the wall as she scavenged the area.

“Tag, I’m It,” Dean’s sing-sang voice all but boomed through the hallway. “Here’s how it’s gonna go, sweetheart. I said I was gonna make ya regret all that nonsense down there. But, to be fair, I should say thanks. All the human blood just made the cuffs and the devil’s trap straight worthless.”

Along with his words, an unsettling scraping noise echoed off the grey walls. Whatever object Dean was holding, he made sure to let it ring and clank loudly whenever he tapped it against the stone.

She sure as hell didn’t want to find out what weapon he had picked out, but given that his heavy footsteps were too close for comfort, she didn’t know whether she had a say in that. Realizing she was practically moving in his direction, she stepped back quickly.

He was just rounding the corner when she made the quick decision to slip back into their bedroom and hide behind the door. Of course this, of all places, would be her deathtrap.

Praying he wouldn’t hear the noise, she locked the door from inside and held her breath. Her heart was beating up to her throat, a relentess thrumming that rattled her very bones. Her ears perked up at the slow thuds of footsteps outside, getting closer and closer.

“You wanna play dirty, sweetheart?”

His voice appeared right by the door.

And his steps stopped right in front of it.

Fuck.

“Fine,” he hummed. “Let’s play dirty.”

With that final warning, wooden splinters flew across the room. Suppressing her yelp did not secure her hiding spot. Dean took another swing at the door, slamming the hammer right through it and chipping away at the barrier piece by piece.

“Dean, you don’t wanna do this,” she pleaded as she leapt backwards, dodging the debris and holding up her blade. She backed up to the other side of the room, but she was still cornered.

His lips curled into a victorious grin, as dark and sinister as his eyes. “Oh, no, I definitely wanna do this.”

Before she could even think about an escape route, he kicked whatever was left of the door open and charged at her, leaving her to duck. Instead of striking her across the head, the hammer smashed right into the wall behind her.

Still, she was far from being in the clear. Dean as a hunter was a force to be reckoned with as is, but as a demon his strength was downright terrifying. His speed remained unmatched as he shoved her backwards and pinned her in place.

Déjà-vu.

Again, he had her right where he wanted her. Except she wasn’t so positive anyone could come and save the day this time around. Dean was smarter than to mistake her for a damsel in distress, but they both knew even with her skills she was walking on thin ice.

“Where did we leave off last time?,” he grinned. “Or should I just skip straight to the good part?”

By squirming under his grasp, she tested his grip, but he only tightened it further. One of his hands prevented her from using her weapon, the other firmly pushed her shoulder into the wall.

“See, even the old Dean definitely fantasized about this,” the man smirked.

That revelation shouldn’t have shocked her as much as it did. She knew the dark urges the Mark of Cain bestowed upon her boyfriend. But somehow, in her naïveté, she believed that she was not part of these twisted desires.

Not directly, anyway. He’d always speak of slaughtering monsters, sometimes just craving to sink a blade into anyone in general. Never did he specifically mention her involvement in these violent fantasies.

However, as hard of a pill that it was to swallow, it made sense.

The Mark wouldn’t distinguish between monsters to kill or humans to murder. And why should she be excluded? If anything, the more sinister the urge, the better for the curse, right? And what better way to drain Dean’s sanity — to drain his humanity — than by planting the idea of killing his beloved into his brain?

While she knew to not take it personal, it was still a horrifying, numbing thought.

Dean’s eyes were jet-black, yet she could tell that the direction of his gaze followed the movement of his hand. He trailed his palm down her collarbone. Down the valley of her breasts, where he splayed his fingers.

“Of course, goody-two-shoes Dean was too much of a damn coward to actually do it,” he went on bemusedly, his touch ghosting across her chest.

He could feel her pulse dancing just underneath his hand. The pitter-patter of her heart resembled that of a little, helpless rabbit. Struggling to stay alive. Kicking and screaming.

Prey trapped in a spider’s web.

He was milking it, savoring the taste of her shallow breath and the victory of her wide eyes.

“Upgraded Dean, though?” He paused to whistle briefly. “He wants to rip that pretty little heart out and take a nice bite of it while it’s still fresh and beating.”

“And they say romance is dead,” she scoffed through a tight throat and gritted teeth. “Is that how you flirt all the girls?”

“Still upset about the whole unfaithfulness thing?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s not the problem here, stop trying to deflect.”

“I think you’re the one deflecting, acting all tough and brave. C’mon, you can admit that you’re jealous. And scared.”

This fucking guy. He was unbelievable.

Of course he couldn’t just go through with his threats, he had to be insufferable about it. Playing into her guilt, poking and probing where he knew it would upset her.

She knew he was trying to make her angry. And of course it was working. Fueled by her rage, she twisted her arms and broke free from his grip with a sudden tug. All that hunting and training wasn’t just for show.

The demon definitely deserved that elbow to his face.

She popped him right in the nose, a cringeworthy cracking noise echoing off the walls. Even with his enhanced powers, the blow did stun him and he tipped his head back with an agonized grunt.

God, was that satisfying. All this pent up stress and his constant teasing.

“I spent months trying to find your sorry ass!”

Dean laughed, head falling forward again to reveal the crimson dripping down his nostril. In the bright red glow surrounding them, it almost looked black. The blood drizzled down to the curve of his lips and even partially stained his teeth that he flashed at her when he grinned.

“Sounds like a you problem, dollface. I didn’t ask for your help.”

Except he had. Why else had he begged her to make that stupid promise?

“You—”

She’s had it. Shoving him roughly, she pushed him off. Or rather, she jumped straight into him, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

Even though she was on top of him, straddling his waist, pointing the tip of the angel blade right to the hollow of his throat, did she really have the upper hand on him?

How could she call this a victory? This was not what she wanted. None of this. It was, for whatever reason, his wish, if anything. He was making her play right into his cards.

“Feisty as ever,” Dean smirked. If she didn’t know it any better, she’d almost say he was praising her proudly. “You know how much I enjoy you taking charge.”

Her grip on the weapon tightened. Even now he was letting glimpses of their past bleed through. Even positioned underneath her, knife to his throat, he acted like he had full control over the situation.

As if he was the victorious one. Like any of this was what he wanted. All of it.

“Why?” The tremor in her voice was obvious.

“It’s hot,” he shrugged for an answer.

“Shut up,” she scoffed. Clearly not what she was asking. “Why are you so desperately trying to make me do this?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Asking me to kill you, going behind my back to chase after Metatron, running away from me. Now this? Tricking me into stabbing you? Why are you trying so hard to make me give up on you?”

He remained silent underneath her, unmoving. Not even the smirk on his lips faded, though the mischevious spark of it no longer reached his eyes.

Suddenly, the power went back to normal. Sam’s alarmed voice rang through the hallway as he called out for both of them in panicked fashion.

The LEDs of the emergency lights faded, the glow in the room no longer an alarming red, but a dimmed, soft white. Their own little artificial moon, illuminating their homemade little world, shone down on the couple.

Dean tipped his chin back, as if arching further into the glint of her knife.

His patient eyes, emerald again, did not leave hers for even a second, still waiting for her to deliver that final blow. When her trembling hand threatened to pull away, Dean’s darted up to grasp her wrist and force the weapon closer to him.

“‘Cause I can’t move on until you do,” Dean spoke, calmer than she had heard him speak in forever.

Still, she shook her head, eyes softening.

“I promised you I wouldn’t,” she reminded him.

He scoffed, mouth twitching into what could only be described as a sad smile. “Not what I asked you to promise me, technically.”

“Since when do we get what we want?”

His jaw clenched and she watched the turmoil in his stormy eyes.

Hurried footsteps indicated Sam’s arrival, but finally, she had the situation under control.

“Y/N—”

She dismissed Sam by holding up her free hand, indicating for him to wait.

For once since this whole curse tainted their lives, she was finally able to get through to Dean.

“We’re so close, Dean,” she muttered. Even if they were miles away from the goal, she wouldn’t give up on him. But they were right at the finish line. “It’s working. The chains, the traps, you’re less and less demon. Let me help you. Please.”

Sam looked back and forth between her and his brother, briefly scanning their surroundings — a trashed door, a hammer sticking in the wall, blood smeared around Dean’s nose. Complete silence occupied the space and although instinct told him to intervene, he let her handle the situation.

Dean’s gaze wandered to the hand he was still holding, then back to her eyes. He let up on his grip, fingers now merely resting around hers, and parted his lips.

“Okay.”

Dean Winchester Taglist:

@ladysparkles78 @ariasong11 @winchester-whiskey @whormotional @spacecowgirl126

@zepskies @calibootsgirl @hot-and-confused @spookyfunhottub @berryblues46

@midnight--raine @emmy21842 @whichwitchwanda @foxyjwls007 @lyarr24

@whump-loverz @cassieriddle713

Put a green heart 💚 in the comments to be added to the Dean x Reader taglist. Let me know, if you want to be tagged for this Series specifically. (Please note: Ageless blogs will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts!).

[daniisms]

the divine . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁ALBUM

•☽────────────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────────────☾•

THE DIVINE WERE THOSE WHO GREW UP IN THE BEST OF CONDITIONS— FOREVER SHOWERED WITH LOVE AND AFFECTION AND GOT THE PRIVILEGE OF A GLOW ADORNING THEIR SKIN. THE BROKEN WERE THOSE WHO KNEW NOTHING BUT PAIN, SUFFERING, TORMENT— FULL HEARTS WITH NO ONE TO GIVE THEM TO AND CURSED WITH THE DULLING OF ALL THEY HAD TO THEIR NAMES. IT WAS A CRUEL WORLD, BUT THERE WERE SOME NICHES PEOPLE COULD CALL THEIR HEAVEN.

•☽────────────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────────────☾•

she, the divine

she’s his little sun. always as a glow around her which darkens everything by comparison — which all DIVINES do — but he’d never hate her glow like he did the others. the picture of purity and innocence that never stops in her head, a sparkling river of sweet smiles, gentle words and skin as soft as satin. she amazed him with her kindness, how she looked at him like he mattered, with those big eyes that held the secret to serenity in them. her. his baby, his sweetheart, his girl.

•☽────────────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────────────☾•

•☽────────────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────────────☾•

he, the broken

he’s her sweet boy. he looked dull and felt it — like a BROKEN always did — she didn’t mind it, to her, he hung the stars and the sun and everything that she pointed at with awe. she wanted him to glow too, like her, and she spent every night tracing his freckles or complimenting his eyes— he was everything to her. it felt like a daydream, that he was his loved. him. her hero, her pretty, her boy.

•☽────────────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────────────☾•

glow (soon) ☾•

ours (soon) ☾•

•☽────────────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────────────☾•

TAGLIST ↴

@goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

@dob-4-life @marcis-mixtapez @nonoreas0n @gabrielasilva1510

@lucyholmes13 @pandadork-blog1 @nicolstancu @malusinhaaaa @dybalabandolero

@a-cup-of-nightshade @tomatoessoup @sh0rtcakee @fall-06 @mckaykay-fandoms

@b3th13

@demonxangelomegaverse @deanwinchestersgirl87 @capailluiscedove @i723l-interrupted2323 @niyomiii

@all-the-fan-fic @eviekinevie8 @sunflowerlover57

@1-800-dean-winchester

@darichvep @idk-usernme @supernaturalmarvel3000 @ega2025 @deanbrainrotwritings

@targaryenluvs @bucky-hydra-hoe-barnes @leigh70 @aintnowayboi @ripoffsteveharrington

@gleefulleve @sacrosankta

@riteofpassage77 @eevvvaa @thedevilortheangel @thorsballhair @barbienotdoll

@4e1h3r @wolfieblue03 @kianaleani @vicky199625 @sassyslut2003

@impyrz

@didisull @miwp @lastcallatrockysbar @rizlowwritessortof

@zepskies @angelbabyyy99

@autisticgothic

@yourgoldengirls @deansobsessedgirl @mrsjenniferwinchester

@aylacavebear @lailawinchesterr @brightlilith @arcanaa @hobby27

@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 @aileenunfiltered @cosmicanakin @a1ecmcdowell @fallbhind

[aylacavebear]

Can't Fight This Feeling

Fighting against the thoughts and the emotions felt like fighting to try to breathe while underwater. No matter where you went or how many cases you dealt with, you felt that pull. When you were in bars, attempting to relax after a hunt, good or bad, you thought of him. Those emerald-green eyes were always in your mind, and so was the way he had looked at you 3 months ago before he had driven away from Bobby’s. Every time Take Me Home Tonight came on the radio, you let the memories of that night replay in your mind. You could always tell when he was near, though, as that ache eased up in your chest, but you chose to drive further away every time. I was just a one-night stand to him, you’d tell yourself.

Dean x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 6787

Warnings: Angst, Some Fluff, longing, Some intimacy but not a lot of details, lots of emotional stuff, Show-level violence, injuries.

----------------------------------------- It was mid-December now, and this little town was decorated for Christmas. Lights were strung around the lamp posts with garland and wreaths. All the shops had some sort of decoration, including those Christmas window stickers. There was even almost two inches of snow on the ground, but a plow had already cleared the streets.

You had taken care of the small pack of werewolves, three of them. The bruises on your ribs and face were already healing, as was the cut on your abdomen. Even after all your careful surveillance, there had been a fourth one that surprised you. That had been the one to give you the beating that was now slowly healing itself. Looking like you did, you knew you couldn’t just go to the diner for something to eat. People would have asked questions, especially when your bruises and wounds continued healing. So, you ordered pizza before taking a shower, scrubbing all the mud, blood, and gunk off your body and out of your hair. 

You tried desperately not to think about that night, or the following day when he and his brother had showed up at Bobby’s. God, you tried not to think about any of it, but Dean’s eyes were always there in your mind, as was the way it felt in his arms. You growled under your breath as you flicked through the channels and took another bite of pizza.

Bobby had tried to get you to talk to Dean, but you had refused. Your excuse was lame, and you knew it. What hunter would want to have a monster as a soulmate? It was your only argument. Plus, Dean had no clue what you were at the time, and you were intent on keeping it that way. The only lucky thing, you hadn’t ended up pregnant from that night. Although, you did start having periods, and you hated them to no end. 

With Touched, especially the type you were, you could only have a family with your soulmate. It was something you hadn’t really ever thought too much about. What would be the odds of you actually finding your soulmate? That, too now, was one more thing added to your endless thoughts of Dean and a life you figured you’d never have. There were times you thought your life was nothing more than an ironic comedy, and that had only gotten worse over the last three months.

Going to sleep that night was like all the other nights. Your thoughts always drifted to Dean as that ache in your chest brought your hand to your breastbone, rubbing it absentmindedly. Then, you’d roll onto your side, curl up with your pillow, and close your eyes. Your dreams were always of him in ways that both brought you peace and hurt in the morning.

—----------------------

It had been two months since he’d driven away that morning. There were days he felt like he couldn’t stand to be in his own skin, and it was driving him crazy. Sam instantly noticed how Dean had days where he was on edge more than usual. When that two-month mark hit and Dean snapped at him over just asking what he would rather have, a burger or pizza, Sam took matters into his own hands. It took Sam nearly two hours to get it all out of him, but after that, the two went to Bobby’s.

The entire drive, Dean was on edge, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. “This is stupid,” Dean grumbled halfway there already with as hard as his foot was on the accelerator.

“Bobby said he wouldn’t talk about it over the phone, but at least he might have some answers,” Sam sighed, only wanting to help at this point.

“She cursed me or something,” Dean mumbled, figuring you were a witch. This was the stupidest thought he had had thus far, but it was the only one that made any sense to him.

Sam glanced over at his brother, “We’ll figure this out.” He offered gently, not wanting to push Dean. The last two months had been hell at times, for both of them.

—--------

“You two are gonna wanna sit down for this,” Bobby sighed as he let them in.

That had Dean’s attention, but he went to the living room, barely able to keep from clenching and unclenching his hands, or rubbing them together, or shaking them like he was trying to shake water off. Bobby watched him as he poured him a glass of whiskey, which Dean downed in one go, handing the glass back. “She must be more than a state away, given your symptoms,” he mumbled, more to himself as he filled his own glass, then just handed Dean the bottle.

Sam sat in one of the chairs, looking between his brother and Bobby. None of this made sense to either of the brothers. “So, you said you could explain what was going on with Dean?” he asked, clasping his hands together in front of him.

With a sigh, Bobby leaned back in his seat. He’d only told one other person, well, two if you included her daughter, but you had needed other allies. “There are only two other people who know what I’m about to share with you, and no matter what, you have to keep it a secret,” he told the two, far sterner than they were prepared for.

However, at this point, he had both of their undivided attention. “Alright. We promise, Bobby,” Sam replied, while Dean nodded his head. “Yeah, promise,” he added quickly.

As Bobby proceeded to explain to the two of them what you were, they had the range of emotions and reactions you’d expect from a hunter while also utter curiosity. It filled in a lot for Dean from the night the two of you had spent together. There were the sounds you made, almost animalistic, but he’d been so caught up in you that he hadn’t thought twice that night about it. Then there had been the way you moved, having gotten out of his hold a couple of different times, and he had cuffed you to the bed. “Okay, but that doesn’t explain why I feel like I do,” Dean grumbled, taking another swig of the whiskey, desperately wanting the uncomfortable feelings to go away.

“Well, that’s the complicated part. See, Touched are special. She’s special. Each Touched has a soulmate. Right now, she’s the only Touched in existence. Believe me, I’ve looked,” Bobby began explaining, not quite sure how Dean was going to take this next part.

Dean’s heartbeat sped up when Bobby said the word soulmate. It was already a lot to process that you weren’t human but you also had a soulmate? He’d heard the term a couple of times in lore books. He just never thought much about it. Now, though, he couldn’t stop thinking about it, wishing he had paid more attention back then.

Bobby took a sip of his whiskey, choosing his next words carefully. “She knows who her soulmate is. She just wants him to choose her because he wants to, not because he’s uncomfortable being away from her.” 

Sam looked at Dean, quickly putting the pieces together before he did, but he said nothing. He was now attempting to figure out how Dean was going to react when he finally figured it out, or Bobby told him bluntly. Sam kind of liked the idea of having you around. You seemed cool in many ways, and in others, you reminded him of Dean.

“So, why the hell does it feel like my chest hurts all the time? Or like my skin is uncomfortable? Or like I want to drive in the opposite direction I’m already going?” Dean asked, utterly frustrated at this point. He was still trying to keep his one hand from clenching and unclenching while the other kept a tight grip on the whiskey bottle.

“You really are an idjit,” Bobby almost chuckled as he sat forward in his chair. “It’s you, dumbass,” he added, quite bluntly. He had hoped you would find someone who wasn’t a hunter who would accept you for what you were, someone who wasn’t… Dean. He might have even been okay if it had been Sam. But Dean? Dean wasn’t exactly the relationship type.

All Dean could do was blink blankly at Bobby, too stunned to think straight, but at least it explained what he was going through. “You have a choice, though. You can either accept her or reject her. If you accept her as your soulmate, those things will mostly go away, but you’ll still feel that mild ache when you’re far apart. If you reject her, it will all go away, and you won’t feel any pull toward her at all,” Bobby added, but his tone was a warning, and Dean knew it. Bobby was careful to leave out specific details. The last thing he wanted was for Dean to choose you over guilt. Dean’s gaze fell to the whiskey bottle, his expression as solemn as his emotions. “What did she pick?” he asked quietly.

Bobby sighed, leaning back in his seat again, “She swore me to secrecy. She wants you to decide. She also said that Sam would know how to find her and that I’m not to give either of you her number.”

Dean’s head instantly snapped up. “But, that’s not fair,” he practically whined, and Bobby couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out. He sounded like a love-sick teenager. 

“I’ll make this clear, as I’m only gonna say it once. Once you decide, don’t toy with her heart. I’ll shoot you myself. We clear?” Bobby told him, far sterner than either brother had heard the man speak before. “Understood,” Dean answered quickly, not sure if he should be afraid of Bobby hurting him or you if he fucked things up. Then, he looked over at Sam. “So, baby brother, how do you know how to find her?” he asked quite quizzically.

For a moment, Sam had to think about that one. It had been two months since they’d seen you, but once it hit him, he couldn’t stifle his laughter if he wanted to. “Her plate number,” he laughed out, “and her aliases.” “Let’s go then. You can look it up on the drive,” Dean told him, already getting up and moving to the front door. “Thanks, Bobby,” he added as he went outside.

The entire idea of soulmates was weird, scary as hell, and had his nerves on edge, but that was due to what else it had made him feel. Like no matter how self-deprecating he’d been, there really was someone for him in a way he thought he’d never have. Plus, after everything he learned about what you were, he really wanted to see if he could get you to purr—the thought of hearing that had sent a shiver through his body.

He didn’t know a lot about you, but he knew how you brought a peace to his soul when he held you close. Then there was the sex. God, the sex. He tried not to think about that very much, because every time he did, it felt like his skin was on fire, and you were the only thing that would douse it. Plus, whenever he had to shift in his seat, Sam always glanced at him.

They did what they could with the plate number. However, that only got them so far, as had your aliases. So, when neither of those helped, Dean went in the direction that made him feel better. It was all he had. Sam helped by trying to predict what city or town they were headed toward, but they would end up driving straight through it. Whether you realized it or not, at the time, you were taking them on a wild goose chase by complete accident.

—-----------------------------

“A month! It’s been an entire fucking month, and we still haven’t found her!” Dean growled as they headed towards another small town.

They had picked up a couple of cases and worked those on their trek to locate you. Dean had needed something to get out his frustrations on and hunting monsters was always a decent outlet for his anger. “Why don’t we stop in the next town, get a motel for the night? I need a real bed, please. We can take a breather and I’ll see what I can find online,” Sam pleaded from the passenger seat, giving Dean the best puppy eyes he could muster with as exhausted as he was.

Dean looked over at Sam and frowned, but his expression softened as his gaze returned to the road. “One night, maybe two, unless I start to feel worse,” he relented, knowing he needed a break as well. He just wouldn’t admit it.

It had taken a toll on the two of them, driving back and forth whenever Dean would feel that pull when they had nothing else to go on. There was still another hour before they hit the next town, but Dean was slowly starting to relax the closer they got. Even Sam noticed how the tension had begun easing from his shoulders.

“Maybe she’s close, or am I imagining you relaxing?” Sam asked.

He hadn’t even noticed that he was feeling more relaxed, then pressed a little harder on the gas pedal, “She’s in the next town.” Dean stated firmly, as several emotions washed over him: anxiety, anticipation, hope, fear. Neither paid much attention to the scenery, and Dean refused to turn on music as his thoughts raced again. He still hadn’t fully figured out what he was going to say to you. What could he say? He wanted you, in every way you’d give yourself to him while at the same time, he was afraid that if he did give into his feelings, he’d lose you to some monster. It was a frustrating circle of thoughts he couldn’t quite shut off.

“Do you know what you’re gonna say to her?” Sam asked gingerly from the passenger seat, five miles from the town limits.

Dean sighed with a frown, “No. What if she doesn’t want me?”

Sam chuckled a little. “Well, I’ve been thinking about that. I think that if she had chosen to reject you as her soulmate, you wouldn’t still be feeling like you are.” It took a few moments for that to fully sink into Dean’s head, and a smile found his lips. She didn’t reject me. His mood instantly perked up, and he smiled like a love-struck teenager again, making Sam nearly laugh. Dean also felt slightly like an idiot. Of course Bobby wouldn’t tell us everything and make this easy. The thought made him chuckle slightly.

The light of the early morning made the snow in the town sparkle like glitter. Most of the shops were still closed this early, and so far, no one else was on the road. The brothers didn’t pay much attention to the decorations as they looked for the motel first. “Should only be a couple more blocks,” Sam stated quietly, more to himself than to Dean, as he searched the parking lots for your car out the side window.

It was Dean smacking his shoulder with the back of his hand repeatedly that pulled Sam’s attention to him. “What?”

All Dean could do was point as he pulled into the parking lot of the motel, Sam’s eyes going to the object. A relieved smile found his expression as Dean’s heart raced. What the hell do I even say to her? Dean swallowed hard as he parked right next to your car, but he couldn’t bring himself to move or turn off the engine.

Sam furrowed his brow when Dean didn’t move, then looked at him. “Really? We’ve been trying to find her for a month and you’re just going to sit there?”

He couldn’t move, his emotions gripping at his chest and rooting his body in place. Without warning, Sam reached over and turned off the Impala, pocketing the keys. Then, he got out of the car, went around to the driver’s side, and opened the door.

“This is for your own good,” Sam told him bluntly before dragging Dean out of the car. “Now, which room is she in?” Dean pointed at room 9. 

So, Sam dragged him over to the door, knocked on it, and then jogged down to the main office to get his own room this time, already having an idea of how things were going to go.

—------------------------

You’d woke just before the sun had breached the horizon but stayed bundled up under the blankets and stared at the ceiling. The dreams of him still playing through your mind. You wanted to smile with what had been in them. The sweet, tender moments the two of you had shared. It was waking up alone that kept the smile from finding your lips, having convinced yourself that you were nothing more than a one-night stand to him. You had to, for your own peace of mind, mostly. You didn’t notice how the ache in your chest was subsiding, or how your breathing was even for the first time in days. Then there was how relaxed your body felt.

Grumbling slightly at the need for caffeine, you climbed out of bed and made your way to the coffee pot. Another long, boring day. As you waited for the coffee to brew, you changed into day clothes, pulling on your flannel to keep the chill away. Even with the heater working fine, you still felt chilly, but you knew why. It was the need to feel his arms around you, just holding you close, and the moment your mind began toying with the thought, you pushed it away and focused on your coffee. The warmth slowly seeped into your hands from the cup while the sip you’d take began to warm your insides. You hummed contently as the sun rose further, trying to penetrate the curtains you had pulled shut the night before.

To help distract your mind further, you settled onto your bed, comfortable against the headboard as you flipped through the channels of the TV. It was still quite early, and even though there was nothing on worth watching, you felt completely relaxed in that moment. Somehow, you managed to end up completely distracted by what was on the TV.

What you weren’t prepared for was the knock on your door, your head tilting much like a curious but cautious cat. Slowly, you slipped off the bed, setting your cup of coffee down on the nightstand, and then made your way to the door. You felt that pull again, just as you reached for the doorknob, your breath hitching in your chest.

You took a slow, deep breath, letting it out just as slowly while trying to calm your racing heart. Then, you gingerly pulled the door open. Seeing him standing there sent all sorts of emotions through you: hope, fear, anticipation, anxiety, but your lips parted slightly when your eyes met his. At that moment, time stopped for both of you as Can’t Fight This Feeling by Reo Speedwagon began playing on the television in the background. 

Neither of you could seem to find words or move as the song played, your eyes locked with each other. He wanted to pull you against him, feel your body against his, but at the same time, he was hesitant. The same emotions that coursed through him were mirrored in your eyes, but it was the vulnerability that caught him completely off guard.

You had been so confident that night and even the following day at Bobby’s. So, not seeing it now and seeing the vulnerability only made him want to protect you more. The moment the chorus of the song began dancing off the walls of your motel room, his lips were on yours, having closed the distance between the two of you.

Dean couldn’t hold back any longer. That vulnerability in your eyes had shoved aside any doubt that had been in his mind, overriding his fear and tugging at his heart. I promise, I’ll never leave you, and I’ll protect you with my life. He couldn’t speak the words that had gone through his head, but then again, Dean was never good with words. 

You closed your eyes, resting your hands on his chest as your lips moved with his. It was tender, slow, and far more intimate than that night three months ago. When his hand cupped your cheek, you leaned into his touch, his other hand made its way to your waist, then around your back, pulling you closer.

Sam stopped short on his walk toward the room he’d gotten, a relieved smile finding his face. Thank God. His hope was that things would go well between the two of you, and so far, that’s how it was looking. Quietly, he grabbed his bag from the Impala, then went to his room, finally feeling like he could relax.

Dean teased your bottom lip with his tongue, and the moment your lips parted, his tongue met yours. There was no desperation in the way you kissed each other. It went far deeper than the physical need for each other. It was the need to share with each other what you felt, what you wanted, and what you were both hoping for. 

When he finally pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, both of you were breathing a little heavier. “I’ll always choose you,” he whispered, placing a lingering kiss on your forehead.

You closed your eyes again, releasing a shaky breath as a tear slipped down your cheek. Dean gently brushed it away with his thumb. Bobby had called you after he’d spoken to the brothers, sharing with you what had been said. You had honestly thought Dean would have rejected you, due to what you were.

“It doesn’t bother you… that I’m not human?” you whispered, still worried about that part.

It was his chuckle that pulled your attention, your eyes opening as you tilted your head, looking at him much like a curious cat. “Sweetheart, I want to find out what makes you purr,” he replied in that honeyed tone, the words like silk as they left his lips. It sent both an exhilarating shiver through your body and made your heart flutter simultaneously. He watched as a blush crept into your cheeks, then slowly began walking you backward into your motel room, gently kicking the door closed behind him. “We don’t have to do anything. I just want to hold you, if that’s okay,” he whispered, his tone softer now, almost… loving.

You bit your bottom lip as you looked into those emerald-green eyes of his. The way he looked at you made your breath hitch in your chest. It wasn’t lust blown like that night. “Then get comfy, and we can cuddle,” you replied softly, leaning up and placing a tender kiss on the tip of his nose.

Sure, the two of you needed to talk, but there was something else the two of you needed far more at the moment. Dean kicked off his shoes, then slipped off his jacket, draping it over a nearby chair. He watched as you climbed onto the bed, his heart still racing, but it was your shy smile when you looked up at him that made him realize exactly what he wanted. With a giddy grin, he climbed onto the bed beside you and held his arms open.

It wasn’t what he wanted to do. He wanted to just wrap his arms around you and pull you close, but he could see the uncertainty in your eyes, so he’d go at your pace. Hesitantly, you scooted a little closer, then gingerly snuggled up against him. The warmth of his body, the beating of his heart, and then his arms around you, holding you close, made you purr. This time, you didn’t stop yourself. The sound was soft, the vibrations gentle, and Dean let out a contented sigh.

“Stay with me?” he asked quietly, not completely sure how to ask you to be his, to join him and his brother on the road. You fit perfectly against him, and he never wanted to let you go again.

You could hear his emotions in his words, somehow knowing he meant more than just right now, or for the night. A smile found your lips as your hand drew incoherent patterns on his chest over his shirt. “I’ll need to take my car back to Bobby’s first,” you replied softly and heard Dean’s heart speed up. There was a lot you both wanted to say, but for a while, neither of you spoke, just taking the time to relish the moment neither of you thought would come. The vibrations of you purring gently massaged Dean’s muscles, and you felt him relax further. 

“What else makes you purr?” he asked softly as he ran his hand through your hair.

For a moment, you thought about his question, as it wasn’t something you had a quick answer for. “Lots of different things. It mostly has to do with how I feel. Mostly, I purr when I’m happy, relaxed, feel safe, or I just feel good. But sometimes, I purr when I’m hurt or sad. It’s like self-soothing when that happens,” you explained, a little quietly due to feeling shy on the topic. 

He didn’t pull away. Instead, he held you a little closer as he kissed the top of your head. “Is this a happy purr?” he asked, almost worried it wasn’t.

Even if he couldn’t see your face, you smiled a little. “Yeah, this is a happy purr,” you replied before nuzzling your head a little against his chest, enjoying how his scent comforted you.

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like hours, the discomfort you both had felt over the last three months completely draining from both of you. Dean nearly fell asleep like that. Between you snuggled against him and the vibrations of your purring, well, it was something he never wanted to go without again.

It was the grumbling of both your stomachs that disrupted the moment, making the two of you chuckle. “Will you have breakfast with me?” Dean asked, nervous you’d say no. He almost felt like he was asking his high school crush on a date as the butterflies danced in his stomach.

You shifted a little so you could look up at him. The look in his eyes parted your lips. No one had looked at you like he was, and you knew you’d never get tired of seeing the love in his eyes. Before you could answer him, his lips found yours in another tender kiss, his hand cupping your cheek.

As he pulled you just that much closer, you smiled against his lips. “Thought you wanted me to have breakfast with you?” you giggled without pulling away, his lips still moving against yours as you tried to speak.

“Yeah,” he began responding, then another kiss. “But,” another kiss, “It can wait,” another kiss as his tongue slipped past your lips and began dancing with yours. Your free hand made its way into his hair, running your fingers through it and gently letting your nails scrape against his scalp. He groaned into your mouth, then pulled you to straddle his lap. This wasn’t like that first night. This was different. You let his hands trace your sides, his thumbs brushing over the sides of your breasts through your shirt. Now you were wishing you hadn’t changed into day clothes.

But he didn’t push anything. Not even when his hands rested on your hips. He just held you there, occasionally letting his hands move to your back to pull you a little closer. The way he kissed you was different, too. It was so many emotions all wrapped up together. 

When he did finally pull away, he brought his hand up to the back of your head, guiding it gently to rest on his shoulder. “I know it’s probably crazy, but…” he trailed off, not sure he could say what he really wanted to. “...will you be mine?” 

You felt the tears burn your eyes at his request, letting out a shaky breath as he held you close. “I’ll always be yours, Dean,” you whispered.

—------------------------------------- Five Months Later…

Was it all sunshine and rainbows? No, but it wasn’t all horrible, either. You and Sam had become best friends, quickly. He was the bother you always wanted and never had, while you were the sister he never had but now couldn’t imagine his life without. The two of you would nerd out over lore, movies, and books like Harry Potter. He had his bad habits, but so did you, and you both lovingly picked on each other about them.

Things with Dean were amazing off the get-go and for the first couple of months. The man couldn’t keep his hands off you. Then again, you couldn’t keep your hands off him, either. It seemed like there wasn’t a place he wouldn’t have sex. Most of the places you were totally okay with, like the back seat of Baby, or the front seat, on the hood, every motel room, including if the two of you had to share one with Sam due to the motel not having enough rooms. It was the other places like public bathrooms, alleys, or being parked in a busy parking lot where you were a little iffy about.

It wasn’t that you were shy, far from it. It was the sounds you made that were far more cat like that worried you. Dean seemed to understand, but when you were stern about saying no, he got distant for the rest of the day. The two of you wouldn’t have sex that night, and he didn’t initiate cuddling when you two would crawl in bed.

Oddly enough, that wasn’t even the worst part. When the brothers had seen how you were on a hunt, they were both intrigued and a little scared. You hunted differently due to what you were. You were the predator, like a cat, the monster your prey. It took a few hunts and several talks with them, but they eventually got past the fear. They couldn’t help it, you were scary when you hunted.

It was the hunt last week that had seemed to drive a wedge between you and Dean—a nest of Vampires. You hated vampires much like Dean hated witches. All of you had done the legwork, surveillance, and counted the number of vamps in the nest: 8 total. Unfortunately, there were two more that none of you were aware of, and you were the one who ended up taking the beating.

You had a good reason to break from the plan, but Dean hadn’t wanted to hear any of it afterward. It wasn’t anything Dean said. It was the way he looked at you and kept his distance that hurt the most. Sam could only watch in silence, looking between the two of you as Dean began speaking while you were getting yourself cleaned up.

“That was stupid and reckless,” Dean stated, almost coldly from where he stood between the two motel beds, just watching you.

He could see the bruises on your exposed skin, his jaw clenching as he crossed his arms. Watching you get thrown across that barn and not get up right away nearly killed him, even if you had saved Sam’s life, literally.

When you didn’t respond, he took a breath to try to calm his emotions but didn’t move. “We had a plan. You can’t even follow directions, and now you’re hurt.” He knew it wasn’t coming out the way he wanted to say it, but he couldn’t seem to say what he really wanted to. I can’t lose you.

“Dean, maybe-” Sam began, but Dean just held up his hand, silencing his brother as he stared at you in the bathroom. It was similar to when you’d been beaten by that werewolf, just without the gash on your abdomen. All your muscles were sore, and you had hay in your hair, which was annoying, but that was the least of your worries at the moment. The way Dean was treating you hit something deep inside and brought a pain you had never felt before, and you just wanted it to go away.

You took several slow, deep breaths as you gripped the sink, then looked in the mirror at your reflection: a split lip and a black eye. You slipped your flannel on, buttoning the first four buttons before you turned around to even look at Dean.

He looked pissed. Even after spending five months with the two of them, there was still so much you didn’t know about him, and barely scratched the surface on the little things. You saw how his jaw clenched just a little tighter, the coldness and anger in his eyes, and how he held himself, completely closed off. At least, that was what it looked like to you.

You debated fighting with him, as that was what it seemed like he wanted to do: fight. He’d taken issue when you had gotten hurt on other hunts, but this was by far the worst you’d gotten hurt since you had joined up with them. “I’m not doing this tonight, Dean,” you told him flatly, then left the motel room before he could stop you.

Unable to go to a bar, you went to the gas station, bought a bottle of whiskey, then climbed in the back seat of the Impala and began drinking to make the pain stop. Pain that had nothing to do with your injuries, and it had only gotten worse when he didn’t even go looking for you. You slept in the back seat that night, bottle empty and on the floorboard. You didn’t even wake up until sometime after they had started driving the following morning.

It’s been a week since that happened, and Dean has barely come near you, so you kept your distance from him. Sometimes, you wondered if Dean felt that same aching, twisting pain that started deep in the chest, feeling as though it would take you down faster than any monster could. You always pushed the thought away, especially since he had started sleeping with his back to you.

Dean didn’t know what to do, lost in his thoughts as he tried to sleep. He had blamed himself for you getting hurt like you had, just like he did when Sam would get hurt. He could also see that you were hurting in a different way than any physical injury, and he blamed himself for that one, too. You were so close to him; only six inches separated the two of you on that motel bed between your backs, but he couldn’t bring himself to roll over and hold you. It felt like someone had stabbed him in the chest, twisting and turning the knife every time he saw the pain and hurt in your eyes. All he had wanted to do was apologize and hold you close, beg for your forgiveness, but part of him felt like you’d be better off without him in your life. “Would you be happier if I left?” you finally broke the silence, knowing he was awake. Your voice was almost quieter than a whisper, and he wasn’t sure if he had imagined your question.

“Do you want to leave?” he asked, his voice gruffer than he meant it to be, and it wasn’t what he had truly wanted to say.

You clenched your jaw as you gripped your chest, holding your breath for a few moments as the pain coursed through you, rejection. It took you several minutes to even out your breathing before you could respond while also trying to keep the tears from falling. “That doesn’t answer my question,” you whispered, not trusting your voice.

Dean threw the blankets off himself and got out of bed, then grabbed a beer off the counter. He took a long swig of it, trying desperately to get his emotions under control. The one thing he couldn’t do, was look over at you. He knew you had curled in on yourself, lying as still as you could as close to the edge of the bed without slipping off it.

You bit your bottom lip, turning your head slightly into the pillow as the tears slipped out the moment he’d gotten out of bed. At least he wouldn’t feel the bed move due to my sobs. Sobs that the pillow muffled. The longer the silence stretched, the worse you felt.

“I can’t lose you,” he finally admitted quietly, his hands on the counter, the beer between them.

Your head snapped up as your gaze quickly landed on him. He looked almost… defeated? Without having to even think, you wiped away your tears, got out of bed, and went over to him, holding him from behind. You wrapped your arms around his stomach, lying your head against his back. He couldn’t move as he fought back tears. Even with how he had treated you, you were comforting him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as a tear slipped down his cheek. “I don’t know how to do this.”

You loosened your hold on him, slipping under his arm so that you were between him and the counter, and then you held him close again. “I’m not mad at you, Dean,” you began quietly, softly. “I can’t lose you or Sam. I know that you would give your life for either of us. I need you to know that I would do the same. Instead of pushing me away when I get hurt like I did, maybe try just being there for me, reminding me without words that even though you’re upset and scared, that you still care for me, please,” you told him, your voice no more than a whisper with your plea.

Dean slowly brought his hands to your back, then held you close as he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The feeling of you in his arms again made everything melt away as he tightened his arms around you just a little more. “I’ll try,” he whispered, attempting to swallow the lump of emotion in his throat.

“Let me hold you tonight?” you asked in a soft whisper.

He took a shaky breath, then pulled away, only enough to lead the two of you back to bed. You climbed in first, facing his side, the pain you’d felt was slowly going away as you watched him lie down and face away from you. When he was comfortable, you scooted close, pressing your body against his back, then pulled the blankets over both of you. You nuzzled your head against the middle of his shoulder blades after leaving a tender, lingering kiss on his shoulder. The hand you had used to pull the blankets up now moved down his arm, a soothing gesture before you found his elbow. Instead of resting your hand on his hip like you usually would, you let your hand find his before intertwining your fingers with his.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered his apology again, feeling like the worst person on the planet with how he had treated you.

Then he felt the vibrations of you purring against him, soothing the tension in his muscles. “Dean, I chose you. I’ll always choose you. It doesn’t matter if you’re mad, upset, scared, or feeling guilty. I’ll still choose you, even if you don’t know how to let me in.” you whispered softly, still purring quietly. “I forgive you.”

Dean couldn’t stop the couple of tears that escaped or the shaky breath he tried to take. He couldn’t bring himself to say a word, knowing he’d break down completely if he had. In that moment, when you forgave him, he made a decision. He was going to really try to talk to you about what was bothering him. Letting someone in was something he didn’t do, but you were different. You were his other half, his soulmate, and he was yours. He wanted to let you in. He just wasn’t sure how, and he’d been going through far more than he had let on in the last five months.

----------------------------------------- Hard to Say I'm Sorry - coming soon

Speaking Through Songs Mini-Series Touched Master List Main Master List

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[winchesterrrrrrrrrs]

Family Beyond Blood - Intro

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F/Reader

Overall, Story Summary: You end up in the life, after spending 28 years avoiding it. When you are re-introduced to the Winchesters you realize you all have grown up a lot since your teens. Feelings ignored for years come back up and you don't know how to deal with any of it, until you no longer have a choice but to face it. Showing Dean that the world doesn't always have to be nightmare after nightmare. Showing him, he deserves happiness too.

Tags/Warnings: N/A

I wasn't always a hunter. I was saved more than once by hunters and my thought were swayed. I realized I could be doing a lot more to help the world. So, re-uniting with the Winchesters both saved my life and drove me to decide to put myself in more danger than I've ever been in before. I wouldn't change it for anything. Something about these two guys, an old man and an angel will make a girl change her whole outlook on life and alter her whole life plan.

I don't know how I avoided hunting most of my life. I knew about it. My uncle is Bobby Singer. Not by blood, but by choice. He saved me when I was a child, my parents were friends of his so of course I knew about it. They all did a damn good job making sure I was never involved in it though.

I lost my parents when I was very young. I was told when I was younger that it was a robbery gone bad. Knowing what I know now, I assume it was a monster. I never pressed for information though. Bobby took me in and raised me without a second thought. He kept me knowledgeable enough to stay safe if I needed to protect myself, but he kept me far enough away that I wouldn't get involved to the degree of wanting to be a hunter. I grew up watching John Winchester come and go. Dragging his boys along. Even as a kid, my heart broke for their lack of childhood. When they would stop by Bobby's, there was no playing and laughter like kids should do. Even a 10-year-old Dean wanted straight forward monster related answers, so they could "hit the road". John was always a kind man, especially to me, but that didn't change the lack of kindness, joy, and childhood innocence he took from his boys.

As I got older, the boys still stopped by. Sometimes for a quick tip on how to gank a Wendigo, sometimes it was to hang out with Bobby once John disappeared. I watched those two grow up walking in and out of that front door. Eventually Sam stopped showing up with Dean. Thats when Dean and I got close. We would say a few words to each other every once in a while, but it was never a quality conversation. I think Bobby preferred it that way. I know he worried if I got close to anyone in the life, other than him, that I would get drawn in. So, he didn't force me to stay away, I just had enough respect to understand his perspective.

Dean and I developing a friendship wasn't unexpected, we were similar enough in attitude and different enough in interests that it kept our conversations interesting. When he would stop by, id help Bobby find Dean any and all information for his hunt. If it was a less time sensitive visit, we would sit and talk about anything and everything. Both of us being the same age and having no other people around our own age made connecting with each other so easy. I felt like he was my only friend in the world. But just like everyone else who came through that door, eventually he stopped showing up. His visits lessened until they stopped all together. I never knew what happened to Dean or Sam. I knew Sam went to college. I knew Dean was trying to get Sam back into the hunt. I knew he was looking for John. Thats the last I heard from Dean. It hurt at the time but in my heart, I knew it would happen. Bobby was my only consistency. I thanked him for that every day. For choosing me and supporting me no matter what.

I hoped for a call, just once, so I knew he was still alive. His lack of childhood joy shone through bright as an adult. Dean expected the worst in everyone and everything. I had hoped at that time that our friendship was enough to show him some good from the world. I wanted so badly to show him that people could be good to him, that he was allowed to enjoy life. When I found out that he still reached out to Bobby, that Bobby gave him my number and told him to reach out, that he had ultimately decided he didn't want to talk to me, I moved on. I was happy to know he was ok. But I was not going to push myself into his life and cling to him like a child desperate for a friend. Bobby kept me updated even when I didn't ask. But I assumed that was the end of my time with the Winchester boys. That was it. A little blip in my late teens to mid-twenties. A moment come and gone.

But history is funny like that, in the way that it always comes back around. Always.

thanks for reading, this is just an intro to what I'm hoping will be a well enjoyed multi chapter story :) let me know what you think and if you want more! this is my first story, so I hope you enjoy! thanks again <3

[whimsyfinny]

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.”

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

Taglist: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @libby99hb @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung

[wildwestdean]

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!

[cuntiel]

[cosmicanakin]

୨ৎ ﹒ DEAN eatin' you out like a man who's starved. mhm. 🤰🏻

⎯⎯ warning(s) smut | oral sex ( F RECEIVING ) | pussy slapping | dean is a fuckin' tease but wbk | mild degradation | edging | rough sex | praise kink | DOM!DEAN | dean's a lil freak 'n loves when reader begs for him. ఌ︎ EIGHTEEN PLUS! ADULT CONTENT | minors do NOT interact.

it's supposed to be a lazy day. nothing to do, nowhere to go, just the two of you tangled in bed. but DEAN has never been able to keep his hands to himself when it comes to you. and now, you're spread out underneath him, a complete mess, his broad shoulders keeping your thighs pinned wide as his mouth works you over like it's his favorite fucking meal.

"dean—fuck, i can't," you whimper, your hands gripping at the sheets as his tongue flicks over your clit, slow and deliberate. he's been at it for what feels like forever, switching between sucking, licking, and teasing until you're trembling, your body so sensitive you can't think straight.

he pulls back just enough to look up at you, and the cocky grin on his face makes your stomach flip. "can't?" he repeats, his voice low and playful. "nah, baby, you can. you're gonna."

you start to protest, but the words die in your throat when his fingers slide into you, curling just right, and his mouth is back on you, relentless. your hips buck against him, trying to escape the overwhelming pleasure, but his free hand presses down on your stomach to keep you in place.

"DEAN!" you cry out, your voice breaking, and that's when he does it—pulls his mouth away just enough to slap your pussy. not too hard, but enough to make you yelp, your whole body jolting at the sharp sting.

"shit," he groans, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he watches you squirm. "look at you, darlin'. so fuckin' pretty when you're like this. all worked up f'me."

"you're such an ass," you pant, glaring at him, but the heat in your voice is undercut by the way your hips roll, seeking more of his touch.

he smirks, his fingers sliding out of you only to deliver another quick slap to your slick folds, and you gasp, your back arching off the bed. "yeah?" he teases, leaning down to press a kiss to your inner thigh. "an ass who's got you drippin' all over the fuckin' sheets, baby."

"de, please," you whine, not even sure what you're begging for anymore. more of his mouth, his fingers, his cock—anything, everything.

"please what, baby?" he murmurs, kissing his way back up your body until he's hovering over you, his cock hard and heavy against your thigh. "tell me what ya want."

"you," you manage, your voice shaking. "just fuck me already."

his grin widens, and he leans down to kiss you, slow and filthy, letting you taste yourself on his lips. "thought you'd never ask," he mutters, lining himself up and sliding into you in one smooth thrust.

and just like that, your lazy day is anything but. <3

[supernaturalfreewill]

"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."

[lostalioth]

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!

[dewwinchester]

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. 

[thirdsaltyhunter]

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.

[alexsoenomel]

POV: Texts from Dean